Dedicated Ink Read Online Free Page B

hem.
    “You look amazing,” he said, his gaze drawn to the colorful tattoos he could see peeking out from beneath the sleeves of her little jacket, which hit just above her elbows. The teasing preview brought back memories of a lithe body embellished here and there with ink, toned and tattooed.
    She smiled, but the expression quickly flickered and disappeared. “Thanks. You look great too.”
    They walked side by side to the restaurant, but he resisted the urge to reach out and touch her. She seemed wary; obviously, she wasn’t nearly as comfortable around him as she’d been that single, sultry night in late July. That was understandable, to an extent – this wasn’t some alcohol-fueled, half-anonymous encounter. But still … she seemed edgier than he’d anticipated, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to be there with him.
    The thought made him want to kick his own ass. Since that night, he’d thought about her often enough to want to see her again, even if it meant facing the embarrassment he felt over their initial time together. Now, he was faced with the momentous task of turning things around, of re-routing the course of their brief relationship off the path of nothingness it had begun on. He was willing to make the effort, to see if she wanted the same thing, because as casual as their first night had been, it had still been that memorable. He wanted more, and not just another few hours.
    He wanted to know her, to have more than just a taste of the woman who’d been slipping into his dreams ever since July and causing him to wake up hard and aching, wondering if he’d ever see her again. Two months was a hell of a long time to exist off of hot memories and wet dreams.
    “Have you eaten here before?” she asked when they were seated.
    He nodded. “Too many times for my own good, probably.” Rotating shifts took a toll on his biological clock. Though he rarely felt like cooking when he got home, he’d been making an effort to do so more often over the past few months – before then, he’d had every reason to want to delay coming home, and had grabbed dinner out almost every day.
    “What do you recommend?” Abby lifted a menu, making eye contact with him for the briefest of moments before dropping her gaze to the menu’s offerings.
    “Depends. What do you like?”
    “You name it; I like a little bit of everything.”
    “Well, in that case…”
    She ended up settling on the savory pot roast platter, which was, as far as he was concerned, the best thing the restaurant had to offer. He ordered the same, and the waitress left them alone again with a basket of hot rolls.
    Abby picked one up and tore it in half, but she didn’t stop there – she quartered the thing, her gaze wandering as she tore it into bite-sized pieces, and only then paused to add a little butter with the tip of her knife.
    Sam fought a frown as he reached for one of the rolls. When he picked it up, he almost dropped it. Damn, the thing was hot – a little curl of steam rose from where his thumb had dented the golden-brown surface.
    Abby didn’t seem to notice the heat until she raised a bite to her mouth; when the bread touched her lips, she recoiled, setting it back down on her plate.
    “You seem like you’re on edge,” Sam said. She was so clearly nervous that he just couldn’t pretend not to notice. “Is it something I did, or said? Or…”
    She met his eyes, and he knew he didn’t have to say the words “that night”.
    A thread of guilt crept into his thoughts as he remembered calling her the day before to arrange their date, still aching for her touch after having indulged a vivid fantasy inspired by their time together. There was no way she could know what he’d been doing before he’d called, but maybe she sensed how much he wanted her now.
    “I’m just a little uncertain, I guess.” She wiped her fingertips on a napkin. “I mean, I was really surprised when you showed up at Hot Ink, and you asking me to