I smirk at the longing on his face. He is completely serious, which means I am going to find that man the most gourmet ice cream I can. Look out, Baskin Robins. I’m talking Salt and Straw.
“What’s on your list?”
I bounce my brows twice, ready to show him myWalk To Remembertwo. “Number one: Get a tattoo.” I grin and drag my eyes to his.
“I already have one. I’m not getting a—” He swallows. “Fran, that’s just for you, right?”
“No! We both have to do all the list items.” I ignore the glare he’s giving me. “Number two: Be in two places atonce.” I feel so clever, and yet Callum looks at me as if I possibly need to see a psychiatrist.
“Fran… I really do have practice tomorrow.”
“And I have class. Calm down. What should we do first?”
Air blows from Callum’s lips, and his hair fluffs upward.
When he says nothing, just sits there looking despondent, I step in.Oh, sweet Callum, I am really going to have to show you how to have fun. Step by step.“Tattoos!”
“Fran, I’m serious. I have one already. I’m thinking one is enough. Besides, we don’t have appointments or ideas… or a desire.”
“Stop,” I say. I pull the handful of temporary tattoos from my purse. “Take your pick.”
A sigh falls from his chest as he peers at my non-permanent options. He pokes through the few I’ve brought, nose wrinkling. “Live, laugh, love,” he says, holding up a flower framed in curvy script.
“Good choice.”
“Oh, no. I don’t want that one. I’m just unimpressed it made the cut.”
I try to scoff in mock offense, but he’s funny, and my scoff comes out more like a titter. “Fine, what about…” I riffle through the pack I bought and pull out exactly what I’m looking for. The bubble letters read “Girl Power,” and theoinPoweris a soccer ball.
“Um…”
“It’s perfect. Where do you want it?”
“I have practice tomorrow,” he mutters.
“So, your arm?” I ask.
“No.” He sighs, already giving in to me. I can see it. “Ankle. Low ankle.”
“Classy,” I say. Then I pull out some wet wipes and tap the center console of Will Baxter’s Audi. “Give me your leg.”
Callum sighs. And I’m not stupid. I clearly understand that his sock will cover up this Girl Power tattoo for tomorrow’s practice. But I’m giving in to him because he’s going along with my plan when I wasn’t sure he would.
Callum’s legs are much too long, and it’s awkward getting his leg up and that tattoo on his ankle, but the man will not relent and give me his arm.
“I’m picking yours,” he says, once situated again.
“Great. Find me something pretty.” I grin—because I am the best sport ever. Sure, this was my idea, and I had a tattoo all picked out for myself, but I can compromise. I go with the flow. No matter what Rosalie says.
“This one.” He picks up a crochet hook with yarn wrapped around it that says “Part-Time Hooker.”
“Callum.” I glower. I mean, there is a perfectly adorable kitten with big eyes on top of that pile, and he picks the crochet hook with the off-color comment?
“I think your shoulder. It’ll look perfect there.”
I glare at him—for fun. Because I am having fun. Wait—what time is it? Is fun a feeling? I shake my head; I’ll track for my paper later. “Put it wherever you want, Superman.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he says as he pulls a wipe from my stash.
