Page 76 of The Bad Girl List

Annika wrinkles her nose. “You won’t.”

“I won’t?”

“No. You’ll think about this awesome wine country vacation you took with your family. You saw the butterflies while we were out tasting at one of the local wineries, and you fell in love with them.”

Annika’s version of the story is technically true. “I might be able to run with that,” I say, warming to the idea.

“Besides,” Annika says, “butterflies are the classic symbol of transformation. You don’t get to be a butterfly without being a creepy crawly caterpillar first. This vacation is all about you getting a new lease on life. It’s perfect.”

I nod, turning the sketchbook to examine the picture from another direction. It really could make a cool tattoo.

I flip to a new page and start a revised butterfly sketch. Annika starts a Fast and Furious movie, but I’m too busy drawing to watch it. When she brings me warmed-up leftovers for dinner, I eat it without paying much attention to what it is.

When I get to my fourth rendition of the butterflies, I hit pause on the movie. Vin Diesel is frozen on the screen behind the wheel of a car, flames going up in his rear window.

“What do you think?” I hold up the most recent picture for Annika to see. “I’ll put it on my hip.” I’ve adjusted the angle of the four little blue butterflies in such a way that they’ll lay nicely on that particular part of my body.

“It’s perfect,” Annika says. “And it will be sexy as hell on your hip. Whoever replaces Oliver in your future is going to go ape shit over it. I–” Her phone pings. She grabs it and reads the message, her grin growing.

“What?” I ask. “Who is it?”

“It’s Minnie. She is going to help you cross off number two on the Bad Girl List. She just scored a bag of weed. Tomorrow night, we are going to hotbox in a parking lot. This is going to be so fun! Now I just have to see if Thomas can go with us.”

“Is something going on with you and Thomas?” I ask, recalling my conversation about the two of them last night. “He’s almost as hot as Trevor.”

“Are you kidding me? He’s way hotter than Trevor. He at least shaves and gets regular haircuts and irons his clothes.” Annika has always been into the clean cut guys.

“So you like him?”

“Yes, but no. I’m sworn off players, remember? I want a real relationship. That guy is a horn dog on steroids. Besides, I’m trying to help him hook up with Minnie. If I help him get laid, he promised to send me home with a case of their best wine.”

“He’s paying you to help him with Minnie?”

“We’ve been over this, Dom. You know I never pay for my day-drinking habits. I rely on my skills of negotiation to keep my wine fridge stocked. Besides, Minnie is into him. Half her texts are questions about him. It’s not like I’m trying to connect two people who hate each other.”

“You’re just taking advantage of the situation to keep your wine fridge stocked?”

“Exactly. This is a situation you will benefit from when you move in. I should have you pick a guy for me. At least then I’ll know he’s semi-responsible, even if a tad on the dickwad side.”

“Trevor isn't a dickwad,” I say defensively.

“I wasn’t talking about Trevor, dummy. I was talking about Oliver.” She swings her feet to the floor. “Come on. It’s almost time for your tattoo. Get us an Uber in case we want to go out drinking afterward.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, we are back in downtown Healdsburg. I’m stretched out on the tattoo table, the waistline of my pants rolled so far down that the top of my lace underwear shows. My shirt is hitched up and tucked beneath my bra so it won’t slide and get in the way of the artist.

I grip the sides of the table, breathing hard through my nose. The buzz of the tattoo needle is loud. Chrissy, the tattoo artist, is bent over me, working on my butterflies.

“Whoever says that tattoos don’t hurt are liars,” I say.

Annika looks up from texting. “I know, right? Don’t worry, the pain will be worth it. It’s already looking awesome.”

Chrissy pauses long enough from her work to glance up at me. “You’ll get used to the pain if you get more of them,” she says. Both of her arms are covered in tattoos.

“I think I’m destined to be a one-hit wonder,” I say.

“Just you wait,” Annika says. “Tats are addictive. You’ll want another one sooner than later.”

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