Page 9 of Meant for You

And halfway through it, Dane had beaten the crap out of him.

I pulled the door open, not giving myself time to overthink it or back out, and stepped inside. Heat hit me, along with the sound of voices talking and singing to the jukebox playing in the corner. I scanned the room, turning to the bar.

Dane was standing, leaning casually against the large rustic wooden surface, a beer in front of him, talking to his cousin Bull who owned the place.

Again, Dane’s shirt was black, but this one had Bunker’s Tattoo and Piercing in red across the back. His jeans were darker than the ones he’d been in that morning but were still worn looking. A black belt was threaded through the loops and there was a chain dangling from the front, attached to something in his back pocket. Those jeans hung low, not skintight but still managed to hug his very nice butt to perfection.

My ex-best friend was gorgeous. I already knew this. He was also a chick magnet—always had been—and he’d made the most of it.

He lifted his bottle, about to take a drink, then paused and his head twisted on his neck like he’d sensed me standing there.

His gaze came straight to me, eyes hitting mine before they dipped, taking me in from top to toe. He straightened, bottle forgotten in his hand, and I could see, even from here, that muscle in his jaw was jumping.

If we were ever going to be friends again, he needed to stop with the overprotective stuff. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what that look meant—he’d never looked at me quite like that before—but I’d seen variations of it, and they all usually ended with Dane in a fight with someone for looking at me wrong.

God, he really was beautiful.

And annoying.

Nerves hit me low in the belly. I wanted him to make this right between us so bad it hurt, but I didn’t think he could.

I inwardly sighed and walked toward him.

Chapter Three

Dane

I straightened, cursing under my breath, gaze sweeping over Everly from head to toe. My body reacted instantly, a weird tightening in my gut, shit going on behind my ribs in the center of my chest.

If it had been humanly possible, I was pretty sure my eyeballs would have been bugging out of my damned head on stalks like a fucking cartoon character.

Bull whistled low behind me and chuckled when I growled.

“Everly looks nice, huh, Dane?” he said, sounding far too fucking happy.

I, on the other hand, was not. Not at all.

My best friend moved toward me on spike-heeled fucking ankle boots. I’d never once seen her in shoes like that. Ever. She usually wore cowboy boots or flip-flops.

My gaze dropped to the little floaty skirt flaring out from her small waist over her extremely round hips and skimming the tops of her tanned curvy thighs. It swished as she walked, giving glimpses higher up, drawing the eyes right there.

Add to that the way her top clung to her chest, showing just how full and soft and round her tits were, and it created a seriously fucking impossible dilemma for every pervert in the bar. Which part of Everly’s banging body should they look at first? I’d watched old Baywatch reruns, and her chest was giving every Pam Anderson slow-mo jogging scene a run for its money as she walked.

“You say something fucking stupid and she’ll walk right back out,” Bull muttered as she got closer.

He was right, of course.

Her eyes were on me, and she bit her full lower lip, looking nervous.

My dick stirred.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

I looked away so quick I almost gave myself vertigo.

No fucking way. Stand the fuck down, asshole, I mentally yelled at my dick. This is Everly.

My dick didn’t seem to give a shit who she was right then, though. Everly had filled out a lot. I’d noticed, of course, since I’d been back. Fuck, seeing her in my old tank this morning had done something to me. Yeah, I’d liked it way too much.