Old Ink (Get Ink'd #3) - Ali Lyda Page 0,28
that was a good thing. The only good thing, really, because holy shit, I’d forgotten how much being hungover sucked.
Dragging myself out of bed, I did the things I should have done the night before. I pissed more than I thought my bladder should have been able to hold, the relief of release bordering on rapturous. Then I puked a bit, the taste every bit as vile as I probably deserved. Stripped, showered, dry heaved, dried off, got dressed, and somehow (miraculously, really), made it downstairs to the kitchen.
Where I was greeted by the smell of coffee, bacon, biscuits, and two far too cheerful brothers.
“There’s my boy!” Dane shouted as he slid a plate toward me. My stomach flopped, and I swallowed hard, refusing to puke in front of him.
When I was sure it was safe to open my mouth, I said “Maybe not so loud, yeah?”
He waved me off. “Do the crime, do the time.”
Chris chuckled. “I don’t think that phrase quite works here. But you should eat, Channing. The fats and starches will go a long way toward settling your stomach. There’s coffee, too, and I’d like you to drink some Gatorade while you’re at it.”
“I’m dying and you want my last meal to include Gatorade?” I said, my brows pressed tight together as I fought off another wave of nausea. “Have mercy, Christian.”
They both descended into peals of laughter that made my headache spike, and I was feeling pretty hateful. But I did try a bit of the bacon and somehow the taste didn’t make me gag. Neither did the subsequent bites of biscuit.
“Did I have a good time last night?” I asked.
“Hell, yes, you did,” Dane said. “We all did. I won’t touch tequila for at least a month, so I call that a success.”
“You’re the worst,” I mumbled through a mouthful of muffin.
“You know it, kid.” Dane slid my phone toward me on the counter, and I caught it. “By the way, you’ve been getting hella texts this morning.”
Scrunching my nose, I unlocked my phone. He was right—there was a barrage of texts from Trevor. Most of them wishing me a happy birthday, hoping I was feeling okay. There were a few wondering who I was with and what I’d been doing last night. And at least two reminders that I’d agreed to get dinner with him, could we set a date?
He sure is interested in me. It continued to feel flattering but, if I was being honest with myself, a bit overwhelming, too. It hadn’t even been a full week since we’d met, and this was an… intense number of unreturned texts. Shrugging my shoulders, I set the phone back down. I’d answer him later.
Christian leaned on the counter. “Who’s up your ass fifty times since eight in the morning?”
“Funny choice of words,” I replied, my hangover making me a smidge prickly. “Someone who clearly wants to be up my ass. His name is Trevor—I met him at the bar last week.”
That got both Dane’s and Christian’s attention. “Oh?” Dane asked. “What’s he like?”
I chewed a bit and sipped some coffee. “He’s a lawyer. Tall, pretty handsome, a bit intense. He’s the one who gave me the watch.”
“What watch?” Christian asked.
I pointed to the box on the counter where I’d left the watch the night before. After Reagan’s reaction to it, I didn’t feel good about wearing it in the shop—and I hadn’t wanted to ruin it while I was drunk. Christian opened the box and whistled, prompting Dane to peer over his shoulder.
“That’s a fucking sweet watch,” Dane said, but he didn’t sound excited about it.
“I know,” I admitted. “It’s definitely too much for someone who just met me. But if he wants to blow that kind of money on a stranger, I guess that’s his prerogative.”
But Chris looked concerned. “Expensive gifts this early can be a warning sign, Channing. Combined with all that texting? It might be best to dodge this guy.”
Chewing, I nodded. The thing was, I didn’t really have all that much interest in Trevor. I was interested in one man, and one man alone. But it had felt good to be desired and lavished on, to be pursued instead of the one doing all the pursuing and being pushed away at every turn.
It was nice to not have to fight for every inch of attention for once.
“I don’t think things are going to get serious between Trevor and me,” I said. “But thanks for the warning.”
And I meant it.