Page 3 of Spring Break Fling

“Never too late,” Tara said. “Come on, matching tattoos! It’ll be fun.”

Out of the four of us, Tara was the wild child. She was the one dragging us out of our ruts and taking us on adventures. Tara loved to push the limits. If there was a line in the sand, she was going to be the one to inch her toes across—just to see what happened. She was either going to live forever because she never grew up or die young in some freak, adrenaline-fueled accident.

Rachel squinted at the parlor. “It does look kind of cool. And isn’t this trip all about doing the stuff we missed out on in college?”

“No,” I said firmly. “It’s about relaxing and recharging. I’m not getting a tattoo. Especially not in a place that looks like hygiene is optional.”

“Why not?” Tara demanded. “It’ll be fun. You don’t have to get a skull on your face. Give me one good reason.”

“Because it’s permanent?” I said. “And I don’t want to explain to future clients why I have a flaming skull on my wrist. Or arm. Or any other body part. It could get infected. If we get tattoos we can’t swim in the hotel pool. I’m too indecisive to pick one I won’t hate by Christmas. Should I keep going?”

“It doesn’t have to be a skull,” Maddie muttered. “We could get something cute. Like a tiny heart or a star.”

“Boring,” Tara said.

“And still not happening,” I added.

“We could get it somewhere people wouldn’t see,” Rachel suggested.

I turned to look at her, surprised she was even considering it. She was more uptight than I was. “Rachel!”

She shrugged. “You know, something small. Something personal that only we know about. It could be a reminder of this trip, something positive.”

Tara’s enthusiasm seemed to spark a little fire in Rachel and even Maddie looked less hesitant. I took a deep breath, pondering the idea. A tiny, secret tattoo wasn’t the worst thing I could come home with from Miami.

“I can’t do it,” I said. “But I’ll watch you guys get one.”

I felt like that was a fair compromise. I wasn’t the keeper of their bodies. If they wanted to stain their skin with bad ink, that was their business.

“You’re such a buzzkill,” Tara said, crossing her arms. “You’re supposed to be our fearless leader.”

“Fearless, yes. Stupid, no,” I replied. “If you guys want tattoos, go ahead. I’ll cheer you on.”

“We’re not doing it without you,” Rachel said. “It’s a group thing.”

“All of us or none of us,” Maddie said.

“Then I guess no one’s getting inked,” I said, relieved.

The tattoo debate fizzled out. I felt bad for killing the vibe, but I wasn’t a fan of needles. I really didn’t care for the tattooed look. And I couldn’t imagine putting anything on my body that I would have to see for the rest of my days. Maybe it was a fear of commitment. I didn’t know and I didn’t care.

We made our way back to the hotel. By the time we got to our room, the sun was finally relenting and giving way to the moon. We ordered room service—a spread of overpriced appetizers—and cracked open the mini bottles from the fridge.

“Can you believe we’re about to party in Miami?” Maddie asked with a big smile. “I remember when I was in college, I so wanted to be one of the cool kids and go to Miami for Spring Break. Hell, I would have gone anywhere for Spring Break.”

We did our makeup for the night ahead. All of us were putting it on a little heavier than usual. Even I felt like I could be someone else here. No one knew who I was. We could all be free.

Tara danced around in a sparkly dress that barely qualified as clothing, while Maddie and Rachel argued over which heels looked better with their outfits. I, of course, had gone for something sensible but flattering: a little black dress that hugged my curves without making me feel like a sausage.

That was always a fine line to walk. I had a Kardashian butt, only mine was all natural. No amount of dieting and exercise got rid of my ass. If anything, it just made it perkier. I was proud of my small waist, but I couldn’t help but feel a little disproportionate. Big boobs, an itty-bitty waist, and thighs that made it difficult to find the right pair of jeans.

“Tonight’s the night, Hannah,” Tara said, plopping onto the bed.

“For what?” I asked, dabbing on lipstick.

“For you to find a man.”

I groaned. “Not this again.”