I open my mouth as she holds up her hand. “Don’t ask. I’m not talking about it with you. I don’t discuss it with friends, let alone frenemies.”
“Ooh, we’ve graduated to frenemies?” I ask with excitement.
She twists her lips. “I suppose you’re more tolerable than you used to be.”
“Back at you, Cruella. You’re more like the redeemable villain instead of the irredeemable villain now.”
“How lucky for me,” she says with a heavy dose of sarcasm. She grabs for the remote. “There’s a documentary on the making ofCobra Kai. It’s my favorite show. Do you mind if we watch that?”
“What?” I shout. “That’smyfavorite show.”
She tries to fight it, but a small smile forms on her face. “About time Johnny got to be the good guy. He was always the good guy, but nobody else saw it.”
I gasp. “I have a T-shirt with that written on it.”
She giggles. “Stop it. You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m serious. Dixie Chicks serious.”
She lets out a laugh at myPitch Perfectmovie line reference. “I’m guessing you love that girlie movie?”
“Of course. It’s one of the best movies ever. BJ loves to sing to it.”
“Your dog sings?”
“Yes, she has a majestic voice.”
“Hmm. I might have to see it one day.”
“You can’t. She hates women.”
“All women?”
“All except my sister. She doesn’t like to share me.”
She sighs in disbelief as she turns on the documentary. We watch in comfortable silence for about an hour. My hands are clasped together behind my head, causing my T-shirt to lift a drop. I see her eyes staring directly at my tattoo, though she’s trying unsuccessfully to hide that fact.
“You can ask me about it if you want,” I eventually offer.
“About what?” she asks.
“The tattoo. You’re staring. You’ve mentioned it before. I’m an open book. Ask whatever you want to know.”
She chews her lip nervously for about ten seconds. I haveflashbacks to what those lips felt like on my lips, on my chest, on my neck, on my cock. They’re so plush and feminine. I love them without lipstick even more. They have a natural pink hue. I bet women pay for lipstick in a shade that she has naturally, yet she always chooses to cover them. I have an urge to storm into her bedroom and throw out all her lipsticks.
She eventually interrupts my thoughts by admitting, “Fine. I want to know. Who is she? Your high school girlfriend? College girlfriend? The love of your life? The one that got away?”
I lift my shirt a bit more, and her eyes move all over my stomach. If I didn’t know better, I’d think lust was washing over them. She even goes so far as to lick her pretty pink lips. I don’t think she’s aware that she did it, but she did.
“Look closer,” I instruct.
“Is this just a way to get me to put my head in your lap?”
I chuckle. “No, but I might use that in the future. It’s a good tactic. Thanks for the tip.”
She rolls her eyes before bending a bit to get a closer look. She gently rubs her fingers over the rose, starting at the flower itself and then working down the stem. I see the moment it hits her. “Are these birth and death years?”
I nod. “My mom. Her name was Rose. My dad and I both got them shortly before he got remarried. It was his way of telling me that while he might be marrying another woman, she wasn’t taking the place of my mother for me or for him. That he would always love my mother.”
