Old Ink (Get Ink'd #3) - Ali Lyda Page 0,8

of tattooed badasses.

My phone pinged.

Dane: Are you going to sit out there with your thumb up your ass or are you going to come help?

I smirked. What a jerk.

Channing: Just a thumb? Brother, I need at least three up there to really get my rocks off.

Dane: I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.

Channing: I’ll be right in.

Sighing, I knew it was time to man up. I got out of my car, slid the phone into my back pocket, wiped my sweaty palms off on my jeans, and walked toward Get Ink’d.

The door swung open with ease, like it was eager for me to enter. My heart was in my throat, but I plastered a smile on my face. Today was about Christian and Dane, not about my hang-ups—

And then Reagan walked into the parlor at the same time I stepped into the shop, of course. I swallowed—hard. Fuck. Fuck. It hurt to look at him. The show never did him justice, especially the brilliant flame of his hair and beard. Though the beard, I saw, was now heavily peppered with gray. Jesus Christ, it was sexy…

And just like that, the crush I’d managed to shove away three years ago was banging hard on the walls, demanding to be let back in.

Reagan froze for all of a second before striding toward me with purpose. Well, two could play at that game. After all, I was almost twenty-one. I’d done what he wanted: I’d left a boy, gained experience, tried new things… become a man.

I squared my shoulders and held out my hand as he came near, determined to be on equal footing. His eyebrow quirked, but he took the offered hand. His touch was…well, if I’d been made of butter, I’d have melted on the spot.

We shook, and I savored the skin-to-skin a bit more than I should, feeling it down to my toes. Reagan smiled. “Hey, Channing. It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, not trusting myself to say much yet. I just stared at his blue eyes, the kind of blue the sky takes on in a crystal clear morning. Deep and saturated and full of promise. “I’ve been busy with school.”

And dreaming endlessly of you.

Color bloomed in Reagan’s cheeks—just a hint of it—like he could read my mind, but his smile grew larger. “Good,” he said. Then more firmly, “Good. That’s good, Channing.”

He seemed...nervous. I wondered if he was worried that I was the desperate, surly kid I’d been at seventeen. Or the overconfident, needy eighteen-year-old who’d claimed a kiss that still felt branded into my mind. Well, Reagan, joke’s on you. You told me to grow up, and I fucking did.

“Would you say that it’s good, Reagan?” I asked, teasing lilt in my tone. This was a skill I’d learned while being away. Flirtation. And I was good at it, knowing how to work the tilt of my head and the smirks I gravitated toward to make others feel off-balance. A gentle yet effective teasing

Reagan blushed harder. Bingo. His gaze traveled up and down my body, and I felt heat follow in the path of his gaze. This...this was the kind of attention I craved from him. “You grew up.”

I knew what he meant. The first thing I’d done at college was start hitting the gym with my roommate. It was the only thing that we’d had in common, and he’d helped me bulk up my frame a bit. While Todd had wanted to go full-on Chris Hemsworth in Thor, I’d aimed for a look closer to Tom Hiddleston’s Loki. I’d added twenty pounds to my frame, but I’d started just shy of rail thin. Now I filled out my shirts without looking like I shot steroids.

Not that Reagan had been letting his body go to waste, either. I mirrored his actions, taking in the body that was harder and bigger in his forties than most men achieved in their entire lives. The black Get Ink’d shirt Reagan had on was tight around massive biceps that looked flexed even when Reagan was at ease. And his chest was sculpted like marble, leading to a minor taper around his hard, ripped stomach. I’d felt those muscles once, crushed against me when I’d thrown myself at him. The impulse to launch myself at him right then and there was almost impossible to stifle.

I can’t do this, I thought, just before Dane managed to save the day.

“Holy shit, dudes, you can be weird later. The only