Page 146 of Forgotten Comeback
I refuse to let go of Taylor’s hand as I get myself signed in, and we take a seat.
“Curse breaking involves tattoos?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Of course.”
Fuck if I know.
We’re called back to consult with the artist, and I shrug out of the shirt, showing him Taylor’s sketch. “I want a black widow like this one, but make her red triangle a heart. She’s hanging from a single web strand, with the heart-shaped web above her. Can you sketch what I want, Taylor?”
Her eyes are bloodshot from crying, but she’s calmed down enough to where she flips to a new page in her sketchbook and begins moving her pencil with determination. “Like this?” She shows me the web.
“Perfect. Just like this. Can my girl draw all this on me, and you ink me up?” I ask the artist.
He gives us a weird look. We must be a sight; me with my busted-up face and knuckles, and Taylor, who looks like she’s been through the emotional ringer. “I’m not supposed to do that?—”
I slip him a wad of cash. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Go right ahead,” he says, handing Taylor the permanent marker.
“I’m nervous,” Taylor whispers to me as she leans over, eyeing where to make the first mark.
A yelp escapes her lips when I pull her into my lap, her now straddling me.
“Take as much time as you need. I have experience as a professional nude model.”
She fights a smile as she begins drawing the design over my heart.
Taylor’s flip-flops smack the boardwalk as we stroll hand in hand, with me freshly inked and carrying the newest member of our crew.
“Bonnie’s the only plant I’ve ever been able to keep alive,” Taylor worries.
“You said it yourself: Bonnie needs a friend. And what’s a Bonnie without a Clyde?” I argue, proudly displaying our new potted spider cactus.
“Clyde, you’d better not be a bad influence on Bonnie,” Taylor tells him.
“Nah, he’s just gonna bring some much needed excitement into her life.”
“Are we still talking about the plants?” She locks eyes with me.
“Are we?” I challenge.
We return to my car, and I guide Taylor into the passenger seat, placing Clyde in the back floorboard and hustling around tothe driver’s seat. My girl scrambles over the console, and I grab her hips as she straddles me.
“Excuse us, Clyde, but we need a few minutes to properly christen the car,” Taylor calls.
“A few minutes?” I scoff. “Don’t sell me short.”
“Gavin?”
“Yeah, man-eater?”
She fists my shirt, the fire having returned to her eyes. “Quit running your mouth and fuck me.”
A smirk plays on my face as I unfasten the top button on my jeans. “If my girl insists. Clyde, she’s a screamer, just so you’re warned.”
I get to work making Taylor do just that. Can’t let our new cactus think I’m a liar.
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