Page 41 of Atlas
“See, there you go again,” snaps Axel. “Negativity. Just enjoy it.”
“I plan to,” I say, pushing off the bar and heading towards Rue. We’ve been apart long enough.
Rue
This is a terrible idea.
I knew it when I turned into the car park and saw the row of gleaming bikes, all lined up like metal animals. I knew it when I heard the bass of someone’s music vibrating the walls from the inside. And I definitely knew it when Atlas walked towards me with that crooked smile that made my stomach twist like it didn’t know what side it was on.
Now, I’m sitting beside Kasey with a paper plate of barbequed chicken and trying very hard not to look like a lost child at someone else’s family reunion.
They’re not what I expected. They’re louder. Rougher. But there’s something easy about them, too. Like they’ve all known each other for decades and the world outside doesn’t matter unless it tries to get in.
Kasey’s mid-rant about someone named Kade and a truly horrifying tequila incident when I glance up and find he’s watching me.
Atlas.
Leaning against the bar, arms folded, talking to a few of the guys, but still looking like his attention’s stuck on me. When our eyes meet, something shifts in the air, in my chest, and I have to force myself to look away before I melt into the plastic chair.
“You okay?” Kasey asks.
“Huh? Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”
She grins. “You’re so gone for him.”
I laugh, but it’s nervous. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to everyone.”
I take a sip of whatever’s in my cup, it’s sweet and fizzy and I don’t recognise it, but I’m too flustered to care. “He’s different,” I admit.
She snorts. “Yeah. He is. But he’s also steady. The kind of guy who fixes things instead of walking away.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It’s rare,” she says, eyes softening just a little.
I glance her way, seeing her eyes fixed on him. “You like him,” I gasp.
She scoffs. “Not in the same way you do,” she shrugs. “But yeah, he’s alright for a man.”
I nod, even though my insides feel tangled. “Yeah, he is.”
A shadow falls over us, and I look up to find Atlas standing there, plate in one hand, drink in the other. “Hope you’re hungry,” he says, offering the plate to me like he’s been watching how slowly I’ve been picking at mine.
I smile up at him, stupidly grateful. “Thanks.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing, then sits beside me, not across, not away, but close, thigh brushing mine like he needs the contact.
And suddenly, I don’t feel so out of place.
After another hour of loud laughter, dodging Kade’s flirtations, and watching someone try to shotgun a beer and fail spectacularly, I lean towards Atlas and murmur, “Is there somewhere quieter?”
He looks at me, and I know he gets it—the noise, the eyes, the unfamiliar terrain.
“Come on,” he says, pushing up from his chair and offering me his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I hesitate for half a second, then slide my hand into his. The contact sends a thrill through me, lighting up my insides.
