CHAPTER509
“Why? ... Don’t you think it’s cute that your name is on me. I even made sure it was in your juvenile handwriting, like a personal Sophie mark. Authentic.” He smiles at me, infuriating cute boy expression and no tells whatsoever if he is serious, while I’m starting to think he is.
“Noo …. I think it’s weird, and why your foot?” I retort, no longer gooey, emotional, and starting to think he is an actual moron for something so lame. It’s not cute, it’s weird.
“Because that’s how you claim ownership of your toys. I thought you had that movie committed to memory?” He sticks more food in his mouth, taps his fork on my plate to remind me to eat and I keep staring at him.
“You’re not my toy though!” I retort.
“I am now.” He winks dirtily.
“Please tell me your kidding?” I can’t even begin to contemplate the millions of reasons that a guy having your name on the sole of his foot is neither sexy nor romantic. It’s plain odd. It’s not something I imagine he would ever do, with any girl. Especially not one who wasn’t even his girlfriend at the time, and yes, I do see the cuteness in there somewhere, but it’s still a bit, Ughhh…. Lame.
“Why?” He looks innocently surprised.
“It’s weird! On your foot Arrick? That means you’re standing on me every day.” I blurt out, thinking of how many times he stands on it, every second of every day, sweats in his gym shoes or pushes it up against furniture where he perches his feet, as though it’s physically me on his foot, and so disrespectful. I know I’m weird, I never claimed not to be, and my thought process only points it out to me. Arrick is laughing softly, clearly amused with how I am taking this and not seeing it the way I am at all.
“Wanna see it?” He grins at me cheekily.
“No. I may hate it so much you might have to cut your foot off… Why would you be so dumb?” I implore him, raising my palms like I don’t even know who he is sometimes. I don’t want my name to be jammed into gym shoes and sweated on every day. I can’t imagine anything more yuck and unromantic than that; like it would actually have an effect on my physical being.
How would I explain his tattoo to friends or future children who thought it was equally weird?
Arrick lifts his leg from under the table and lifts his foot awkwardly, while I try and prepare myself for the moment of grimace at seeing it and try not to look too distraught. He is crazily flexible, thanks to his martial arts training, lifting a sexy muscular leg and showing me a completely tattoo free sole of his foot. Grinning at me like a smug douche bag and winking as though he is pretty much the funniest guy on the planet. I blanche and then glare at him, so not impressed with him anymore.
“You’re an asshole.” I answer flatly, annoyed, nope, enraged that I fell for it and could not for love nor money tell he was joking.
When the hell did that happen?
“But yet, not dumb enough to tattoo your name on my foot. You love me though.” He shrugs, smirks and eats more food as he continues to gaze at me, happy with himself and ability to dupe his innocent, tired little woman.
“I totally believed you; you are a sucky boyfriend and I don’t think I do anymore.” I pout, throwing him my best sulky face with attitude. Glaring at him, because he actually suckered me in for once, and I completely fell for it, like a dumb blonde.
“I’ll get the tattoo to make up for it.” He nudges my feet with his, now both are back on the floor and continues to smile at me.
Cocky asshole.
“No, you won’t! I don’t want my name kissing any guy that you kick in the face.” I throw back, refusing to look at him and stuffing my face in complete nonchalance. Digging into my food in a bid to ignore him and still quietly seething at my own gullible brain.
“Is that why you hated the idea of it? I’ll get it on my butt then.” He laughs, throwing me another childish wink and I frown harder. His butt may be sexy in so many ways, but I do not want my name immortalized on his ass for all time.
“So you can sit on me?” Completely outraged this time as I stare at him in disbelief, He has gone from romantic gorgeous boyfriend, to smug, weird ass in about thirty seconds of conversation.
“I like you kissing my ass.” He laughs naughtily, despite myself, I curb the urge to smile and look at my food instead, frowning so hard to fight the tugging corners of my mouth.
“I swear it’s conversations like these that make me rethink this whole thing. Sometimes you are like a five-year-old boy.” I throw my napkin at him, hitting him in the chest and he just continues to look like a smug ass who think he’s the best comedian on the planet.
“I think you should get my name on your ass, and we can kiss each other’s. Or maybe rub them together.” He snorts with laughter’s this time, chuckling at his own jokes which makes him supreme lame head of the century and he just lost all credibility.
“I swear I am done with this.” I sigh heavily and try not to have some sort of eyeroll epidemic, face aching with the inability to stop a smile creeping out and trying to avoid the game of footsy he has started under the table.
“Let’s get matching tattoos.” He leans in conspiratorially, trying to hit me with the Hollywood smile and meeting dead pan nothingness.
“Let’s not…I don’t want a tattoo.” I respond flatly.
“You already have one.” He frowns, eyes scanning me as though he somehow thinks it’s going to jump up and say, “here I am”. Sometimes I feel like we have an age reversal and it’s moments like this that I forget we are supposed to have a five year age gap in maturity.
“And whose fault is that? My mom still doesn’t believe you took me, paid for, and picked it! You were obviously not the good influence everyone thought you were.” I raise my brows and widen my eyes at him sarcastically, that smile itching to be let loose. He is still sat picking at his food in the semi glow of the candles and he looks so much younger like this.
“Just branding my girl, staking my claim, and they obviously still see me as the golden boy. Years of pulling the wool over their eyes.” He gives me a smug smile, the ‘I am not smiling yet I clearly am’, one. Far too pleased with himself today and I wonder if it has anything to do with what we did in the bedroom that has him so relaxed and happy.
“Hmmmm. Wait till they find out what you have been doing with me now then! Bet they no longer think you’re such a good boy after all…. How did we get onto the topic of us getting tattoos?”"
