pride and did what I should have done when Dane first told me Channing was back in town. “Hey, speaking of brave: I hear you’re looking for a job. Feel like braving the floors of Get Ink’d again while Trinity’s on maternity leave?”
Channing straightened, a frown skirting over his lips. He glanced at me, and then down at his plate. “... I don’t know.”
And I hated, hated knowing that I was the one who’d made this hard for him. It sounded like Channing was hedging toward ‘no’—and that was, I assumed, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to work with me. And honestly, he might be right to feel that way.
Hell, the whole dinner I’d been working overtime to keep any attraction toward him locked down. What would it be like to have him in the shop every day again, almost like no time had passed, except for all the ways it clearly had? Was I just a masochist for even asking him to come back?
Then again, I couldn’t see anyone else fitting in with the crew as well as Channing would—as well as he already did—and not having to train someone new was an added bonus. Plus, Channing truly seemed like he’d grown, and not just in his physique. There was a confidence there that hadn’t existed before, a surety about who he was and what he had to offer.
And he’d hinted earlier at what happened. Maybe he’d been putting the ball in my court, and was waiting for me to bring it up. If I cleared the air about what happened between us, maybe it would help us both move on, and then maybe Channing would feel comfortable coming to work for me.
Steeling myself to broach the awkward topic, I took a deep breath.
Channing beat me to it, blurting out, “I shouldn’t have kissed you, Reagan. It was immature. I didn’t ask your permission or take your feelings into consideration that night, and I should have. But I was only thinking about myself. I’m sorry for putting you on the spot.”
He sighed, and I grabbed my water, my mouth suddenly parched. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears, almost loud enough to block out Channing’s next words.
“You were right, Reagan. Space helped me realize that what I’d felt was a crush, and that I hadn’t been in a place in my life where I could handle a mature relationship, despite insisting that’s what I wanted. I projected a lot of that onto you, I think, but now that I’ve had distance and time to separate myself from that, there’s no reason we can’t work together again—if you’re sure you want me to.”
My mouth opened. It closed. I was gobsmacked. Who the hell was this kid?
No, not a kid. He’s a man now, and you fucking know it.
I cleared my throat. Then I cleared it again for good measure. The problem was, clearing it didn’t stop the hot lava thump of my blood through my veins or the tight squeeze in my groin. It did nothing to stop the savage yearning in me that would not allow itself to be tamped down, no matter how many consequences I tried to think of. And there would be consequences for any, any action on my part toward Channing.
“I, uh—I agree. And thank you, Channing, for saying all of that. I wish I could explain how hard it was for me—” because you weren’t projecting at all, I was definitely feeling inappropriate things and fuck it, I still am “—to feel like I was hurting you. But I don’t harbor any ill feelings about the kiss or about you. And I’m glad we can talk about it, because I’d really like it if we could work together again. You’d be saving my bacon. Seriously—Trinity’s ankles are like giant water balloons, and I think she’s ready to be off her feet sooner rather than later.”
We both sighed heavily, but whereas Channing seemed to be floating with relief, I felt weighed down with guilt. He’d done all the right things and then some. I should be elated about us clearing the air. But while I was bowled over with his maturity, it was my body’s rampant craving for him that was smothering me, making me feel like a teenager with a crush on someone just out of reach. Because no matter how old or mature or experienced Channing got, I could never erase the age difference between us.
We