Messy Ink (Get Ink'd Book 2) -Ali Lyda

Christian

"For the tenth time, you look great," Channing said, tone quite sarcastic.

He'd caught me glancing in the mirror yet again, and I scowled. I shouldn't be nervous. It wasn't even a date, Dane had said so himself. Then again, we'd never truly dated before. The chemistry between Dane and I had been hot and heavy from the get-go and not much more, and his emotional barriers had kept it that way.

Now he wanted to get to know me. He wanted me to get to know him. Somehow that was far more unnerving than falling into bed with him, for all that I'd desperately wanted it.

I flipped Channing the bird. He waggled his eyebrows in response. "How does it feel to be going out with a tattooed, bad-boy hottie?"

"I'm not goingout with him," I growled. "But I did end the thing with the guy from a few nights ago, so my calendar was open."

Channing didn't know that I'd only let the guy down after talking to Dane last night, and he didn't need to.

"Thank God," Channing muttered.

The doorbell rang before I could chew Channing out, and my heart did a flip. I started for the door but Channing rushed to beat me to it. When he opened it, he gave Dane the deepest frown he could muster.

"Good evening, young man," Channing said in a mock-deep voice. "I see you're planning on taking my brother out for the evening. Just know that he has a curfew and I have a shotgun, if you're picking up what I'm putting down."

Dane laughed, full and easy, and it felt like he'd unleashed a hundred butterflies inside my belly. Then he looked at me and his gray eyes grew dark and heated. It wasn't a "just friends" look at all and, damn me, I returned it. Heat pooled in my belly and I felt a blush crawl up the back of my neck.

"Well, I just became a third wheel," Channing grumbled. "I'll just leave you two alone, I guess. Don't have too much fun."

We didn't drop our heated gaze as Channing left the room. I was on the verge of hyperventilating, wanting nothing more than to strip bare for Dane, when he cleared his throat.

"You look great," he said.

I'd dressed up for the occasion. A black button-down shirt, unbuttoned at the top, which I'd tucked into dark, close-fitting jeans and—in an effort to look less like a rigid surgeon—some black Converse All Stars. Channing had insisted I wear my hair messy, fussing over it with gel until, after fifteen full minutes, I had the perfect "I woke up like this" hair.

"So, uh, so do you," I said, mouth dry.

It was true, too. Instead of his normal grungy shirt and ripped jeans, Dane had a tight, navy ribbed sweater that hugged every muscular curve of his body. I couldn't help but notice he'd gained back the weight he'd lost in hard, taut muscle. He was also wearing black jeans that left little to the imagination. "Big D" wasn't just a nickname...I knew from experience that Dane came by it honestly, and those jeans had me drooling.

"I clean up okay," he joked with a wink. Yeah, he knew how good he looked and I couldn't even fault him for it. "Come on, let's go."

Dane held the door for me and as I passed through, I felt his hand lightly brush my lower back. I bit my cheek hard to keep myself grounded.

Just friends.

Just friends.

Just...I was so screwed.

In the truck, the silence began to feel like it was growing claws that stroked at the fragile truce Dane and I had. When Dane finally laughed, I jumped at the sudden noise and looked at him questioningly.