Page 54 of Baby, It’s Hot Inside

A college boy joins them on the dance floor. I know it’s a college kid home for the holidays because they all look the same; khaki pants and striped, collared shirts. I don't recognize him off the top of my head, but I probably know his parents.

Despite the fact that my girl is dancing in a group of other women, of course he zeroes in on her. He’s trying to talk to her, but she points at the speakers and then her ears. Doesn’t make him move away though. Nope, he just keeps sorta dancing next to her, though of course the fucker doesn’t really know any of the right steps. He’s just mostly staring at her curves, namely at her fucking tits.

I shift in my seat.

“What did you think of her new ink?” Ian asks.

I shoot a glare at him. Ian co-owns the local tattoo parlor, the Needle Bards, with his younger brother, Zane. So, he could be telling the truth, but I can’t quite tell.

His brows raise so high they nearly disappear into his hairline. “She didn’t show you?”

I narrow my gaze at him.

He grins. “A real pretty tat of a pomegranate on her shoulder.”

“You better be lying to me right now,” I say, my words come out through my teeth, my hands tight fists on the top of the table.

Ian holds his hands up in surrender. “Listen, I’ve inked her a couple of times. It’s my job, Nash, so settle the fuck down.”

“You've touched her.”

“Kinda hard not to when you’re doing a tat,” he says with a shrug. But he’s got this smirk on his face that says he’s internally laughing his ass off. “So yeah, I've touched her plenty.”

I want to get out of the chair and beat the shit out of him. Intellectually, I know that being an ink slinger is Ian’s job, along with his younger brother, Zane. They're good at their work. Professional, even. I know my buddy is just trying to piss me off.

It’s totally working.

Still. I don't like the idea of him or anyone else putting their hands on my girl. Even though she's not actually mine.

“Where?” I ask. Because evidently I’m a glutton for punishment.

“Ribcage, hip, shoulder—” He takes a breath like he’s going to keep going on, but I shake my head.

“Enough. I can’t listen to any more of that.”

“You’re getting on my fucking nerves,” Ian says tossing his hands up. “What are you even waiting on?”

“I’m too goddamn old for her.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

“There are men our age all over this town that marry girls that young. Look at the oldest Crawford brother. He just saddled himself with a chick younger than Roni.” He nods to the dance floor. “In fact, pretty sure that's who your girl is out there dancing with.”

I look out there and Ian's not wrong. That is Amber Crawford. She did marry the oldest Crawford brother and she is young. A couple years younger than Roni’s twenty-three.

There's something about Amber that doesn't seem that young. She's just one of those old souls. Roni's not like that. Roni is young and vibrant. Playful. Sassy. So fucking sexy.

My balls ache all the fucking time. It's a wonder they haven't actually broken off my body. I should probably call the doctor because I bet I'm a medical miracle at this point.

“I can practically hear the wheels in your head turning from over here.” He drains his beer. “All I'm saying is you clearly want her. It's obvious she wants you. So, this bullshit dance that you’re too old for her that you’re playing at makes no sense.”

“What do you mean? It's obvious she wants me?” I ask, and I know I sound like an eager son of bitch, but I can’t help it.

“Oh, please. I've seen the way she looks at you, brother. She wants you.”

I shake my head. “You’re imagining that. I’m a fat, ugly motherfucker.”

“Well, whatever. I don't know. I just know what I’ve seen when that girl looks at you. Plus, when she's been into my shop, she talks about you.”