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“Oh no,” she whispers in panic. “I fucked up. Shit. Jake.”
I sit up to find her pointing at something on her forearm.
“I can’t see shit, Ozy,” I mumble. “I took my contacts out, what is it?”
She takes a step toward me, and I can’t help a gasp as I explode laughing. “What the fuck is this!”
Next to some of her other tattoos, she’s got a new tattoo of a miniature bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
Wait.
I get up quickly enough to make the room spin.
“Rose,” I growl as I look exactly where my arm has been stinging.
Unsurprisingly, I’ve got the exact same tattoo as her on my shoulder. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I shout.
Sam is the one that had gifted her a tattoo gun and ink for our birthday. He used to teach her when we lived at Bianco’s, and she decided to use us as her canvas yesterday.
We both turn to Chris as he walks out of the bathroom. He extends his arm in front of Rose, showing us the inside of his forearm. The same tattoo is inked onto his skin forever.
“Oh shit,” Ozy can’t help a laugh and she puts a hand in front of her mouth to try to calm herself down. She’s desperately trying to hide her smile.
“Rose, I’m going to end you.”
“You took advantage of us,” I add purely to get her into more trouble.
“Shut up,” she laughs. “I offered tattoos, you all jumped on the occasion. People pay good money for tattoos like that.”
“For what? Tattoos with wonky lines? This is so shit!”
“Iwasvery drunk,” she admits. “But I didn’t force anyone.”
“I need some food,” I complain.
We walk down to the kitchen, dragging our bodies like zombies through an apocalypse.
Luke is already in there with Ella. He’s nursing a cup of coffee at the kitchen island and Ella is making breakfast.
“You fucked up big time.” Chris insists. “You know I want to be a lawyer. These things are forever. Do you really see me defending someone in court with this stupid tattoo on my arm? It’s a bottle of Jack Daniel’s for god’s sake.”
“Are you really going to go to court with your forearms showing? What kind of harlot does that!”
“I’m not joking,” he chastises her. “What kind of unprofessionalism is that!”
“Would a bottle of Macallan have been more professional?”
I can barely hold my chuckle at her stupid joke. For a split second, Chris forgets how to act human as he growls at Ozy.
He pounces at her and wraps his arm around her throat from behind, pulling until her back is flushed against his chest.
“The valiant never taste of death but once,” he jokes, quoting his favorite play.
Ozy’s eyes light up with more mischief, ready to act out more of Julius Cesar but Ella cuts them off.
“Chris, sunny side up?”
He lets go of Ozy to move over to Ella. “Please, Sweets,” he replies.
