Six
Cleo
“Isn’t that…?” Bridget elbows me in the rib, and I step to the right, holding my side. She had way too much red wine at the restaurant.
How did I not know Denver has ink? And why do I find that so damn attractive? Other than our friend Ford, who went rogue from the country club crowd, no one in our circle has any tattoos. Tatted skin has had a soft place in my heart for years, and now I’m staring at the man I hate and all the blood in my veins is zeroing in between my legs.
“Cleo Dawson.” Denver’s gaze follows the curves of my body in my fitted coat as if he knows what I look like naked, and my body responds with shivers.
“Denver Bailey.” I purposely add a cold tone to my voice, but the way Bridget is staring at me, she knows it’s forced.
Her eyes widen as though she’s silen
