Old Ink (Get Ink'd #3) - Ali Lyda Page 0,27

so large and dark. Well, no, that wasn’t true. I was able to break my attention long enough to take in those kissable lips, which seemed to have a permanent wry quirk at the edges.

Channing continued, his words slurred but his blue eyes dark and clear. “I want you to see me as I am now, Reagan, not the clumsy, angry eighteen-year-old that thought he knew what he wanted.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but what? Because fucking hell, I did see him as he was now. I saw every lean edge and all of the maturing confidence. I saw his strength and his beauty and I’d never, never wanted someone so badly as I wanted him now.

But I’d been in his shoes, and while Channing might be controlling the situation in the moment, I was worried that giving in now would lead to a slippery slope where being with me would consume his life. Keep him chained and stifled from growth because he only cared about making me happy, staying with me, putting aside his own dreams to make us work. But we wouldn't work, because I was an old man now. I wanted things he shouldn’t want at twenty-one.

Before I could figure out what to do—fuck, what I needed to do instead of what I wanted—Channing leaned in and pressed a kiss to my jaw. I gripped the desk so hard I thought the wood would splinter.

Then he stepped back. “Thanks for letting us use the space for the party—it was a really great birthday. I’ll be in early tomorrow to help clean up.”

I could smell the tequila that had been on his breath and feel the searing press of lips where his kiss had been. I struggled to find my words, and when I did, my voice sounded like sandpaper. “No. Sleep this off. I’ve, uh. I’ve got it.”

Channing hesitated, his eyes hooded and lingering on me while I fought to keep my breath even. My heart felt as if it were trying to beat itself out of my chest, and maybe he sensed that, because he scanned me, like he was looking for a crack to exploit. But then he shrugged and left, casual as hell, as if he hadn’t just rocked my world so hard I didn’t know if I could stand on my own.

Worse, Mateo popped his head in seconds after, the shit-eating grin on his face so large I wanted to snarl.

“What?” I demanded, harsh and irritated. “Don’t give me that smile.”

Instead of taking a hint and, you know, leaving, Mateo sauntered in and flashed me two thumbs-up. “Keep it up, Boss.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I know it’s tough, but I need you to keep resisting. We’ve got a pool going, you see, and I need you to not cave and bang Channing until right before he leaves for school again so I can win the pot.”

I sucked on my cheeks to keep from exploding. “You’re betting on me.” It was a statement and a question all wrapped into one.

“Hell, yes, we are,” Mateo gloated. “And from my perspective, you’re doing great.”

“Get out. Rides will be here in twenty for everyone.”

Mateo left, laughing like a maniac every step of the way. I huffed and tried to release my muscles, which had become so tense they ached. They had a bet. On me and Channing. Like it was a joke.

My insides roiled and I shook my head, trying to clear away some of my irritation. My guys were good guys, but they couldn’t understand why I was holding out. Why I had to hold out. And since I wasn’t about to tell them all the sordid details of my past, that meant I had to stop giving a fuck about what they thought of me and my resistance to Channing’s obvious advances. I knew I wasn’t going there with Channing and that had to be enough.

God help me, it had to be enough.

8

Channing

My head. There was a thunderstorm in my head. It was raging and yet, somehow, sunshine was filtering in through my half-cracked eyelids?

Oh, right. Fuck, I was hungover. My mouth felt like a cesspool and my body had become one wave of nausea crashing in on itself over and over. Everything was terrible.

I was in my bed and still in last night’s clothes, so that spoke volumes. I didn’t even remember how I got in bed in the first place. Or home? But clearly I did, and