I’m the jokester, the one who pulls the best pranks. I’m the guy the frat brothers avoid for fear of what they’ll wake up to face the next day.
But now, the joke’s on me. Literally on me! In BIG. BOLD. BLACK LETTERS!
A tattoo…of another guy’s name. I was branded, and no one else can know.
The problem is I don't know how it got there. Who the hell is Blake? Worst of all, why the f*ck did I have a guy’s name tattooed on my wrist to begin with? What could have possessed me?
I’ve done a lot of things, tortured a lot of my brothers, and I’ve loved every single minute of it.
I guess it’s payback.
The only things I remember are…dark hair, smelling of sweet honey, and maybe something floral, soft hands, and the sweetest laugh.
So tell me, how can I get from a memory like that to waking up in the back yard beside the pool, with a f*ucking tattoo? Of a dude’s name?
Oh, Tequila, what have you done now?