Old Ink (Get Ink'd #3) - Ali Lyda Page 0,20

paints and turpentine while I created whatever came to mind—intrigued me. I had a successful business, a celebrated portfolio, and my shop was the star of its own television show.

When I’d broken up with Ian and left the art world, he’d barely seemed wounded, whereas I’d barely been keeping my shit together. But what would I really risk by seeing Ian now? I had so much more experience, and I was successful in my own right. I could stay grounded.

I didn’t have to decide right that instant. Sighing, I sank into the mindless work that lay ahead of me.

Picking some of the least interesting emails, I allowed myself to drop into the zone that came with wading into the minutia of running a business. Hours later, my eyes were blurred and tired from staring at the screen, my feet and legs felt stiff from being in the chair, and my stomach growled loudly, reminding me that I’d ignored it for too long. God, I was getting old. Sometimes it was like my office chair was a jail cell.

There was a knock at the office door, and I perked up. Here’s someone to bust me out from my cell.

“It’s open,” I said, knowing it must be Channing. Any of the other crew members would have simply burst in, but Channing had always knocked. And I was right. He stepped in with a Styrofoam container in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. The smell of grilled meat filled the air and my mouth watered.

“You haven’t left in a while, and I figured you must be hungry,” Channing said as he approached the desk and set down the food and drink. “So I took the liberty of ordering you some food before I closed up for the night.”

“Thanks,” I said, my voice rough. I told myself it was from the lack of use for most of the day and not a stupid, futile reaction to Channing’s thoughtfulness.

“What have you been working on, all holed up back here?” He sat on the corner of my desk, apparently comfortable enough to make himself at home. And God, he looked good, perched with an ease that accentuated the long line of his spine.

Talking about mundane stuff would get my mind out of the gutter, right?

“We get a lot of offers for sponsorship, so I have to sort through which ones I think would be good for the shop,” I said. “It’s nice to be swamped with offers of money, but I also want to keep the integrity of Get Ink’d. So there’s a bunch of back and forths with companies.”

“That sounds like a great problem to have,” Channing said, his head tilted so his neck looked like an invitation. Well, so much for mundane helping. “But you should take a break, okay? You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Apparently I don’t need to if you’re here,” I replied, regretting the words as soon as they left my mouth. Something dark and hungry danced in Channing’s eyes. I clenched my teeth, afraid of saying anything else. Because I could picture a hundred ways he could take care of me that were very much not on the table.

“Well...good night, Reagan.” He stood gracefully and walked out slow enough for me to appreciate the way his jeans hugged his ass. An impulse, bright and quick, scorched through me, making me want to call him back. There was no reason for him to stay. I didn’t have work for him, I needed to eat, I needed to—

I needed to stop wanting to drink him in with my eyes.

Lines were threatening to blur, and it wasn’t because of staring at a screen for most of the day. If I showed too much attention to Channing, it would give him the idea that it was okay to pursue me again—because as mature as he’d been about the whole situation, I could still see the way he looked at me, the way he cared.

Undeniable attraction or not, I couldn’t go there. He was still so young, and still growing into himself. I was old and settled. But it was more than that, too. Ian danced through my mind and I exhaled. I knew from experience how much being with an older man could overwhelm you, make you put everything else aside until you’d lost too much of yourself…

“You did so well tonight,” Ian said to me as we watched some of the last visitors to the gallery leave.