Someone helps Mom into a chair.
“Let’s see it.” I nod.
“See what?”
“The tattoo?” I swat his chest.
“Is it a tramp stamp?” Gran asks, reaching for Graham’s jacket.
“No, it’s…” Graham’s eyes flit back and forth. “Dani’s name.”
“So, a tramp stamp.”
“Fair warning.” He grimaces. “The tattoo artist misspelled it, and I was trying to get it fixed, but I think it’s made it worse.”
There are screams as he undoes his belt. My mom’s friends fall to their knees.
He lowers the waistband of his pants.
“It was supposed to be in your handwriting.” He pulls up his shirttail to reveal the smooth stripe of skin withDaneilewritten in cursive.
“Oh my God, that’s so hot,” Piper squeals.
“It is kind of hot in a trashy Lana Del Rey way,” I agree.
“You cannot be with a man who has a tattoo above his…” My mom grasps for words.
“Ding-a-ling,” Gran says. “Now, Linda, don’t you ruin my chance at great-grandchildren. It’s been well established by multiple witnesses that his is the only sperm Dani’s got in the chamber at this point. You don’t want her buying sperm online, do you?”
“Well, we need to get rid of that before they start trying for a baby.” My mom is insistent.
“Don’t you see how close it is to his junk!” Gran shouts. “Does no one prioritize grandbabies?”
“Oww,”Graham groans as I help him collapse on the bed later that evening. “Your mom wasn’t kidding about that tattoo removal.”
“She threatened when we were kids that if we ever got a tattoo, she was going to heat up a fork and burn it off, so you got lucky.” I run my hands down his bare chest.
There’s gauze over the spot, right at the V of muscle down to his stomach. I fold his pants—which I’ve taken off—and drape them over the chair in the master suite. While I’m over by the wet bar, I pour him a shot of vodka, and he downs it.
“Gran also gave me Vicodin.”
“I’d rather have something else.” He pulls me in for a kiss.
“You’re injured!” I gasp as he makes me straddle him.
He grabs the bottle and takes a big slug.
“There,” he rasps. “All better.”
His kiss burns for a moment then mellows out, and I sink into the feel of his arms around me.
“I want to ask you to marry me,” he murmurs, his hand sliding up my skirt. “But I think your mom would be upset if I proposed to you like this.”
“She wants nice photos to post in the building’s monthly newsletter.”
“So a picture of you with a diamond ring on your finger isn’t going to do it?”
My dress is up to my waist, and his fingers are in my panties, stroking me. I grind against him, trying not to do it too hard. I don’t want to hurt him.
