Old Ink (Get Ink'd #3) - Ali Lyda Page 0,72

my stomach was cramping with hunger. “Thank you,” I mouthed.

He pressed a kiss to my head. “I’m glad you came.”

A tall woman approached us as Reagan withdrew his kiss, her skin so dewy it bordered on wet. But she was attractive, and her smile was warm. “Reagan! I can’t believe he convinced you to be a part of this!”

“Vanessa,” Reagan said, before, and I kid you not, he kissed both of her cheeks in that European style. He was so smooth and confident with the move, and it left me feeling awkward and flustered. Where the hell had this Reagan come from? “It’s nice to see you. This is my boyfriend, Channing.”

Vanessa turned the smile to me and her eyes gleamed with something akin to curiosity. I mean, I understood it. Our age gap wasn’t just on paper—we looked the part, him with laugh lines and eye crinkles and that sexy, sexy gray peppering his beard, and me with, well...I was twenty-one. I didn’t have those things.

“Channing, it’s so nice to meet you,” she said graciously. “Speaking of art, you might be the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.”

On the one hand, it was a compliment. On the other, I cringed at the word “boy.” Reagan put an arm around my waist. “Channing’s in school right now—he was going to graduate early in the fall until he decided to add a second major. He’s smart as hell and far more ambitious than I was at his age, that’s for sure.”

“Lovely,” Vanessa replied and to her credit, it sounded genuine.

This people are not trying to be terrible. This is just a different world than what I’m accustomed to. Not everyone is judging you.

She peered more closely at me then, and her face lit up. “Oh,” she breathed, “and he’s obviously your muse as well! Channing, your eyes are the highlight of this show. May I borrow Reagan so he can meet some people?”

I kept my body neutral and my face friendly. “Of course. I’m going to find some food and explore.”

It sounded like I had all the confidence in the world—it was a lie, but it worked. Reagan shot me a grateful look and allowed himself to be pulled away. I was sure he’d find me again after everyone had blown smoke up his ass, and in truth, I really did want food and wasn’t exactly interested in standing next to him like an accessory.

I fixed a small plate and was about to start perusing the other art when Ian glided over to me like a hunter stalking prey. Once he had my attention, he nodded across the large room, where Reagan was laughing and surrounded by people. Just behind him, I could make out his painting, and it was clear that his was the most popular exhibit.

“He’s at home here, you know,” Ian said smoothly. “It’s devastating that we lost his vision and talent for so long, but this will remind him of where he belongs.”

I drew a deep breath and held it until I was sure I could stay civil. “He’s still in art. His medium is just different. You act as if he’s been miserable and not creative all these years, but I’ve seen some of the tattoos he’s done and they’re just as museum-worthy as anything here.”

Ian cocked his head as if considering. “I imagine that’s possible. Would you like to see some of his older work?”

It was bait. I knew it, and I rose to take it anyway—I’d be damned if Ian knew I was out of my depth. “Yes.”

Ian led me to a small exit, which put us in a smaller gallery, empty for the most part. The walls were covered by art, but it was in a style I immediately recognized as Reagan’s, with a few unknowns dotting the walls here and there. Ian began to walk around the room, and I followed.

The evolution of Reagan’s art was clear in these old paintings. They didn’t have the confidence of the one outside in the main gallery, but there was a beauty and a vulnerability in them that couldn’t be denied. Reagan drew body parts and shapes in a multitude of styles, often breaking them down into their most basic lines and colors, making them appear almost abstract.

“See?” Ian said. He was standing uncomfortably close. “He’s made for this. These events are about to become a regular part of his life—just wait and see. He’s being reminded as we speak of the thrill of sharing