Page 90 of All Your Dreams

Eventually she clears her throat, and I can hear the smile sneak back into her voice. “Any stupid tattoos you regret?”

“Oh, absolutely,” I say with a chuckle. “Most of them are covered by the back piece now, but there are a few survivors. I don’t think you’re ready.”

“Try me.”

Peyton shifts off me as I roll onto my back. She props herself up beside me, the sheet wrapped around her, her hair an absolute mess. She looks like every good decision I’ve ever made.

“There’s one on my inner thigh. Jax and I made a bet when we were twenty-two.”

Her eyes light up. “This already sounds promising. Show me.”

“No.”

“Ollie,” she protests.

“It’s humiliating.”

Peyton raises an expectant eyebrow. “Now you legally have to show me.”

“I don't think that's how the law works.”

“It absolutely is.”

I laugh hard enough that she grins triumphantly. One minute she’s touching the ugliest years of my life with tenderness, the next she’s threatening me with fake legal prowess. I don’t know how one person can make me feel exposed and completely safe at the same time, but Peyton does.

With a dramatic sigh, I push the sheet down enough to reveal the small tattoo on the inside of my left thigh. It’s a cartoonish raccoon wearing a cowboy hat. Underneath it, in crooked script, are the words: YEEHAW, TRASH BOY.

Peyton blinks. Then she folds in half laughing. It’s not a polite laugh. Not even a dignified one. Actual wheezing. She clutches my arm with one hand and presses the other over her mouth, her shoulders shaking so hard the mattress bounces beneath us.

“Oh my God,” she gasps between laughs. “How did I miss that one yesterday? He even has the tiniest little hat!”

I sigh dramatically. “You know, most people compliment the artwork before they bully it.”

She dissolves into another fit of laughter, and I find myself loving the sound of her being so completely free with me.

“So,” Peyton manages eventually, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, “what catastrophic sequence of events led to...him?”

I groan, thinking back to the night five years ago. “Jax bet me ten thousand dollars that I wouldn't let him choose my next tattoo.”

“And you said yes?”

“I was twenty-two and convinced I was impossible to embarrass. I also needed the cash.”

She makes a little circling motion with her hand. “Go on.”

“And he found a tattoo artist willing to work at two in the morning after we'd celebrated my promotion with too much tequila. I figured he'd pick something normal. Maybe a playing card or a dice. Some roses like he has.” I point toward the outlaw mammal. “Instead I woke up with Sheriff Dumpster the next morning.”

Peyton laughs so hard she has to lean against my shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she says, making absolutely no effort to sound sorry. “This might be my favorite tattoo on your body.”

“I hate that.”

“No, you don't.”

“...I hate how much you love it. Better?”

She wipes beneath her eyes again, still giggling. “I love it so much.”

I point a warning finger at her. “You are never telling anyone.”