“Crazy, sure. Let’s find a tattoo parlor and get inked. I’ll let you pick out a ridiculous design off the wall and put it on my ass. Walking into a deathtrap of tetanus and dry rotted flooring? Hell no.” She opened her door. “I can’t have tattoos. House it is.” Grumbling as I cut the engine to her vehicle, I stalked around the front and opened her door. “Let it be known that I think this is a terrible idea.” “Noted,” she said, hopping to the ground. Her winter boots squished in the mud.
