Page 117 of Infatuation

He shrugs. “Meh, there’s no such thing as forever. Skin’s just temporary—we’re all gonna die, right? Sooner or later, maybe sooner. And, yeah, it was totally worth it—in fact, it turned out to be a very good thing.”

“How could a ‘YOLO’ tattoo on your ass possibly turn out to be a good thing?”

“Because it’s a constant reminder to me of something I don’t wanna forget.” He considers his words for a moment. “I was so fucking sure I was right about that damned quote—and I was dead fucking wrong. So I guess that stupid tattoo reminds me not to get toococky or comfortable in life—no matter how much I think my shit doesn’t stink, I could always be dead wrong.” All joviality in his demeanor is gone. He swigs his drink.

His face has turned dark. I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure how to respond.

“And, hey, either way, it’s a good story, right?” he adds. He’s obviously trying to lighten things up again. “So that’s always a win in my book.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s definitely a good story,” I agree. “And a very telling one, too.”

“Telling? In what way?”

“About you as a person.”

“Oh yeah? Pray tell—what does my YOLO ass-tattoo tell you about me as a person? Besides the fact that I’m a total dumbshit, of course.”

I chuckle. “It tells me plenty of stuff—some of it kind of deep.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Well, this ought to be good.”

I take a long sip of my drink, gathering my thoughts. “Well, okay, they’re notalldeep and profound things—some are kind of, you know, online-profile-ish.”

“Tell me all of it.”

“Okay. Well, you were in a fraternity, obviously.”

He nods.

“And you’re fun.”

“I am.”

“You’re a guy who’ll do frickin’ anything for a laugh.”

He makes a face like that’s patently obvious.

“You’re an extremely loyal friend.”

“I am. Extremely.”

“You’re a man of your word,” I continue. “That’s pretty deep and profound, I’d say.”

He nods decisively. “I am most definitely a man of my word.”

“Unless you’ve promised to give a girl your application to The Club after you kiss her.”

He rolls his eyes. “Patience, little terrorist. It’s coming. The review process is just a bit lengthier than you realized. Kiss, fuck, application, I told you—we’re still in the ‘fuck’ stage of the proceedings. What else?”

I make a stern face about the application, but he looks so adorably charming, I melt. “Well, you like to party—or at least you did back then.”

He holds up his drink, making it clear this observation is still accurate and I return the gesture. We clink our glasses and take giant swigs of our drinks.

“What else?” he asks.

“You like dumb comedies likeHappy Gilmore,” I reply.

He laughs. “Definitely.Oh shit.Pleasetell me you like dumb comedies. I should have mentioned that’s a bit of a deal-breaker with me. No movies with subtitles, please.”

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