I smile. “It’s definitely a first.”
“What did he look like?”
“Kind of like your brother, actually.”
“Ugh. Gross. And where did he want his tattoo?”
“Doesn’t matter. I would have made him strip either way,” I admit with a smirk.
Amber laughs. “And then you’d have had your way with him and sent him packing.”
“What can I say? My affections are fierce but short-lived.”
“I still don’t know how we became friends.”
“Neither do I, honestly.” We are as opposite as opposite gets. Amber thrives on long-term commitment. I’m pretty sure that her little “Irish fling” was the most spontaneous, wild thing she’s ever done, and ever will do—and now they’re in a full-fledged, long-distance relationship. Meanwhile, the longest commitment I ever made was to a guy named Jet, when I was twenty-two and living in Portland. He was a professional rodeo guy. I don’t even like rodeo guys. But I dated him for three whole weeks, mainly because we didn’t do much talking during that time.
“We just haven’t found you the right guy yet.”
“Good luck finding me someone who holds my interest for more than a night or two.”
“He’s got to be out there. And when you find him, you’re going to call me and, for once, I’ll be the one who gets to tell you to stop talking about a guy so much.” I roll my eyes at the cheesy romantic notion. I don’t see that ever happening.
“Seriously, how long has it been since you’ve dated anyone?”
“Dated” is so the wrong word for any of my hookups and Amber knows that, but I don’t correct her. “Since last summer, in Dublin.”
“Oh my God. Wait, does that mean you haven’t slept with anyone since—”
“Yup.” I admit grudgingly. “The longest dry spell of my short life since high school.” As much as I was an outcast in high school, as soon as I got out, I never had trouble attracting guys. Apparently everyone wants to fuck a badass Asian girl at least once.
Unfortunately for them, this badass Asian girl is not an easy score unless she wants to be.
“Maybe you should come back to Dublin then. I know he’d love to see you.”
I hum noncommittally. “Grinning Irishmen aren’t my type.” He actually did make me laugh, though I rarely let him see it.
“So . . . Once the store is cleaned out? What are you going to do?” she pushes, back to the serious side of things.
“Once the legal stuff is sorted out, we’re going to sell it. Ian can’t run it and I don’t want to. We also need to get rid of this house and its giant mortgage as soon as we can. Then I’m ghosting.”
“Seriously? You know you could run that shop. Isn’t that what you’ve always talked about?”
It’s my dream for an older, tamer version of myself. A quiet little shop with character, a steady clientele. “Yeah, but I never wanted it at the expense of my uncle’s life.”
She sighs. “I know . . . I’m sorry. It’s horrible to talk about it like that. But maybe you shouldn’t sell so quickly. Can you afford to sit on it for a few months?”
I scowl at the dirty ceiling above. It’s the first time I’ve actually lain in bed in daylight and bothered to look. Now I see that it’s in desperate need of paint, as much as every other room in this house. “Did Ian call and ask you to convince me to stay?”
“Ian doesn’t have my number, Ivy. Unless you gave it to him.”
I roll my eyes. As smart as Amber is, sometimes she doesn’t get my jokes. “The shop has a hundred K mortgage on it. Plus, I don’t want to stay. It’s just not the same here anymore. Everything about San Francisco changed when Ned died. The shop is haunted. This house is big and empty and eerie and . . .” I shudder. “Sometimes I feel like I’m being watched. It’s just . . .” I work at my laces, unfastening them so I can kick off my boots. “I agreed to finish someone’s tattoo for him tomorrow afternoon and I don’t want to do it. I don’t even know if I can do it.”