Page 42 of Dirty Ink

“Are you insane?” JoJo said, plopping back down in front of her phone. “Rachel, you’re telling me he laid there butt-ass, cock-ass naked right in front of you, an Irish god descended from the rainy heavens to grace you with his tattooed perfection, and you don’t think he still wants you?”

I rolled my eyes as I dug my suitcase out from the hotel closet.

I glanced over my shoulder. “No, I don’t. I think he wants exactly what he says he wants: to fuck in peace. And I’m just a pawn on his fuckboy chessboard.”

JoJo leaned in close to her phone and drawled, “No, you’re his queen.”

I stuck my tongue out at her before beginning to pack up my stuff from the dresser.

JoJo continued, “I mean, think about it, Rach. He is having you move in with him!”

“For ease of access,” I told her. “I mean, he might have to actually talk to one of these girls, these ‘Miss Last Nights’ as he calls them, if I have to cab it all the way across town. He might have to, I don’t know, fucking listen for once if I’m not right down the hall to wake up and push out of bed—”

“Oh, he pushed you off the bed?” JoJo interrupted, rubbing her hands excitedly together.

“No, no,” I said, wagging my finger at her. “Out of the bed, like a parent. Like a parole officer. Not off the bed, like—”

“Like a hot, sexy leprechaun sex god.”

I sighed and stuffed my socks into the suitcase.

“My point is,” I said, “this has nothing at all to do with me. Mason is just using the situation to his advantage.”

“So he won’t tell Tim about you two?” JoJo said. “About your time in Vegas? And whatever it was you did before coming to New York to become the wet kitten who needed a warm home?”

I flipped JoJo the bird and she laughed.

“You really think Tim would care?” JoJo asked.

I kept my eyes on the panties I was refolding and said, somewhat under my breath, “One, yes, I think he would care. It would shatter his perfect little image of me. And two, I kind of didn’t tell Mason about Tim…”

If JoJo’s shrieks out in the hallway were loud, they were nothing compared to what I heard then. I was grateful for the foresight to put up the pillow, concerned it was nowhere near thick enough to save my neighbours from startling awake in terror. I tried to get JoJo to be quiet, but she just went on and on.

I put her on mute.

I left her on mute as I continued packing, even as she jabbed her thumb at me through the camera.

After several minutes I said, “Are you ready to be calm about all of this?”

JoJo gave me a demure nod. I switched back on her volume.

I was rewarded with her shouting at the top of her lungs, “Oh my God, you want him too, you fucking bitch!”

“JoJo!” I hissed, hand again cupping the speaker. “It’s like the middle of the night here! Or at least I think it is. This jet lag has got me all kinds of fucked up.”

“Mason has got you all kinds of fucked up,” JoJo hollered gleefully. “Oh my fucking God. I’m so happy that I don’t have to wear that ugly, boring beige bridesmaid’s dress at your stupid wedding anymore.”

“Hey, you said you liked it!”

“I can wear a purple tutu now,” she went on. “I can wear a see-through top! Hey, did you say whether Mason had brothers? Sisters? Emm, sisters with equally hot tattoos. Emm, sisters with mohawks like Mason’s. Emm, emm, sisters or brothers with—”

“JoJo!”

Great, now it was me shouting. I lowered my voice and continued, “The only reason I didn’t tell Mason about Tim was…was…”

Shit. I knew I’d made a mistake the second I started. But it was too late. I was in it. JoJo smiled smugly and waited. Let me hang on the rope I’d strung up myself.

“Dammit,” I hissed. “No. No. Stop it. Stop smiling like that. I don’t want Mason. I absolutely do not. The only reason I didn’t tell him about Tim was…was…fuck!”

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