Page 205 of Lilah
I'll just have to tell him until he believes it.
"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you," I press kisses on the side of his head after each 'I love you.'
Bear jumps up on the bed and sticks his nose between Grey and me, his tail wagging wildly.
"And Bear loves you too," I kiss Bear's fluffy head.
"Right here Bear," I point to Grey's cheek and Bear licks his cheek. I allow my eyes to travel along the tattoos on his arm.
"How old were you when you got your first tattoo?" I tilt my head. He's gonna get to talking today, whether he likes it or not.
"Sixteen."
"Don't you need permission to get one underage?"
I was a little serious about getting that one butterfly tattoo, sue me.
"I told the guy if he didn't tattoo me then I'd knock him out and tattoo a fucking dick on his forehead," he mumbles seriously.
"And the guy believed that a sixteen-year-old would actually do that?" I laugh.
"I was already a head taller than him. And I was piss-drunk and it was unpredictable what I would actually do," he shrugs.
"I have a similar story," I nod.
"One time, I drank too much Capri-Sun at one of Jakes' friend's house and then Jake's friend's sister pushed me in the pool. I got cramps from drinking too much and I can't swim. I almost died," I reminisce on that...lovely day.
Jake's friend's sister hated me with all her might and so she pushed me in the pool, wearing my clothes and all. Jake gave her quite the speech after he basically saved my life. And then we left and got ice cream.
Actually, now that I think about it, our stories have zero similarities.
"What's Capri-Sun?" he questions and my eyebrows shoot up.
"It's like a fruit punch pouch," I throw my head back before realizing hedoesn't know what that is.
"You've never had Capri-Sun?" I gasp.
"I don't drink fruity alcohol," his upper lip curls in distaste.
"It's..it's a kids drink. Not alcohol," I explain.
~~~
"Do you understand how bad this is?" I drag him through the Target entrance, gripping onto his wrist over the sleeve of his gray long-sleeve shirt that hugs his arms very nice.
Target is the best.
He shoves my hand away and I almost give him a few words about it until he places his hand in mine, instead of me holding his wrist.
A lady turns and looks at us as we walk in. Not hardly as second later, she turns back around quicker than ever.
"Is my cheek still that bad?" I tilt my head up to him. He takes his narrowed eyes away from the lady and looks down at me.
I run my finger over the cut that still lies there. It's nothing compared to what it was and it's definitely smaller now. Makeup wouldn't cover the actual cut so there's no point in trying to hide it or anything.
"Yes," he mumbles, I hold my heart and am about to gasp.
"I meant no," he tugs me closer to him when some random fifty-year-old dude wearing a trucker hat gives me a little smile.
