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“You think I’d trick you?” she asked, pointing at herself and making a mock innocent face.
“I should do it just so you’ll feel guilty about it later. I’m not above a pity fuck.”
“Call Frankie,” she said casually. Like she was positive it was all one big joke, and I’d never follow through. “Make the appointment. She’s booked out for years, but I bet she’ll fit you in for an ass tattoo in one hot minute.”
“It would be a funny episode for the show,” I mused. I stopped, took out my phone, and called her.
That was when Ro started to look at me like she wasn’t quite sure if I was joking anymore. A bit ruffled.
I would have kept going just for that.
Frankie answered, and I told her the plan.
She was beyond excited.
“Have you been drinking?” she asked suspiciously.
“I’m dead sober. Can you fit me in right this second?”
“Are you serious? The camera crew is here. It’s not convenient, but your name recognition and what you’re asking for will be impossible for my producers to turn down, so I’ll make it work if you’re serious, which I’m pretty sure you’re not.” She paused. “You’re just messing with Ro, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes. But I’m still going to do it.”
A small hand took the phone away from me. “He’s just messing with me,” Ro said into the phone tonelessly. “Sorry, he’s got issues. Yeah. See you later.”
She hung up and gave me a look that made me feel genuinely bad although I wasn’t even sure what I was supposed to be feeling bad for, exactly. “You were going to do it.” It was an accusation.
“Well, yeah. I said I was.”
“You don’t even have that many tattoos, and you were going to put my name on your ass permanently.”
I smirked. When she put it that way it was even funnier. “So?”
“So, how are you okay with that? Why is there nothing on this earth that you take seriously? How can you not mind wearing around a permanent reminder of a joke you pushed too far?
“I don’t really know. I just didn’t. I didn’t mind at all. I like jokes and reminders of jokes. I thought it was hilarious and kind of a cute idea.
She was genuinely upset. “Let’s go home,” she said shortly.
She started walking and I followed her.
“How are you not covered in tattoos?” she muttered.
“I don’t like many people enough to mark my ass with their name. No one but you, if I’m honest.”
“Just stop.” She was very upset. I hadn’t seen her like this before, wasn’t sure what to do with it. “There has to be a limit to all bullshit, even yours.”
“I can’t decide if you’re over or underestimating me there, but I meant what I said.”
She didn’t say another word for the entire trip home.
It was a herculean effort on my part, but I kept silent as well. Everything that came out of my mouth just seemed to be pissing her off since the tattoo idea, and I didn’t want to completely blow all of my chances for the night ahead.
I parked my car in front of my house and looked at her until she returned my stare. “Are we good? Are you still mad at me?”
It took her a long time to answer, and when she did it was like she’d been holding in a floodgate. “You need to be able to take something seriously, to hold something sacred, to care about something. Don’t you see you’ve got to care about something? Otherwise how can anyone ever trust or believe in you?”
I was undeniably dense about things like this, but even I was starting to see that this was about more than the tattoo.
