She doesn’t look convinced.
“Besides,” I add, tipping my head back onto the pillow, “I already know how this is going to go. I’ll show up, do the damn logrolling, probably fall on my ass a few times, and then Annabelle will yell something about teamwork before letting us all get drunk at the bonfire.”
Lucy hums, sliding back down beside me, her bare leg curling over mine. “And what if you wake up tomorrow and can’t move?”
“Then I’ll crawl there.”
She smacks my chest lightly, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Stubborn.”
“Determined.”
“Same thing,” she murmurs, tracing patterns on my skin. “You should get a tattoo here.”
I glance down, watching as she draws an invisible design on my rib cage, beneath the worst of the bruise. “Oh yeah?”
She nods, her head resting on my shoulder now, her lips barely brushing my skin as she speaks. “Something tough.”
I huff out a laugh. “You don’t think I’m already tough?”
“You are,” she says, tilting her head to meet my gaze. “But this would make you even tougher.”
I smirk. “And what exactly would make me tougher?”
“No idea.” She bites her lip, then grins. “Maybe a bunch of trees—a tree line and mountains, to commemorate your time in my little town.” She pauses, eyes glinting mischievously. “And my vagina,” she adds, giggling.
I choke on my breath, caught between shock and laughter. “Oh yeah?” I slide my hand down her back, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against her hip. “You want me to get a tattoo of your pussy on my body?”
“That is so gross,” she laughs, smacking my shoulder.
I chuckle, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Would you ever get a tattoo?”
Lucy shrugs, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve thought about it a few times but have no idea what I would ink on my skin.”
I tilt my head, watching her. “Nothing at all?”
“Well ...” She stretches, her body shifting against mine. “I like the idea of something small. Maybe meaningful. Except every time I think I’ve found something I might want, I talk myself out of it.”
My thumb brushes her wrist. “I think tattoos should mark a moment.”
Lucy exhales, eyes searching mine. “Like ... the moment you leave?”
Ouch. That was a sharp dig.
Still, I hesitate. The truth is, I don’t know.
I don’t know what happens after I’m gone.
I don’t want to think about that.
I want to exist here, in this bed, with her.
So I tighten my grip on her hip, pulling her closer. “We’ll figure it out.”
Her lips part, like she wants to argue, like she wants to demand an actual answer, something tangible she can hold on to as I smooth my hand up her spine, feeling the warmth of her skin, the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
Neither of us speaks.
Neither of us moves.
