Starting Now (Blossom Street #9)(60)

“I brought some DVDs … old movies,” she muttered.

Libby shook her head. She refused to fall prey to feeling sorry for herself. She still hadn’t run into Phillip and hadn’t yet worked up the courage to contact him directly. Robin was in the dumps, too, although she wasn’t open about her reasons. But Libby was smart enough to read between the lines. “We are not going to sit at home and have a pity party.”

“We’re not?”

“No way.” Libby had a plan. “We’re finished indulging in ice cream. We work way too hard to burn calories to give in to that sort of self-destructive behavior. I’ve seen every sappy chick flick a dozen times and I’m sick of watching other women get the guy while I’m lonely and depressed.”

Robin’s mouth sagged open as if she wasn’t sure she recognized the woman in front of her. Seeing her friend’s response boosted Libby’s confidence. “We are not going to sit here and feed each other tissue after tissue while we lament the sorry state of our love lives.”

“We aren’t?”

“No,” Libby insisted, spreading her feet apart and planting her hands on her waist, elbows jutting out.

“Okaaay,” Robin returned, sounding apprehensive.

“What’s the wildest thing you can think of doing? I mean something that would be completely out of character for both of us?”

“Ah …” Robin’s face scrunched up as she gave the question some deep thought. “I … I don’t know. Pick up men in a bar?”

Libby shook her head. “No; men don’t interest me at the moment.”

“Well, other than one man,” Robin corrected.

She held up a hand, stopping her fellow attorney. “I don’t want to think about Phillip, or deal with any other men, either. You know what the craziest thing I can think to do would be?”

Robin was barely in the front door. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“Don’t be. I want us to go out and get tattoos.”

Silence followed and then Robin blurted out, “Are you nuts?”

“Yes. I want us to get tattoos.”

“No way.”

Libby wasn’t taking no for an answer. “It doesn’t have to be anyplace that shows.”

“You want to get a tattoo on your butt?”

“Or the small of my back,” she said, thinking out loud.

“Not me,” Robin argued, shaking her head for emphasis. “You can if you want, but there is no way I’m letting anyone repeatedly poke me with a needle.”

Libby could see Robin wasn’t game. “Okay, fine, but I need you to come with me.”

“You’re serious?” She seemed to find it hard to believe Libby would actually do something like this.

It was out of character, but Libby was more than ready for something different, something that would crack open this shell she’d been living in for the majority of her life. Straightening slightly, she announced, “I’m doing it with or without you.”

Robin’s eyes rounded.

“Don’t let me down now,” Libby pleaded. “The least you can do is come with me.”

“Okay, I’ll watch, but that’s all I intend to do.”

Libby grabbed her purse and took her friend by the arm, resolutely leading her outside. They found a tattoo parlor next to a  p**n  shop. Despite its location, it looked clean. Robin hesitated and Libby had to practically drag her along.

“You need to think this through more carefully,” Robin warned.

“I am finished being the nice girl,” Libby countered, sidestepping her friend.

“The shop next door is selling sex toys …”

“Good, we might learn a trick or two.”

Robin snorted. “Like that’s going to do either of us any good.”

“Your point is well taken, Counselor.” Undeterred, Libby entered the parlor. The tattoo artist, a woman, could see that they were both nervous. After a few questions, the artist suggested they take time to think it over.

“See,” Robin whispered heatedly. “Even the tattoo lady recognizes we aren’t her usual customers. You need to consider this very carefully.”

Libby had already made up her mind, but she wasn’t going to do anything rash. They took the other woman’s advice and found a nearby bar.

“A bar is no place to make this kind of decision,” Robin argued, nearly shouting to be heard above the loud music.

“Sure it is,” Libby said. “It isn’t like there’s a church in the neighborhood.”

Three tequila shots later Robin was convinced that they each needed a tattoo.

“You’re sure about this?” the woman artist asked when they staggered into the parlor an hour later. “Both of you? I thought it was only one of you earlier.”

“I want one, too,” Robin insisted, holding up her index finger. “Only I don’t know of what.”

The woman grinned. “Okay, ladies, you got it.”

Libby went first. The tequila had done the trick. She chose a lovely butterfly for the small of her back, gasped at the price, and paid it anyway. What she didn’t anticipate was the pain. A needle repeatedly jabbed in such a sensitive area was a whole lot more uncomfortable than she’d ever imagined. Libby resisted the urge to shout out “I’ll talk, I’ll talk” for fear of frightening off Robin. Actually, her friend surprised her. She’d never thought Robin would be game for this.