Twisted Magic (Book 2 of the Ink Series)

Hotness

"Holy crap, where is Hope Zigler?" Karsen choked, checking me out. I locked the door behind me laughing at her over dramatics. She touched the blue silk top I was wearing. "You look stunning. If you're trying to piss the rest of the female population off you will definitely succeed."

I rolled my eyes. Karsen was being a little over the top. I didn't go all out. I just wanted to look nice—really nice. This overflowing amount of confidence seared through me, and it was tugging at my sense of fashion.

I smoothed my high wasted grey skirt, tickling the fringe around my hips with my fingertips. I smoothed my hair and headed down the steps all set for Henry Park. Keeping my hair over my shoulders, I even spent an extra ten minutes flat ironing it in front of my mirror until it was silky smooth. After that I dug out my old concealer covering the love bite Hutch gave me. I smiled at the thought of it, my insides a bit tingly the moment his face flashed in my mind.

"So, do you feel like filling me in on what happened last night now?" Karsen asked trying to keep up with my confident stride past a group of guys playing beach football. I grinned, the blank awe on each of their faces told me all I needed to know—I looked hot.

"There isn't a lot to tell," I shrugged it off. "I spent the night with Hutch because I was too drunk to show my face back at my house."

Karsen squeezed my arm excited. "So?"

"So what?"

She shook her head frustrated. I wasn't giving up all the gooey details. "You know I would never run back and tell anyone anything you told me right?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Of course I know it. You're my best friend."

Karsen shot me a look. The one that told me I needed to spill.

I sighed. "Hutch is hot."

Karsen nodded in agreement. "Hutch is smoking hot, in that tall-dramatic-enticing-I-want-to-throw-you-down-and-have-my-way-with-you kind of way."

I laughed at Karsen. "He's also sweet and not afraid to say how he feels, and he's caring."

We stopped walking coming to stop behind two large men dressed in black. Henry Park was alive and packed.

"And there's Slade." I crossed my arms, the same familiar pangs of lust coursing my veins at the thought of him. "There's no denying he's hot."

"He's hot in a I–have-a-fucked–up-life-die-trying-to-save-me kind of way," Karsen said with a nod, ignoring the man in front of us who shot her an offended look.

"Who can blame him, he does have a messed up life." We made it through the gates of Henry Park and headed for the stage. The music was already flowing; the crowd was already thick and rambunctious. Elbows and backs bumped and swirled in mosh pits all around us. I held tight to Karsen afraid to be knocked into one.

And there he was, black baseball cap on backwards, aviators shielding his intense blue eyes from the crowd, his voice tearing through my conscience. Every scream and growl threatened to knock me off course.

I pushed my hair behind my ear, a small smile playing on my lips. Slade cupped the mic with both hands shouting at the audience. His black cutoff shirt showcased all his tattoos and all the muscles his arms housed. My stomach ached with lust. I shook the bad thoughts out of my head.

He produced his perfect pearly whites as he let out a guttural scream. It was hard not to like someone with such raw talent and emotion on stage. If only he could have that much in his love life, I thought bitterly.