Page 2 of Atlas Uncharted

Ashlen smirked, tilting her head. "Only when I know what I want."

She was good at this—I had watched her trap so many boys into her little seductive red web.

"That so?" He took the phone from her, typing his number in without hesitation. "And what exactly do you want from me?" He licked his lips.

Ashlen stepped a little closer, her fingers brushing his forearm. "Guess you’ll have to wait to find out later tonight."

I didn’t roll my eyes, but it took effort.

His gaze flicked to me, and for a moment, our eyes locked. I couldn’t read his expression, but it made my stomach twist in a way I didn’t like. I swallowed, gripping the book in my hands a little tighter.

"See you at the party," Ashlen said, taking her phone back, her fingers deliberately brushing over his, grabbing his attention again. She lingered, giving him one last slow once-over. "You better not ghost me."

Atlas grinned. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

Then there was another quick glance in my direction.

I looked away first. Then he walked away.

Chapter 2

Kairi

We were already at the party when Atlas showed up. Ashlen had talked me into matching outfits, and I was regretting every second of it. The tight white cropped polo and white tennis skirt were doing too much. I had way too much ass and way too many titties to be squeezed into fabric that wasn’t built for all this. But I went along, even though I felt like I was on display. I had my hair down, lips lined with brown pencil and glossed up. I don’t know why I always let her talk me into shit like this, but I did.

Maybe it was because when my mom died in that car accident, Ashlen was the one who held me up. My dad checked out and became lost in his own grief, and I understood, but I was twelve and I needed someone. Ashlen saw me, really saw me, and even at twelve, she had better sense than most grown folks. Every day for months, she had her mom drive her over to my house after school. Her mother would bring food or cook. They’d stay until dinner was over and leave food behind for me and my dad.

That’s how she became my best friend, even though, if I’m honest, I didn’t really like her before that. She was kind of mean and stuck up because her daddy was a lawyer who bought her everything she wanted. That made her real popular in a school full of middle-class kids. One day, she sat at my table and asked me why I didn’t like her. I told her I didn’t know. From that dayforward, she made it her mission to make sure I ended up being her friend. She was persistent as hell, always.

Ashlen spotted him right after I did and waved him over. "Atlas! Over here!"

He made his way over, those green eyes locking onto Ashlen's before they flicked to me and lingered, his head tilting like he was seeing me for the first time. And there it was—a flicker of interest. But it was too late for that. I was already done with him, especially after Ashlen’s graphic rundown of how she planned to fuck him later tonight. He was officially off-limits.

"Hey, you two," he greeted, his voice rolling out smooth as silk.

"Glad you could make it," Ashlen replied, flashing all thirty-two of those expensive veneers at him.

Atlas finally tore his gaze away from me and grinned back at her. "Wouldn't miss it."

We fell into conversation, or rather, Ashlen talked. She talked, and I played my usual role—nodding, throwing in the occasional word, letting her be the star she was born to be. I wasn’t the jealous type. I wasn’t petty. I knew that to some, Ashlen was more appealing, and I loved that for her.

"Want to dance?" Atlas suddenly asked, looking directly at Ashlen.

She laughed, a sultry sound. "Sure, why not?" She grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the makeshift dance floor.

I watched them for a moment, their bodies moving against each other like they were meant to. They looked good together, Ashlen's fiery hair and confident demeanor matching Atlas's brooding energy. For a split second, something twisted in my chest—jealousy, maybe? But that wasn’t me. I didn’t do jealousy.

I turned away, in search of something to drink, preferably something sealed and not tampered with. I wasn’t trying to get roofied my first week on campus. I was lost in thought when I bumped into what felt like a wall, only to realize it was someone.

"Oh, sorry," I mumbled, looking up to see a guy smirking down at me. He was fine. Skin the color of coffee with too much cream, curly hair, and hazel eyes. Dressed in a purple and gold jersey, black jeans, and Jordans. He had a brand on his arm, muscular but lean.

"No worries," he said, flashing a grin. "I'm an accounting major. Name’s Mike."

"Kairi," I replied, narrowing my eyes slightly. "But why are you leading with your major?"

He chuckled, a low sound. "People always assume I’m here on a basketball or football scholarship, taking something easy like African American studies. So now I start with my major, then drop the fact that I don’t play football or basketball. And no, I don’t dance either."

I tilted my head, considering him. "Hmm. I don’t know what to make of all that. It depends on why you’re clarifying. Do you think you’re better than a Black dude here playing sports and majoring in African American studies?"

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