Page 14 of Atlas

Georgia picks up the bucket, which is still mostly full, storms over to the bike, and douses her brother with it.

I gasp as he sputters. “Georgia Marie!” He leaps off his bike, racing after her. She drops the bucket, screams, and pelts it across the lawn, straight for the truck. She hurtles into the back seat and slams the door on her brother before he can get to her.

By all rights, Atlas should resemble a drowned rat at this point. He’s sopping, sweaty, and dirt encrusted. That just heightens his attraction. He’s not paying attention to me, and I let my guard slip just enough that my eyes roam down his wet black t-shirt. It’s plastered to his muscular shoulders, his abs heaving against the cotton with every breath. His hair is drenched and slicked closer to his face. He looks like he just got out of the shower.

Wet t-shirt competitions shouldn’t just be for women.

My belly cramps and my thighs burn. I can’t blame it on the massive amount of physical labor either.

I tear my eyes away from him with great effort. “I’ll return Agatha’s bucket and the towel. I’ll ask her about leaving the bike.”

Atlas ignores me. There’s no way he’s leaving his bike. So he thinks.

I’m with Georgia on this one, and as I collect the bucket, I snatch the key from the bike. He can probably figure out how to start it without, seeing as he’s a mechanic, but I want to make it as hard as possible for him.

After checking with Agatha that it’s okay to leave the bike, I make sure I’m wearing my no nonsense face by the time I get back to the truck. I point at the front seat. “Get in, please. If we’re going to get back to Hart and get cleaned up before dinner, we have to leave now.”

Atlas is still wearing his stubborn face, but Georgia can hear me, and she clicks the locks up so we can get in. I dangle his key from my fingers.

“It’s either ride with us or walk back.”

I’m in the driver’s seat before he can corner me and wrangle the keys from my hand.

As hot as that would be.

Fuck.

I don’t know what happened to me today, but it’s like someone has been broken up. My resolve, my patience, my reticence, shattered.

I grasp the wheel hard, even though it’s hot enough to scorch my palms.

Atlas finally turns and stomps around to the passenger side. “Thank god,” Georgia breaths. “Thank freaking god.”

I’m not the least bit religious, but I have to agree. I’ll get us safely back to Hart. I’ll drop Atlas and Georgia off at their parents’ house and then go and get cleaned up. A cold shower and a little bit of space and I’ll have my head put neatly back together for dinner.

And every day after.

Chapter 5

Atlas

Idon’t know what’s more frightening. The chances of Georgia telling my parents about me passing out with heatstroke, or that she’ll egg my parents into reminiscing about the past. Both prospects are daunting.

Georgia and Willa have never been at my parents’ house at the same time, and it adds a new dynamic that’s a little bit like staring down the barrel of a gun.

The old wooden table practically groans under the weight of all the dishes. Scalloped potatoes, mashed potatoes, ham, gravy, candied yams, lemon carrots, peas, corn on the cob, fresh baked dinner rolls—Mom’s made all my favorites and most of Georgia’s too.

“Wow!” Willa rubs her hands together eagerly. “This looks incredible. I’m starved after today.”

“Start passing plates around and we’ll get you all squared away.” Mom takes charge, filling everyone’s plates to bursting.

I know for a fact that Willa hates yams with a burning passion, but she says nothing when they get added to the side of hers. I know she’ll swallow them down and smile all the way through it.

Willa dropped us off earlier, and took the truck and trailer back to park it around the backside of her building, where the old loading docks used to be. We kept one intact, just for that purpose.

She showed up back here fifteen minutes ago, freshly showered, hair blown out in bouncy, streaky blonde waves. Her makeup is always heavy, but still somehow tasteful. She’s not tall like her sister, and where Lynette is built rail thin, Willa has curves for days. The black floral dress and kitten heels she arrived in outline every bit of her trim waist, round ass, and generous breasts.

I know I shouldn’t be noticing things about her body like that when we’rejust friends,but I have eyes. I’m a man. I have a dick and hence, I have a man’s brain.

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