Page 77 of The Bad Girl List

“And you’re such a good artist,” Chrissy says. “It’s a shame to keep all that gorgeous art in your sketchbooks. More of it needs to be on your body.”

I’m about to reply when the needle abruptly goes over my hip bone. I gasp as the pain intensifies. I close my eyes, letting myself experience this for what it is.

Despite the pain, I have to admit I’m enjoying this. Not the pain, but the act of connecting with my art in a new way feels … good. It feels bold to place it permanently on my body, but at the same time, it makes sense for me to wear my art. I can’t believe I never considered getting a tattoo before this.

As the needle continues to drone on, a distant part of my brain registers a phone dinging with a text message. I assume it’s Annika’s cell; she’s been texting non-stop with Minnie and Thomas ever since we got here.

I’m surprised when Annika says, “Dom, that’s your phone. Want me to see who it is?”

“Sure.” My breath hitches again as the needle seems to drive right into my bone.

“Just breathe through it,” Chrissy says without looking up.

“Huh,” Annika says.

I keep my eyes squeezed shut, the overhead fluorescent lighting making my eyelids glow red. “Who is it?”

“He who shall not be named,” Annika replies. “And we’re not talking about Lord Voldemort.”

My eyes snap open. I hate the electrical current that zaps through me at the mere mention of Trevor Moretti.

Annika scoots her chair over to sit closer and holds up the phone so I can read the message from Trevor.

Hi Dom. Sorry I didn’t get back to you last night. I didn’t mean to be a dick. I got overwhelmed.

I had played out a scene like this a dozen times in my head today. In every version, I imagined Trevor reaching out and me playing it cool. In each one, I politely turned him down when he asked me to hang out. I moved on with my vacation and finished the Bad Girl List without him, thank you very much.

But now he's gone and apologized. This possibility hadn’t entered any of my mental wanderings.

Not only that, but he’s admitting he blew me off, and he’s sorry about it. This surprises me, too. Oliver never liked to admit he was wrong, even when he did shitty things like eat my leftovers or forget to pay his half of the bills on time.

Somehow, he’d always make it sound like it was my fault. I hadn’t gone grocery shopping and he was hungry, so what else could he have done besides eat my food? Or, I hadn’t left the Post-It note reminder in the right spot, so how was it his fault for forgetting to pay the bill?

My mind races as I try to formulate a response. Annika’s eyes narrow as she watches me. She scoots her chair back and starts typing.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “Annika, don’t–”

I try to reach for the phone, but she leans out of reach.

“This is Annika,” she says aloud, typing. “Dom is currently half naked and getting a tattoo. If you want to talk to her, you have to go through me. What do you want?”

“What is he saying?” I want to lean over and snatch the phone, but I can’t move thanks to the buzzing tattoo needle.

“He says sorry for not being here with you like he’d promised.”

Wow. Another apology? It’s impossible to resent him when he’s owning his actions like this. It almost erases what happened.

I wish I didn’t like him so much.

Annika smirks. “He wants to know if Chrissy is working on you. If so, he wants me to say hi for him.”

“Who’s texting you?” Chrissy asks.

“Trevor Moretti,” Annika says.

“You know Trevor?” Chrissy says, lifting her needle as she looks up at me.

“We met a few days ago,” I reply.

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