“Nothing much. We’ve mostly been working on Ramona’s wedding, but everything’s been done for a few weeks, so now it’s just a matter of waiting.”
“What’s left to come?”
I ticked everything off on my fingers. “Dress fittings tomorrow. Bachelorette party in a few days. Then it’s time to get the lovebirds hitched.”
“You make it sound so easy.” She looked a little skeptical.
I chuckled. “Yep, and you’re next. But you were built for wedding planning. I bet you have spreadsheets out the wang. Color-coded. With, like, fourteen tabs.”
“At least I’m consistent enough to be predictable,” she said on a laugh. “So tell me about the bachelorette party.”
“Oh, that’s not fit for censored television. Let’s just say, there will be debauchery and plastic penis accoutrements.”
She wrinkled her nose.
I pointed at her. “You’re participating. No pussing out, dude.”
Annika dodged the implication and smiled. “Have a date for the wedding?”
I waved a hand. “Nah, I’ll just go stag.”
Her smile fell. “You don’t have anyone to bring? You always seem to have guys on your heel. Surely one of them looks good in a suit. Your taste in men is impeccable.”
“Thank you,” I said with a nod of my head, but I squirmed a little. “I dunno. Weddings are a big deal. Like, I’ll have pictures from this wedding on my fridge until I’ve got tennis balls on the feet of my walker. Plus, there’s love in the air at those things. I wouldn’t want to catch something.”
She laughed. “So you’re not seeing anyone?”
I shrugged, still feeling squirmy. “I’m always seeing someone,” I answered lightly.
“Who’s the current guy?”
That stupid smile crept onto my face again. “Oh, just a guy,” I lied, not wanting to talk about him on camera.
When things fell apart, I’d have to look back on any admissions without regrets. My stomach sank at the thought, but I put a lifejacket on that motherfucker, and it perked back up.
“Favorite thing about the guy?”
“His dick,” I said without hesitation, knowing she’d have to cut the whole segment.
She burst out laughing, which was especially funny for her — she was a self-contained creature. But when she let loose, it was like a unicorn galloping across a rainbow.
“Well, I hope you change your mind about inviting Mr. Dick Guy to the wedding.”
I laughed. “Oh my God. That’s going to be my new name for him. Mr. Richard Guy.”
“I’d love to meet the man who has you so into him that you won’t kiss and tell.” One of her brows was up, teasing me.
“Oh, come on. I don’t always kiss and tell.”
She gave me a look.
“Fine,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “I just want to keep this one to myself for a minute. Is that so wrong?”
“Not at all. I’m intrigued, that’s all.”
At that, I smiled. “You and me both.”
Operation: Penny Jar
The next afternoon, I walked down the sidewalk toward the tattoo parlor where Penny worked, the sun shining on my skin, the birds chirping in my ears, and the same smile plastered on my face that had been there for a week.
Operation: Penny Jar had been a success. So far at least.
I’d seen her every day since we ran into each other at the ice cream shop. She’d knocked me out then, and just when I’d thought it couldn’t get better with her, she’d proven me wrong.
I was right after all; Penny didn’t want complicated. So I didn’t complicate things. It wasn’t hard — being with her was so easy and so fun that there wasn’t a need to talk about more. Every second with her was perfect to the point of disbelief. A crush realized. A fantasy in physical form.
I’d shown her that I meant what I’d said, even if my heart betrayed it all. Because the pretense hung in the air between us — the pretense she’d asked for and I’d agreed to.
For her, this was temporary.
For me, it wasn’t.
Not that I was looking for a commitment. I wasn’t. But I knew I didn’t want it to end until we’d run our course. Thing was, I didn’t know how long the tracks were, and I had a feeling mine were longer than hers.
My plan was still in place: be so fucking awesome that I became essential, necessary to her. Of course, in doing that, I’d also found that she was indispensable to me.
Catch-22.
In any event, I was taking advantage of every second with her. Including today.
She’d surprised me when she’d offered to do my tattoo — it felt like a relationshippy thing to do. Personal. Intimate. She was going to mark me with ink that would stain my skin for my whole life. Of course, she’d marked hundreds of people, maybe even thousands over her career.
It was as small and impersonal as it was huge and meaningful. But I locked my focus on the end of the spectrum labeled Not a Big Deal just as I approached the parlor.