Page 88 of Claiming Atlas
He steps forward and my pulse accelerates. He glances to the Banging Cade poster on my wall, then snorts. “I deserve that.”
I run my hand over my face. One side of the poster is ripped off. One guess as to whose face was on that side. “I’m sorry, I...”
The bed moves as he sits down beside me, then his cologne weaves its way to my nose, and I think I might just melt into him if he asks nicely enough.
He nudges me with his shoulder. “You were mad at me.”
I open my eyes and look at him. He’s too close. Way too close. “I still am.”
He nods. “Understandable.”
With a grimace, I motion toward the poster. “I probably could have handled it with a bit more maturity.”
Atlas laughs. “Probably. Did you at least keep my face?”
I snort. “No.”
It’s folded on top of my dresser.
His eyes narrow briefly, then he nods, searching my gaze. “You’re just as beautiful as I remember.”
I close my eyes on a long blink and take a deep breath. Hearing his voice, seeing him in the flesh, it’s better than anything I could have imagined.
And I imaginedeverything.
We’ve reunited in my head a million times in a million different ways. Somehow, none of them involved my embarrassing bedroom at my Mom’s house.
Atlas touches my hand and I open my eyes.
He smiles, rubbing his thumb back and forth over my knuckles. “I know you probably haven’t forgiven me for getting you wrapped up in that drama with the magazine, or not fighting for you when you came back to the room that day.” He pauses, biting down on his bottom lip. I wait for him to continue, though, because whatever he’s working on needs to be said. His dark eyes meet mine again, and his brows furrow. “And, hell, Kayla, after the way I treated your friend—”
I stand up, pulling my hand away from his grasp. “What?”
I can’t think when he’s touching me.
Atlas tilts his head, his brow furrowing deeper. “Yeah, you know, your blonde friend? The one that was with you the night we met. She came by the Hard Rock—”
“Wait.” I cross my arms and stare down at him. He looks ridiculous sitting on my bed in all that black. He’s out of place here. “When did Scarlet come see you?”
Atlas stands and I take a step back. If he gets too much closer, I might forget my line of questioning and never get to the bottom of this.
He stops, dropping his hands to his sides. “She came to return the passes I sent you.”
I purse my lips. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
He shrugs, then pulls the letter—myletter—from inside his hoodie.
“Oh my God.” Shaking my head, I walk to the door and open it. “Why are you here?”
He sighs and raises his hands. “Before you freak out—”
“Too late.”
“I’m not here to pay back what they took from you.”
My eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. “No?” Good. I’d never take his pity money. “Just go, Atlas.”
“Why, Kayla?” He steps toward me and pushes my door closed. “What are you so mad about? Your friend cares about you.Icare about you.”
