“I’d like a tattoo.”
“What kind?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. I’d written the word in my own handwriting, careful letters. I handed it to Dom.
Dom looked at the paper. Looked at me. Looked at the paper again.
“Riley,” he read aloud.
Marco and Vinnie’s heads swiveled toward us like predators sensing prey.
“That’s a name,” Marco observed.
“Yes.”
“A woman’s name.”
“Yes.”
“You want a woman’s name tattooed on you.” Dom set the paper down. “Where?”
“Upper thigh. Front side.”
The three men exchanged the kind of look that said “we’re about to witness either the most romantic thing ever or a spectacular disaster.”
“How long have you known this Riley?” Dom asked.
“Two weeks.”
Silence.
Then Marco started laughing. Not meanly, more like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Vinnie joined in, and even Dom’s lips twitched.
“Son,” Dom said, shaking his head, “I’ve been doing this for twenty years. I’ve seen a lot of stupid decisions walk through that door. This might be top five.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?”
I thought about Riley’s laugh, the way she scrunched her nose when she was thinking, the way she looked at me in the lake like she was seeing someone worth looking at.
“Yes,” I said. “I do.”
Dom studied me for a long moment, then he shrugged. “Your body, your choice. Hop on the chair. This is gonna hurt like a bitch.”
I settled into the tattoo chair, ready to endure whatever pain was coming. Riley’s name on my skin felt right, necessary.
When the tattoo needle bit into my thigh, I gritted my teeth against the pain.
In Duskmere, we numbed the skin before tattooing, it was considered civilized. Humans apparently preferred to suffer for their art. The needle dragged across my flesh, each line burning, and I focused on breathing through it.
“So,” Dom said conversationally, not looking up from his work, “this Riley. She know you’re getting her name permanently etched into your body?”
“Not yet.”
“Planning to surprise her?”
“Yes.”
