Page 42 of On the Edge

Leaving the bathroom, I walk back into my room to find him reclined on my mattress, legs stretched out in front of himself and hands resting on his abdomen. His shoes are off—thank God—but left next to the bed. I grab them and tuck them next to mine by the door. When I turn back around, Atlas is watching me.

“I am glad you are here,” I tell him, reaching for my desk chair and meaning to slide it closer.

“You can sit here,” Atlas says, patting a hand on my bed. I pause, looking at him. The last time he invited me to join him on a bed, he’d been drinking. Reading this from my expression, he rolls his eyes in a practiced motion and crosses his arms. “Dude, I’m sober. Just come over here and sit the fuck down.”

Carefully trying not to jostle him, I slide onto the mattress next to him. He hadn’t bothered scooting over, so I have to settle with his leg pressed against my own so that I do not fall off the edge and onto the floor. Both of us are wearing pants, but I’m convinced I can feel the heat of his skin through the layers. Or perhaps it is just warm in here. I’m wishing I hadn’t taken quite as hot of a shower as I did. Theleftover warmth and Atlas’ presence is going to cause me to overheat.

“It is hot in here,” I comment.

“I’m fine,” Atlas retorts, and I sigh. “How was your team barbecue?”

I glance over at him, surprised. I don’t recall telling him about Coach Mackenzie’s barbecue. “It was good, thank you for asking. I did not realize I had mentioned it to you.”

“You didn’t. Nate said he had a team thing, and then you sent me that picture today.” He pauses, notes my confused expression and explains. “Nate Basset. He’s my roommate.”

“Is that so? How lovely. Nate is quite a lot of fun.”

“He’s fucking insane,” Atlas replies. Unsure of whether he means this as a good or bad thing, I don’t comment. He adjusts his leg, jostling mine. “So, what’s up? Why’d you want me to come over?”

“I do not know,” I admit, shrugging. My shoulder bumps his. We areveryclose together. “Why did you come?”

“Touché, Henri. Touché.” He moves his leg again, pressing more firmly against mine. I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose. I move my arm and our skin connects, sending a fresh round of jitters through my system. I’ll never be able to tell if his actions are flirtatious, or if they’re meant to indicate that he likes me.

“I wonder, Atlas, whether you might want to try more kissing,” I say, and startle a laugh out of him. The sound is so rare, I can’t help but smile at him. He uncrosses his arms to rub a hand over his face.

“Only you,” he mumbles under his breath. That doesn’t sound like a “no” to me, so I wait him out. “Did you seriously text me for a booty call?”

“Certainly not!” I protest, offended. “But you are sittingvery close to me, and you make me feel…strange. I don’t want to pressure you, but I think I’d enjoy more kissing. With you,” I clarify, in case he’s confused. I really don’t want to kiss anyone else.

“What do you mean you feel strange?”

I think about this for a moment. It’s a hard thing to describe. If only he spoke German. I press a hand to my stomach.

“I feel…shaky? Like I am stepping off of a boat onto land. And also, a little bit like there are electrical currents in my skin, or bees in my chest.”

He hums softly, fingers picking at a loose seam on the pocket of his jeans. “It’s not a good idea to get involved with me. I don’t do relationships. Not ever.”

I ponder that. It’s not a surprise—Atlas is abrasive and rude, and I’ve never heard him speak about the same girl twice. But I think my curiosity toward him is actually attraction, and I just didn’t recognize it. I’ve never felt attracted to someone before, and I’m a little worried that I might never feel it again. It’s such agoodfeeling, that I don’t want to let it go just yet.

“I do not think we would need to be in a relationship,” I point out. His head whips around and he looks at me, startled.

“You can’t be serious,” he says, humor and surprise evident in his voice. “You?Youwant to be friends with benefits?”

“Well…no,” I admit. “I would enjoy being friends, and I enjoyed kissing you. I think it would be nice to have both.”

Truthfully, what I really want is intimacy without the expectation of sex, but I think intimacy might be a word that would send him hurtling for the door. Atlas slides down thebed until his head is on my pillow, crossing his ankles and drawing my attention to his feet. He’s wearing mismatched socks. I look away, because that will drive me crazy if I stare at them for too long. When I look down at his face, his dark eyes are already on mine.

“I don’t know. Still seems like a bad idea. I don’t want you to fall in love with me.”

“Goodness,” I murmur, earning another soft huff of laughter from Atlas. “I think the likelihood of this is very low. I…I am thinking I am not one who falls in love easily.”

“Mm,” he hums, but lifts a hand and places it gently on my thigh. I stare down at that hand—pale, narrow fingers and veins visible beneath his creamy skin. “So.”

“So,” I repeat.

“This is your booty call. You tell me.”

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