“Buyer’s remorse?” he hedges. “Did you get it when you were drunk or something?”
A small smile breaks through on his end, only leavingmeto scowl—albeit halfheartedly. “Why do you keep assuming the worst?”
And now he’s grinning like a fiend. “Consensus bias.”
“Is that so?” I look him over again, scanning for the potentially damning trace of ink on his skin. With the suit, I can only appraise his hands, wrists, neck, and face—all of which are tattoo-free. Well, mostly. There’s a hint of ink on the bottom of his right wrist, but most of the design is concealed beneath the fabric of his sleeve. Though the rest of the design is concealed, I can still read the quote, “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
Tattooing Edgar Allan Poe to your skin doesn’t exactly strike me as a drunken decision, so I safely assume he’s referring to another design.
“Is it embarrassing?”
He merely smiles.
“Oh, come on. Spill. What did your drunken escapade get you? A purple unicorn? Hello Kitty?Spongebob?”
Michael bursts out laughing. “Thankfully, no.”
“Where is it?”
“Shoulder blade.”
“Can I see it?”
He eyes me, his grin ticking up a notch. “You just want to get me out of my clothes, don’t you?”
CHAPTER 3
EGO
PRESENT
“What’sthe weirdest dream you’ve had recently?” Michael prompts.
“Oh, that’s easy. There was an alien invasion at my college campus because they needed ‘resources,’ but they wound up just stealing paperclips and sex dolls.”
Michael damn near chokes on a swig of beer as he starts to laugh. Even amid his coughing, the question is scrawled all over his face.
I just shrug. “I’d been drinking at a fraternity that night, so I blame the booze.”
Despite my attempts to see Michael’s tattoo, he has yet to remove his shirt, but I’m hardly complaining. Since neither of us wants to discuss our families or risk going back inside, we’ve decided to play a round of Twenty Questions to kill some time. Though, we passed twenty questions about, oh, say,eightyquestions ago. Since the tequila bottle Michael pilfered would leave us both shitfaced, he snuck back inside just long enough to grab a couple beers instead. We’re taking our time drinking them, but my bottle is undoubtedly light, and the sun is starting to disappear behind the line of trees at the top of the riverbank.
We also found an excellent use for Michael’s suit jacket, as it is now propped beneath my head, doubling as a very comfortable makeshift pillow. My blood alcohol level isn’t even high enough to leave me buzzed, and yet, I find myself more relaxed than I’ve felt since arriving in town. So much so that I’m lying across the stone bench in the alcove, my legs draped over Michael’s lap as he sits at the other end. It may not seem like a big deal, but there’s something a little too intimate about it that I usually wouldn’t go for. Thankfully, the shrew is on vacation in Dullardsville, leaving me to relish in the sensation of calloused hands brushing my calves every so often. And my god, it feels so good to just laugh, to just be here and sit and not worry.
“Who’s your favorite literary character?” I ask. Yes, I know the topic isn’t exactly tantalizing, but given his tattoo, it’s still a solid question. Not to mention, I don’t trust my loosening lips enough to think on the matter. Asking what his favorite sex position is doesn’t sound appropriate.
“Edmond Dantès.”
I find myself grinning, because he can’t be serious. Or rather, he can’t bereal. Not only isThe Count of Monte Cristoone of my favorite books, but I haven’t met anyone who’s actually read the novel rather than the cliff notes. “A man of justice and revenge, I see. I can appreciate that.”
“Consensus bias?” Michael teases.
“More like wish fulfillment. Even if Icouldplan such a scheme, I lack the necessary followthrough.”
Michael smirks, the tip of his lips all too mischievous. “Are you in need of avenging?”
“That I am, but my enemies aren’t the kinds of people you want to mess with,” I admit, though I try to inset some brevity to my voice. “All I can hope is that God really will give me justice, because if He does, there’s a few stray lightning bolts with certain names of them.”
I shake my head, as if I can brush off the conversation. It’s the last place I want my mind venturing, especially as my gaze involuntarily shifts northward up the river. “Best kiss?”
