Page 50 of Nevada

“Yeah, it’s when two people get together and flap their gums.” He punches me on the arm really hard. “If you wanna keep your new girl happy, you’re gonna have to do more than just tattoo your dick, bro. Just sayin’.”

“I don’t know, I think she’ll appreciate the effort. And since when were you the Dr. Phil of relationships?”

“Know more than you do.”

“Doubt that.”

Bronco gives me a chin lift. “You should just get an actual star, like the constellation. That way when you fuck this up, you won’t have a reminder on your dick for the rest of your life.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” In fact, it’s a great idea. “So you’ll do it?”

“For a thousand dollars, but you’re payin’ for my therapy. And don’t be tellin’ the brothers I did this, got me?”

I smirk. “My lips are sealed.”

He shudders. “Jesus, I must be fuckin’ insane.”

“I think my dedication will win me some brownie points. This girl is a little hard to win over.”

He snorts. “Or she’ll realize what a weirdo you are and drop you like a ton of bricks.”

“That’s just bein’ negative,” I say. My phone buzzes in my back pocket, but when I fish it out, there’s that no called ID again. I keep getting these weird hang-up calls. It doesn’t happen all the time, but I’ve had three in the last few days. I reject it and put my cell back in my pocket.

“Uh, huh. Let’s take a bet right now. A hundred bucks says when the woman you just met — who doesn’t know you’re in love with her, nor does she probably care — finds out that you tattooed your dick in her honor? I’m gonna say she heads for the hills faster than the speed of light.”

We shake hands. “Easiest hundred bucks I’ll ever make.”

“We should get this show on the road. You got my money?”

“I’ll wire it.”

He gives me a look. I pull my phone back out. “Fine. I’ll do it right now.”

“Venmo me.”

“What’s your username?”

“Bronco Ink.”

I glance up. “For real?”

“Yup. Figure I gotta get a shop name.”

“Shoulda done this years ago, bro. Tellin’ you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters.

I send him the money, then I get an idea and click onto the Google app.

“So you gonna get an actual star, her name or what?” He rubs his eyes with his palms. It is early, but I had to come do this before I go find my girl. I texted her last night to make sure she was home safe, then I drove by her place and saw her car in the private parking lot. She lives in a nice part of town and that makes me feel better about leaving her alone. Okay, maybe I am getting a little possessive, but now I’ve had a taste of her, I can’t seem to let go. And I had to be sure she hadn’t left town.

“Had an idea.”

“Jesus, the last time you did that, we were all eatin’ vodka watermelons for weeks.”

“Hey, it was a party,” I remind him. I point at my screen. “Alpha Mensae.”

“What the fuck is that?”

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