Page 80 of Happy Hour

Emma pointed south. “The one on your ass that says: Property of Riley,”

Yes, she used air quotes.

I groaned loudly. “Not again!”

How was I ever going to explain “crooked lips” and “Property of Riley” to someone if I didn’t end up with Jameson?

All the more reason to marry him.

Emma giggled and turned around to busy herself with a bottle of water.

I burst into laughter, and not just “ha ha” that’s funny, like piss yourself laughter. I barely had enough control over myself to speak at the sight of the back of her neck.

“What,” Emma asked hysterically. “What are you laughing at?”

Words couldn’t be formed. I just pointed to the back of her neck and fell back on the bed in a fit of uproarious laughter. I don’t think I’d laughed that hard since the time Jameson and I branded those cows back in high school and mistakenly branded Spencer as well.

My legs automatically crossed over to prevent such a thing.

Concerned, and for good reason, Emma ran around the room screaming searching for a mirror. Once she found one in the bathroom, I forgot all about my sore ass and laughed to the point that I actually had to squeeze my legs together to keep from peeing.

“OH MY GOD!” she screeched. “My dad is going to kill me!”

I threw my arms behind my head. “Nice tattoo, Emma.”

She ran out of the bathroom and jumped beside me, shaking the entire bed.

“Sway, what am I going to do?” she stared at me wide-eyed. “Maybe it’s a press on?” she considered and then proceeded to try to wipe it off. “Holy mother...” she winced, her eyes wider, if that was even possible. “That isnota press on.”

“I could have told you that.” I mumbled from under my pillow.

“At least yours is on your ass.” She kicked me. “How am I going to cover this up? I should have never cut my hair shorter the other day.”

“It’s not that bad.” I offered up. “Just get extensions put in your hair. Or wear turtlenecks.”

“It’s not that bad,” she repeated incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I shook my head under the pillow throwing my arms up in the air dramatically. I really just wanted to go back to sleep.

Emma ripped the pillow away glaring at me. “The back of my neck says: If you’re close enough to read this, you better be pullin’ my hair and spankin’ my ass!” her eyes bugged out. “Itisthat bad, Sway!” And yes, again she used air quotes. “It’s like some...horrible license plate frame saying you’d get from Trash R Us.”

“I think it’s funny.” I giggled once.

“You would.” She snarled.

I sat up in bed and punched her tiny shoulder. “That was uncalled for, take it back.”

She burst into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m just...” she wailed louder. “I th-th-thought y-y-you h-h-had to be s-s-sober to get a t-t-tattoo?” she hiccupped. “Don’t you?”

“Most places,” I sighed. “But honey, what did you really expect from a tattoo parlor next to a bar?”

Rubbing her back softly, my poor little pixie Emma just cried louder crumbled in my lap.

At least her tattoo was nice writing, it was a pretty elegant script, not tacky like you’d think it would be by the phrase she inadvertently chose.

“Wake up you intoxicated whores!” Alley shouted as loud as possible, deliberately and then slammed the door behind her.

Both Emma and I groaned covering our ears.

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