Page 16 of Made Over by Meredith

Meredith

Ididn’t care.

I didn’t.

Absolutely did not care that Aiden was out on a date.

With a woman.

Who was not me.

It was fine.

This was the purpose of our little tutoring sessions.

I was proud.

Shouldhave been proud.

I distracted myself by online shopping and when that didn’t work or last, I threw on a dress and took myself out to dinner. After hopping a rideshare to the restaurant, because I planned on drinking a few rounds, I nabbed a seat at the bar and ordered some kind of grapefruit mixed drink, which the bartender suggested with a cute smile, along with a salmon salad. I didn’t know why I was punishing myself like this.

Grapefruit? Salad with salmon?

Aiden was turning my mind to mush.

“You waiting on anyone?” the bartender asked, his fingers tapping on the bar after delivering my drink.

“Just me tonight.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, his light brown skin glowing under the lights of the bar. He checked me out with a furtive glance and placed one hand on his hip, leaning in. It was a practiced move, obviously. One that showed off the muscle of his shoulders and arms under the black button-down he wore, the one he left slightly open at the top.

He was hot. No doubt about it.

And I didn’t care.

Something was definitely wrong with me.

“My name’s Atlas,” he offered me, and that actually earned a laugh.

“Wow. Your parents really strapped the world to your back with that one.”

He turned, lifting his arms in a pose that showed off his muscular back, like he could actually carry the world. I’d walked into that one.

But he did have a nice back.

Atlas grinned over his shoulder and offered me a flex before spinning around. He rested his forearms on the bar, shown offby the rolled cuffs. “Maybe not the world, but I’m strong enough to carry a load. You all right?”

I nodded and brought the mixed drink to my lips. “Good for now.”

“You let me know if you need anything,” he directed with a smile that did absolutely nothing for me, then stepped away to help another customer. I sighed into my drink, sipping the tart concoction.

I didn’t hate grapefruit, but I hated the memory of how my mother used to force me to eat it as part of her diet fads. She constantly had us on grapefruits cleanses as I grew up, as if a thirteen-year-old girl needed a cleanse.

So I’d long been used to the flavor, but disliked the memories it stirred. Ones of self-taught self-loathing.

I took my phone from my pursing, absently doom scrolling until Atlas delivered my salad, once again striking up a conversation I should have been interested in. He was an easy target. I could go home with him at the end of the night.

If I had my head on straight.

---