“I came to say sorry.” He leaned up against a pile of boxes, his white wife-beater tank top doing nothing to soften his appearance. I wanted to take the shirt off him to see my favorite tattoo—the tribal sun wrapping around his side with one squiggly ray dipping below the waist band of his pants. I wouldn’t mind tracing my tongue along that tat until I reached the end so I could move around to the front.
“Leslie?” he asked, bringing me back to his apology.
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
Want to read more? http://amzn.com/B004GHN4YW