“Don’t you want to go?”
She sighed. “Oh I don’t know…”
“I think it will be good for us.” Doc’s hand moved over his wife’s lower back, massaging.
She poked her head out, opening one eye. “Do you?”
“We need a vacation.” He smiled, sliding his hand over the curve of her behind. “Maybe we can recharge our batteries.”
“Are yours so weak?” she teased.
“Let’s find out.” He slipped his hand between her legs, seeking heat.
She scissored her legs closed, groaning. “Oh god, no, I can’t even think about it. My head is swimming.”
Doc chuckled. “You can thank the tequila.”
“I’m going to stay in bed all day.” She grabbed for the comforter, curling onto her side and settling in.
“Can’t,” Doc said regretfully. “We promised Wilson we would go get a tattoo with him today, remember?”
“Today!” She covered her eyes with her hand, shaking her head, which was a mistake, because her brain rattled around inside her skull, sending sharp pains down her neck.
He laughed, getting out of bed. “Well I didn’t know you were going to be hung over, or I’d have rescheduled.”
“Oh god, Doc, I can’t possibly.” She peeked out at him, pleading.
“I’ll make you my hangover special.” He sat next to her on the edge and kissed her cheek.
“It will make me puke.”
“Yep.” He grinned. “You’ll either puke or be cured. Either way, you’ll feel better.”
* * * *
“Chicken.” Doc poked Carrie in the ribs but she shook her head stubbornly, crossing her arms and watching as Wilson’s left bicep bloomed with blood and ink. The image was taking form, a serpent wrapping around his arm, over his shoulder, and across his back. He’d had work done on it before and this was the final visit.
“So I changed my mind. It’s a woman’s prerogative, isn’t it?”
She sat on one of the stools, too tired to keep standing. Her head had finally cleared, after Doc made her drink a horrible concoction-whiskey, coffee, Tabasco sauce, a raw egg and cracked pepper, mixed in a glass of orange juice-and as she’d predicted, she had thrown it up. But then she’d felt a little better, especially after four Advil and about a gallon of water. But she still had that residual kind of haze in her head, like it was wrapped in gauze.
“You said you were gonna get my name tattooed over your heart.” Doc poked her again, this time in the chest, and Carrie stuck her tongue out at him.
“A tattoo is forever,” Wilson reminded them, smiling at their banter.
“Which is why it’s not such a good idea to get anyone’s name tattooed anywhere.” The tattoo artist had clearly gone against his own advice-he had three names in a connecting heart on his forearm. But he explained that away almost immediately. “Unless it’s your kids, of course.” He pointed to his arm. “Three girls.”
“Well I know I’ll be yours forever.” Doc wrapped his arms around Carrie’s waist and kissed her cheek. “I have no qualms about getting your name tattooed on my body.”
“You could get it tattooed on your dick,” Wilson joked. “Then no one would ever see it but Carrie. In theory, anyway.”
Her eyes widened as she glanced back at her husband. “I’d better be the only one to see it!”
“I’ve done cock tattoos,” the tattoo artist said, smiling up at her. His name was Brad and he was far more tattooed than Wilson, tendrils of black tribal marks snaking up his neck under his black t-shirt. At least you couldn’t see Wilson’s when he had street clothes on.
Carrie stared at him, a little shocked. “But… don’t they have to… you know… have an erection…?”
“At the beginning, yeah.” Brad winked at her, rubbing his chin with the back of his gloved hand. “We put a stencil on when it’s erect and then we can stretch the skin after that. Although the closer we get to the head of the cock, the more likely a guy is to stay hard.”
She blinked at him, his meaning finally dawning on her. “It feels… good?”
“Yeah.” Wilson nodded, agreeing. “It hurts soooo good.”
“You’re kidding me.” Carrie turned to him, her mouth agape.
Doc laughed. “You’ve got a tattoo on your dick?”
“What is it of?” Carrie couldn’t help asking.
“You wanna see?” Wilson reached for his belt buckle.
“Whoa there!” Doc punched him lightly on the shoulder. “We just crossed the line into too much information.”
Wilson settled back in his chair and Brad went back to work, but Carrie couldn’t help sneaking glances down at the zipper on his jeans, far too curious for her own good.
“So what are you gonna get, Doc?” Wilson looked back over his shoulder at the job the tattoo artist was doing.
“I don’t know for sure.” Doc shrugged, glancing at her. “I was thinking about-”
Carrie made a face when his beeper went off. That was never a good thing, never.
Doc swore, checking the number. He looked at her regretfully. “Babe…”
She sighed. “When is the emergency rotation over again?”
“After Christmas.”
“You should be on-call like I am for the OB rotation.” Wilson rolled his eyes. “It’s actually worse. I spent seventy-two hours at the hospital last week, and I think I slept about three of those.”
Doc nodded. “That’s next semester.”
“Great,” Carrie remarked sarcastically. “Something to look forward to.”
Doc was already pulling on his coat. “Hey, can you take Carrie home for me?”
“Sure,” his friend agreed. “No problem.”
“How long will you be?” Carrie put her arms around her husband for a kiss.
He gave her what she was looking for, far too briefly. “I’ll call you.”
She pouted. “We were supposed to have dinner.”
“You can still have Mexican delivered. Save some for me.” He kissed her again and then let her go. When he got to the door, he turned back and called out, as if just remembering, “And hey-no showing off cock tattoos.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Maybe I’ll get a vulva tattoo.”
“No you won’t.” He laughed. “Chicken.”
“Call me!” She waved as he pushed the door open.
“I will.” The bell tinkled as the door closed behind him.
Carrie sighed and took a seat next to the tattoo artist, watching his progress. They were the only ones in the shop.
Wilson saw the look on her face and nudged her with the tip of his combat boots. “Well, Tonto, I guess it’s just you and me.”
She smiled wanly. “Heigh-ho, Silver.”
They hadn’t spent much time together without Doc, so it was a little awkward at first, but by the time his tattoo was finished and Brad was greasing it up with Vaseline, they were talking everything from tattoos to their favorite television shows and laughing like old friends. She was surprised how easy he was to talk to.
“Are you suuuuure you don’t want to get a tattoo?” Wilson nudged her as he pulled out his wallet to pay for his new body art. “Last chance. You could get a lower back tattoo. Doc would love it.”
“Nope.” Carrie shook her head, adamant. “Not me. If they could do it without needles, I’d be all in, but I’m not into that pain thing.”
“You can do a temporary, see what it looks like. Just try it out.” Brad reached under the counter, pulling out a stack of temporary tattoos. “Look through, see if you find anything you like.”
Carrie frowned, pawing through them. “How do they go on?”
“Just warm water and a washcloth,” Wilson reassured her.
“No needles,” Brad agreed. “That one would look hot on your lower back.
It was a Celtic knot design, twisty and winding and sexy. She imagined Doc’s reaction when she showed it to him-pretending, of course, that it was real, that she’d been brave enough to go through with it. It would be a fantastic joke.
“Okay, I’ll do it. How much?”
“For you?” Brad glanced at Wilson and smirked. “Free. Come here.”
Brad came around behind the counter and led her to the back, Wilson following behind. He wet a washcloth with hot water, instructing Carrie to lie down on what looked like a massage table.