Page 37 of Dirty Ink

“Yeah,” Conor said, looking over to Rian for support, who looked back up at the ceiling when I caught him spying on me. “Yeah, it’s just that, you know, we hear things. Down here. When you’re with your, um, lady friends. Your Miss Last Nights.”

I nodded along, not understanding where this was going at all. The most unnerving part was when Conor blushed. Actually blushed. What the fuck was going on?

“We get that you’re into some kind of kinky stuff, you know?” Conor continued. “I mean, who isn’t?”

I beamed proudly at my drafting desk.

“And?” I said, chin raised.

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Rian finally joined in. “That bondage stuff. That rough sex stuff. We all like a little choking and such from time to time.”

Choking? Well, this took an interesting turn.

“Maybe we can hurry along to the point, boys,” I said.

Conor and Rian looked at each other. I could practically hear them silently shouting at one another, “You do it. No, you do it. No, you do it.”

“Rian, you say it,” I said with a bored sigh.

“Did you kill Miss Last Night during sex last night?” Rian finally blurted out.

I burst out laughing. My laughter died when I saw Conor and Rian’s concerned faces. It died when I noticed Aurnia peeking her head around the corner from the kitchen, eyeing me.

“Look, man,” Conor said. “You know we’re with you through thick and thin. We’re family. God knows you’ve been there for me through some tough times of my own, but really mate, if you fellas were having fun and the fun just went a little too far, you’ve got to tell us.”

The tattoo parlour was dead silent as I dragged my hand over my face.

“It’s just that we haven’t seen Miss Last Night come down and there’s underwear on the stairs so we know someone’s up there and there’s been like no sound, like at all, all day and, and Miss Last Night is always, always gone by now,” Rian was saying, sounding more and more panicked. “So something has to be up, right? What’s the story? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m not sure I can handle a dead body.”

Sighing, I let my hand fall from my face.

“Fellas,” I said before looking over my shoulder to Aurnia and adding, “And lady.”

All three sets of eyes were fixed on me. They might even be holding their breath. I had half a mind to drag it out. To make them sweat a little. Have some well-earned fun after the shite I had to put up with yesterday.

“Fellas and lady,” I went on, because they were, after all, my friends. My family, like Conor said. “Miss Last Night is so quiet because she’s jet lagged off her head and has a hangover from hell. Miss Last Night has not left because she is staying here for a little while. Ah, and, maybe this needs mentioning, Miss Last Night is my wife.”

Any relief my friends might have felt upon learning that I did not in fact accidentally kill a woman during some kinky BDSM role play in my bedroom the previous night and casually proceed to go about my day like it was nothing, was quickly eliminated by a more pressing emotion: shock.

It started slowly enough. Drawn eyebrows. Wary glances at those around them. A little nervous laughter. Because it must be a joke. Right? Right?

No, no. It surely has to be a joke. Mason, married? Mason, committing? Mason, finding someone he wants to give more than just his penis to (it is a very nice penis, by the way)?

It had to be a joke, said their nervous little laughs.

I didn’t join in.

All the pieces fell into place. There really was no other explanation for everything. The woman upstairs. The strange appearance of an American claiming the very same thing the day before. The straightness of my face. The casualness with which I shrugged. The ease with which I drummed my fingers on the drafting desk. All adding up to the truth: Mason Donovan, their friend and most beloved (and successful) playboy, was indeed a married man.

From there, the shock turned rather loud. Behind me there was Aurnia shouting with increasing pitchiness, “Wait, what? Wait, what, who? Wait, what, who, when? Oh my fucking God, when can I meet her?”

There was Conor who was just repeating in that low, guttural growl of his, “Are you having a laugh? Are you having a fucking laugh? Ah shite, did you knock her up?”

I smiled through it all, rather amused as my friends proceeded to absolutely lose their collective shit.

Well, all of them except Rian. Rian looked merely confused. A sort of bewilderment drew his eyebrows together as he looked about him. “Hold on, lads. Hold on…I thought you knew?”

Silence fell over the parlour of Dublin Ink. All attention was now not on me—the newlywed, the husband, the deprived-of-a-stag-party groom—but on Rian.

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