Page 92 of All Our Nevers

He lets out a single, short laugh. “Only you would comfort someone with a threat.”

“I’m serious. I think you’re one of the best people I know.” I trace the contours of his face with my fingertips—his eyebrows, the curve of his nose, the part between his lips—as I say, “You’re smart, you’re compassionate, and empathetic, and persistent. And you’re kind. Despite being a huge bitch just like me.”

A huff of air escapes his lips.

“And you hide all of it. You don’t want people to know how much you care and how much you’re doing for them, and I don’t understand why. Because every new part of you I see makes me—” I hesitate, then say, “—makes me care about you even more. And I’m a hard judge of character.”

One edge of his lips considers a smile. “That you are.”

“So this?” I rest my palm over the snake tattoo on his collarbone. “Keep it as a reminder of what you’ve been through—fine. You can even keep it as a reminder of the type of man you don’t want to be. But if I ever hear you say that being like him is in your nature again, I’m gonna cut off your balls and put them in a pickle jar. Vinegar and all. You understand me?”

Owen’s hands caress my bare hips as he says, “I think you should’ve been a nurse. Your bedside manner is incredible.”

“I’ll show you bedside manner,” I say, shoving him backwards and rolling us over until we’re completely tangled in the sheets and each other again.

When we finally make our way back under the covers, I guide the conversation to where it started.

“So did we cover all of them? Your tattoos, I mean.”

He glances down at his torso. “I think so.”

“No tattoos for any exes, huh?”

He shakes his head with a half-smile. “I’m not that stupid.”

I shrug. “It might be stupid, but it’s romantic. You really don’t have any?”

“No,” he says, tracing a soft path across my shoulder, up my neck, coming to rest on the side of my face. “If I get a tattoo for a woman, it will be because I’m never letting her go.”

22

Lia

The SALON is now open for business.” Sophie sits at the head of the table with the composure of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.

I knew this reaction was inevitable. There was no way my friends would keep their cool once they found out. This is NASA, after all. I mean… this is the SALON.

So here we are, having an official, sit-down “family meeting” in the back corner of Hopewell Bar & Kitchen on Comm. Ave., not permitted to touch our beers until Sophie’s questions have been sufficiently answered.

“Owen Walsh, Lia Mercado, we have called you here today for a formal hearing about the status of your relationship. Oh shoot…” Sophie starts riffling through her purse. “I meant to bring something to use as a gavel. Rats. Okay just imagine I have a gavel and I’m hitting it on the table right now. Oh, maybe a spoon? Andy, is there a spoon in the—”

“This is absurd.” I try to stand, but Nolan catches my shoulder and shoves me back into the chair. I stomp on his foot under the table. Then he shoves me because he’s a dickwad, so I shove him too, and by then Andy has stood up and pushed his way between us.

“Stop it, assholes. Just sit like adults.”

“Okay, forget the spoon,” Sophie continues. “As I was saying, we’ve convened here today to discuss your intentions for this relationship, and how it will affect the group as a whole.”

“You know, I used to consider us friends,” I say to Sophie.

“Yeah, is this really necessary?” Owen asks. “We’re not even in a relationship. We’re just fooling around.”

“And we’re not the two of you,” I add. “We promise not to get engaged before date three.”

“Lia, don’t you start with me,” Sophie says. “Not a year ago you were screaming at me and Andy just for kissing each other. And it sounds like you two—” She waves a finger between us. “—have been doing a lot more than kissing.”

“Owen.” Nolan’s face is deadly serious as looks across the table. “What are your current intentions with my little sister?”

I roll my eyes to the ceiling, muttering, “Christ deliver me.”