Even though Cali had been a bitch about wanting to talk to the guys, she seemed to be enjoying their company. Walker and Mitch told story after story about drunken nights Cali and I couldn’t remember due to black outs. Mitch started in on one evening that was especially excruciatingly embarrassing for me, and I almost died from blushing and laughing at myself so hard.
Randy was out of town at some Army training session with Walker. Since I would most likely be bored in their absence, Mitch took Cali and I out with some of their other fraternity brothers. We took shot after shot, alternating with beers and mixed drinks while we line danced the night away. I barely remembered even getting to the bar, let alone boot stomping around the joint, but apparently Cali and I were the talk of The Saloon.
By the end of the night, I needed Mitch’s arms around me to stand up straight. Luckily, this was while Cali and I were roommates, and Mitch drove us home. Having to carry me into the house, Mitch tried to help me into bed. Before he could lay me down, I puked all over the both of us. Trying to be respectful, he carried me to the bathroom, turned the shower on and giving me five minutes, if I wasn’t out, he was going to have to come to my rescue.
Mitch changed into some of Randy’s clothes from my room and waited ten minutes. When I didn’t respond to his knocking, he opened the door, finding me passed out naked in the bottom of the shower with scolding water turning my skin pink. Apparently, Mitch stripped down to his boxers, showered the puke off of me and put me into bed.
The next morning I woke up not remembering a thing. Needless to say, it was one of those drunken college nights that mortified me, and my friends loved to tell the story over and over. Even years later, my cheeks flushed bright red. Luckily, the sun had already started turning me a little pink, so no one seemed to notice my embarrassment.
We sat, talking and drinking for a few more hours. It was like old times again. For a short time, the emptiness seemed to subside. By late afternoon, our skin had become angry at our drunken, sun baked Saturday. Our server trotted over to us with our seventh bucket of Coronas, informing us that it was shift change and she was about to be sent home. Taking it as a sign, we asked her for our check so she could close out her report, not wanting her to have to stick around just for us.
Ripping the check out of her hand before anyone else could grab it, I passed my card to our pleased server without even opening the book. Everyone sighed and started badgering me for always doing that. It was true, I hated other people paying for me and I loved being generous, especially with some drinks in me. I snickered at their frustration, wondering what we were going to do next; I was not ready to crash back into my melancholy reality just yet.
“Well, Mitch and I were thinking about going to get another tattoo. Want to tag along?” Walker fiddled with his keys, avoiding Mitch’s narrowed eyes, knowing he hated having an audience when he was getting inked. Walker on the other hand, loved company no matter what he was doing, and it was kind of tradition that I was with him every time he got a new tat since we had become friends.
I beamed at him in my drunkenness; I was elated to go on any type of adventure. “Yeah, for sure,” my emotion oozed through my words. “Want to go Cali?”
She stretched extravagantly and yawned. “It’s Kyle’s only night off this week. I think I better head home.” I could see all of the missed calls and texts that she had been ignoring from her husband, and couldn’t believe he put up with her ignoring him like that all day.
I frowned at her, not wanting our amazing day to end, and then wrapped her into a hug whispering, “Thanks for today. I really needed it.”
Cali squeezed back, telling me that it’s what best friends are for, and then said goodbye to the guys, too. We had parked a few blocks south of the bar and Cali decided to walk along the beach alone, refusing Walker’s offer to drive her. She claimed she needed the exercise, laughing a little. I didn’t question her further; Cali liked to do things for herself and when her mind was set on something there was no changing it. I wrapped my arms around her neck one more time and she set off for the beach.
7
Walker, Mitch and I finished the rest of the beers, then gathered our things and started to head out on our escapade. Walking to the parking lot, Walker put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side.
He bent down, walking awkwardly as he rested his chin on my head. His voice was low and husky, making sure Mitch couldn’t hear from his three pace lead, the southern drawl more apparent in his beer drenched slurs. “Thanks for coming. I’m going to need your opinion on what to get. It’s always better when you’re there.”
He lightly pecked the top of my head and I playfully shoved my shoulder into him. His grip tightened, making sure to not let me get too far from his side. “I love going with you guys. It’s always entertaining watching grown men cry like little girls from the slightest hint of pain.” I was teasing him. Never having gotten a tattoo myself, I imagined they were extremely painful. “Maybe I’ll get one too.” The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them. I had always wanted one, but was very apprehensive about it. Not to mention, my pain tolerance was next to nothing.
Mitch stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around with a sly, mischievous expression spreading wildly on his face, ducking down to look me dead in the eye, his words came out as almost a challenge. “There is no way in hell I will believe that until I see it!” Mitch had not shaved for a few days and his prickly jaw line made him look rugged, almost sexy.
A playful smirk danced across my lips as I crossed my arms very matter-of-factly in response to his tone. Before even realizing what was exiting my lips, I was placing a bet with Mitch that if I went through with it, he’d pay for my first tattoo. Not wanting to be left out, and probably not wanting Mitch to have to pay for the whole thing either, Walker agreed to split the cost of it. And now, the pressure was on, and I realized quickly there was no turning back.
Luckily, I had a little bit of beer induced courage pulsing through me, so my instinct to run faded fast. I shrugged off the guys’ relentless teasing. “How bad could it really be? Both you two wimps are covered!”
Once we reached the tattoo shop, nerves were swimming around with the alcohol, causing my stomach to do backflips. I clung to Walker’s arm with both hands in a death grip as he led us into the shop. Every inch of the walls were covered with some type of artwork or tattoo example. The artists’ portfolios sat on a coffee table in the sitting area to the left of the entryway, along with a cracking black leather couch and a few gray folding chairs.
Two large overly pierced and tattooed women, who looked to be in their forties, wearing black leather from head to toe, were sipping out of beer bottles. They didn’t even seem to notice our entrance, never looking up from flipping through the binders. From a distance I heard the smaller of the two, in a deep, hormone induced tone say, “Nah, Kitten, get the skull on fire on your back, and I’ll get something that matches.” My attention was quickly diverted from my eavesdropping by Walker’s arm flexing in my grip to shake someone’s hand. Ugh, his muscles are amazing.