Page 25 of Hang the Moon
Oh God. She shut her eyes. “Geez.”
“But,” he continued, “by not letting you borrow the movie, he’s letting you down. Something else he promised to never do. A paradox.”
“That’s so hokey.” She grinned. “Idolove that movie, though.”
“Up?”
She nodded. “Arguably my favorite Pixar film. Though,WALL-Eis a close second.”
His lips parted. “I think I’m in love.”
She laughed and—bad idea.Epicallybad idea. The pressure in her bladder grew harder to ignore. She breathed shallowly. “I’m guessing you likeUp, too?”
“Don’t tell Darcy, okay?” He reached for the bottom hem of his shirt and started to lift it, revealing his flat stomach with itsmanyridges. Chiseled. That was the word. Brendon’s body was chiseled.
Heat crept up her jaw. “What are you doing?”
More like, why the hell was he taking his clothes off? Not that she was complaining, per se, but still...
He grinned, hiking his shirt up under his armpits. “Yeah, you could sayUpis one of my favorites.”
On his chest, over his left pectoral, was a bright splash of color. Hundreds of vividly colored balloons were inked into his skin in shades of pink and green and red and blue, just as bright and cheerful as the gum wall they’d visited. Beneath the balloons was a tiny house floating beneath his flat nipple.
She bit her lip, clenching her fingers into fists so she wouldn’tdo something silly like reach out and trace the pigmented lines. “That’s adorable. Not to mention, really well done. I love it.”
He beamed at her and dropped his shirt, covering himself back up. “Thanks.”
“Why am I not supposed to tell Darcy?”
He shot her a look that screamedduh. “Darcehatestattoos. I mean, she’s fine with them on other people, but me? I’d never hear the end of it.”
She snickered. “You’re kidding.”
The look on his face said he wasn’t.
“Okay, let me tell you a little about your sister,” she said, grinning because this was juicy knowledge Darcy wouldhatehis knowing, but harmless. Brendon would get a kick out of it. “The summer we moved to Philadelphia for college, Darcy and I—I’m glad you’re sitting down—got matching tattoos.”
His jaw dropped. “You’re shitting me.”
She shook her head. No, but she was worried she was going to pee herself. “Nope, matchingbutterflytattoos.”
She bit her lip, smiling around it. That had been a good night.
“Were you guys drunk?” he asked, agog.
“No. Well, I wasn’t.” She didn’t need alcohol to make impulsive decisions. She made those just fine sober.
“Where? I’ve never seen—” His face scrunched in horror. “Forget I asked.”
“Where does every eighteen-year-old girl born in the late eighties or early nineties get a butterfly tattoo when three sheets to the wind?” She grinned. “Your sister is one hundred percent in possession of a secret tramp stamp.”
He grinned. “Oh, she’s going tohateit when she finds out that I know.”
“Which is why you aren’t going to tell her I told you,” she said sweetly, though her smile was a threat unto itself. “She’llmurderme.”
He dipped his chin. “Fair. I can keep a secret.” He cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “So, does this meanyoualso have a tattoo on your—”
Overhead, the speaker crackled to life once more. “Hi again. Sorry about the wait, folks. Nothing to worry about, but it does look like we’ve got a bit of an issue with our electrical system. The maintenance crew’s working to get the backup generator up and running. They’ve estimated that it shouldn’t take longer than fifteen minutes. We’re sorry about the inconvenience, so we’ll be refunding tickets once we get you all back down here safely.”
