Page 160 of Defend Me

With a smile, I opened the door. “How’d you know?”

“I heard the door. Maybe I’ve been listening since I got home, hoping you’d change your mind.”

I stopped and stared at him. He was sitting on the bed in a pair of basketball shorts, casually working on the stick and poke tattoo of a moon on his thigh.

He smiled at me, then kept doing it. He really didn’t think this was an issue. It was. Plenty of people had done them in high school, but they weren’t entirely safe. The biggest issue waswhyhe did it.

“Stop,” I said.

“Hold on. I’m almost done.”

Marching up to him, I held my hand out. He looked at it, then at me, wearing a smirk.

“Wanna tattoo me, baby?”

Since he was holding the needle away from his leg now, I quickly swiped it. I turned around and kept walking until I reached the balcony.

“Hey,” he said, coming after me. “What are you doing?”

I threw it over the side as hard as I could. Sports weren’t really my thing, but I wasn’t going for a perfect pitch.

“What the fuck?” he shouted, putting his hands on the railing.

“I’m vetoing this.”

“That could kill someone.”

I put a hand over my mouth and looked down at the street. “Holy shit. Fuck. Do you think I just committed a murder? Oh my god.”

He cupped my face and gave me an exasperated look. “You’re a fucking maniac. What are you doing?”

Pushing away thoughts of accidentally giving someone a surprise lobotomy, I grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. I started opening drawers in the kitchen, but all I found were things for cooking.

“Don’t you have a junk drawer?” I asked.

“Excuse me? A what?”

“A junk drawer where you put all the random shit you don’t know what to do with. Pens, unknown cords, paperclips, rubber bands, super glue you bought fifteen years ago.”

“It sounds like you need an office.”

“Do you have a sharpie or not?”

He held up his hands in surrender, then went over to a cabinet against the wall. There was a drawer there, but it was organized and everything was easy to find. It violated all things holy.

“Dishonor on your cow,” I said as I snatched the marker. “Sit.”

He rolled his eyes but took a seat at the island. I pulled his shirt up, then trailed my fingers down his ribs. I held the sharpie cap in my mouth while I made a circle, then added eight spokes. For flair, I made it a little fancy and when it was done, it looked badass.

He tried to look, but I covered it with his shirt. “Come on.”

“I am so confused,” he groaned.

“Don’t look. Don’t argue. We’re going for a drive.”

*****

Brooks looked appalled as he stared at the sign. “I’m not getting a tattoo.”

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