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.”
