Page 31 of On the Edge

10

Atlas

I holdout for another two weeks before I eat the apple. The moment I reach for it, Henri’s eyes practically bug out of his head and he bites his lip so hard I can see the indent of his teeth. He looks so happy, I nearly put it back on the desk. But I’m fuckingstarving, and it’ll be hours before I’m able to go home and grab some food. So, Henri’s weird friendship apple will just have to do.

“Thanks,” I mumble, before taking a massive bite and using a full mouth as an excuse not to talk to him.

“No need,” he says, waving off my thanks with a smile on his face. The smile remains for the entirety of class, like me eating his stupid apple made his day.

I can’t seem to concentrate on the lecture at all, distracted by Henri’s scruffy cheek and the smell of lemons. It’s not important—Iknowit’s not important—but I don’t remember him smelling this way before, which means he changed something. Is lemon shampoo even a thing? Maybe I shouldlean over and get a good whiff of his damn polo shirt. He probably bought lemongrass detergent or some shit, and anyway, why do I care?

At one point during class, he fidgeted in his seat, and because my own legs were spread wide, his thigh bumped mine. Of course, he apologized and moved away, but my first thought was that I didn’twant him to move away. I wanted that thick thigh to come right back and bump me again.

“I think I need to see a doctor,” I say, shoving all my shit in my backpack after Dr. Robertson ends class. Henri looks at me, politely quizzical.

“Oh? Are you feeling ill? I shall walk you to the student health center.”

“Not that kind of doctor. I think I need a fucking psych eval.” Standing up, I sling my backpack over my shoulders and look down at Henri.

He’s still seated, hands resting on his thighs and face tilted up so he can look at me. Blue eyes and heavy eyebrows several shades darker than his hair. From this angle, I’m looking down on his head and can see the way the longer strands curl together. He’s fucking cute, like a little German puppy.

“Oh my god,” I mutter, annoyed.He’s not cute, and you don’t like him!I think, disgusted with myself.

“If you wait a moment, I shall walk you to the health facility,” he says, brow scrunched together in worry.

“It was a joke, dude. I don’t need a doctor. I need to go outside and smoke.” Also, find someone to bone, because apparently, I need to sweat Henri out of my system. He swivels his head, tracking me as I sneak behind his chair and down the aisle. My back prickles with the awareness of his eyes on me as I leave the lecture hall.

It’s not as though I had a lobotomy and am suddenly writing Mr. Atlas Vasel on all my school notebooks, but I definitely feeldifferentabout him. I can’t understand it—apparently, getting drunk and letting him take my pants off was enough to send my libido into a state of madness. I can’t believe I’ve devolved into finding a man wearing khaki pants and polo shirts attractive. It’s disgusting.

I pause suddenly outside of the building, ignoring the huffs of annoyance from the people who have to step around me. The thing is, Henri and I have another assignment we are supposed to do together, so it really wouldn’t be strange if I asked if he wanted to hang out tonight. With my luck, both me and the homework assignment would get done. I turn around just as Henri’s recognizable form exits the building. He sees me and smiles, walking over.

“Hello, Atlas,” he greets me, like we didn’t just come from the same fucking classroom.

“Want to do our assignment tonight? Just get it done?”

“Oh.” His face falls a little bit, eyebrows coming together between his eyes in a way that should not be as appealing as it is. “I am unable to do so now. I am having a date.”

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I rock back on my heels and smirk at him. “Another date, huh? Busy guy.”

“Yes,” he says, missing my sarcasm completely. “Shayla is studying French and I will sometimes assist her with her conjugations.”

“So, that’s what the kids are calling it these days,” I muse. Henri’s frown deepens as he tries to work out who the kids are and why they’re saying that. Instead of asking, he just moves on.

“We are going to have dinner. But perhaps, if it is not too late, we could work on the assignment later? I couldbring dinner from the restaurant for you. Do you like Italian?”

“Won’t you be with this Shayla girl all night?”

More frowning. Christ, I wish he would stop doing that. A breeze blows a wave of lemon-scented air toward me, and I inhale involuntarily. Somehow, Henri smelling like goddamn Pledge makes perfect sense and is far sexier than it has any right to be. Maybe he scrubbed down his impossibly clean dorm room before class today.

“No, just dinner,” he tells me, head tilted slightly to the side like a giant, quizzical bird. “It will not take all night.”

“Okay, well, whatever. Text me if you want to do something later.”

“I will, my friend.”

“We’re not friends.”

“A little bit friends,” he corrects, pinching his thumb and pointer finger together and holding them up. I sigh, shaking my head and turning away.

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