“You’re being cryptic, man,” Dylan said.
Was I?
“It’s pretty simple,” I said, popping open a bottle and taking a sip. I grimaced a bit, but the second sip went down better. Nothing like a little hair of the dog. “I don’t know who she is. I mean, her name is Danny and she’s beautiful. That’s all I know.”
Amber’s mouth popped open.
Dylan shoved me, making me bounce off the fridge a little. “You are such an asshole.” But he was grinning when he said it. “Can’t believe what a royal dick you are.”
I shrugged and sank some more beer.
My asshole status was hardly breaking news.
Sure, I’d kinda lied to everyone who’d asked me about the tattoo over the last four years—including Dylan. Claimed I had no idea who “Danny” was. Male? Female? Fucking alien? Who knew.
Technically, I really didn’t know who she was.
But I remembered the girl I’d gotten the tattoo for.
I had a lot of tattoos, but this one was pretty notable. It was on my inner thigh, way up under my balls, and had a girly-ass pink flower, with the wordsDanny 4Ever. All my friends had seen it, unfortunately. So I had to tell them something.
Easiest way to shut them down was to plead ignorance. Or idiocy.
I just really didn’t feel like explaining to everyone,She’s this beautiful girl I made out with when I was stupid-drunk and then I told her we should get married and I got a tattoo of her name, and then she gave me a fake phone number and disappeared.
Bad enough my friends thought the tattoo was funny as shit. That story would’ve killed someone. Zane or Con would’ve literally died laughing.
I couldn’t affordthatkind of karma.
“So…” Dylan said, eying me and the beer that was rapidly disappearing down my throat, “the girl with the yellow boots is Danny, of the tattoo?”
“The girl with the yellow boots!” Amber practically shouted. “From last night? Why didn’t you say so?”
“Are you gonna find her?” Dylan pressed. “You know you can try to find her, right?” He stared me down meaningfully, and I knew what he was thinking.
He was thinking about my mom.
How she’d left me when I was thirteen and I always wanted to find her, but by the time I actually looked for her—largely because he convinced me to—it was too late.
Literally.
She’d died, and I’d missed my chance at that relationship. If I ever had one.
But what was I gonna do? Hire someone to find Danny the Dream Girl for me? That would be a no.
Not like I hadn’t considered it already.
Hiring a private investigator to find my own mother was one thing. People hired investigators to find lost family members all the time, right? Trying to hire one to find some random girl I’d once made out with at a ski resort while I was drunk? Not cool. No legit investigator would take that job anyway.
Probably just call the cops on my ass.
“Yeah, that’s kinda stalker territory,” I said, and went back to the couch.
Dylan and Amber followed. With beer.
“Says who?” Amber said. “You’re not stalking her if you just want to find her to ask her out. If she says no to your face, then you let it go. Not meant to be, right?”
“Well, she’s already given me the slip twice. On purpose. That’s not a yes.”
