Page 93 of Sharkbait
“Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.” I hold back a laugh and glance up at the clock. “So. Here’s the plan. We’re going to stay here for a half hour or so, and then when the doctor says it’s okay, I’ll get you home safely so you can rest up, okay?”
It’s clear by the look on her face that she’s not listening to me and is on her own train of anesthesia-driven thought.
“Seriously, look at you, dude! Have I ever told you I want to lick your tattoos and rub my breasts all over your fuzzy buzz-cut head?”
“Wow. That’s… Not in so many words, no.”
“Well, I do.”
“That’s good to hear, Cold Brew.”
“So you wanna?” She bats her droopy eyelashes at me.
I decide to go with honesty and sigh. “I do.”
She reaches for her shirt button.
“But!” I continue, and still her hand. “The doctor will be back soon to check on you, so it’s probably best to keep your breasts where they are. And the tattoo licking might want to wait as well.”
“Dammit!” she shouts. “I’m pissed off by everything you just said!”
“Sorry.” I shrug, then give her a smile. “Rain check?”
She makes a big show of squinting toward the window.
“Looks like a clear, cloudless day with a high of sixty-nine, big guy. No rain as far as the eye can see.”
“No, I meant, can we do a rain check? When you’re feeling more like yourself?”
“Only if you grow a mustache for me. You’d look hot with a mustache.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Yay!” She claps.
There’s no way in hell I’ll be growing a mustache anytime soon, but this doesn’t seem like the right moment to disappoint her.
“I missed Alex’s mustache sooooooo much. He had it when I was a super little kid, then he shaved it off, and I felt so confused and betrayed, ya know? Like he wasn’t the Alex I knew before. This one was way too fleshy-faced. But I forgave him and got used to it. Because how can you not love Alex? Then when I was a teenager, he grew it back for a few weeks, and I was soooooo happy! But he let fans vote on whether or not to keep the mustache, and do you know what those motherfuckers did?”
Whoa, drugged-up Louise has a mouth on her.
“No. What did they do?”
“They voted for him to shave it off again!”
“Those motherfuckers!” I say in support.
“Exactly!”
I lean forward and take both of her hands in mine.
“What do you think, Louise, can we try getting you up on your feet?”
“Oh, hell yeah!”
With only the tiniest bit of assistance from me, she launches to her feet and presses her body against mine. Suddenly, we’re in this sad, heavy hug, which morphs into a slow dance set to no music.
“He’s been sick too. Did you know that?” she rests her head on my shoulder.
