Page 2 of Candy Coated Curves

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.”

I wave off my friend. “She just talks about me because she knows you and I are friends.”

“I don't think that's it.”

“But you know even if she has developed some misguided crush on me—which I still maintain that she hasn’t—I'm too old and ugly for her. She's too perfect.”

“Nobody's perfect,” Ian says, his jaw clenches as he says it and I know exactly who he’s thinking about. We don’t say her name anymore. Brings up too much pain.

The song ends and Roni and Amber and whoever else they're with make their way over to the bar to get more drinks. Stupid frat boy follows.

“Uh-oh, looks like somebody's making a move,” Ian says. “Maybe you waited too long, old man.”

I watch as that college boy puts his fucking hands on her.

I’m pretty sure I nearly stop breathing as I force myself to sit and do nothing. He’s closer to her age. Despite the fact that he looks like an utter tool, it’s her choice if he gets to touch her.

She laughs and skirts away from him shaking her head in a no and obviously forcing a laugh.

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