Page 42 of Atlas
He leads me around the back of the building, down a gravel path, and through a gate that opens to a side yard lit only by a single flickering bulb. It’s quieter here, just the faint hum of music and the occasional burst of laughter from the other side of the fence.
There’s a bench against the wall. He gestures to it.
“Did you bring me out here to murder me?” I tease, sitting.
He grins. “Not tonight.”
He lowers himself beside me, elbows on his knees, head tipped back to look at the stars barely visible through the glow of the club’s lights.
“It’s a lot,” I say quietly, picking at the edge of my sleeve. “All of it. The people. The noise. The way they look at me like I don’t belong.”
“You belong,” he says firmly.
I glance at him. “You sound so sure.”
He thinks for a minute. “It takes them time to accept someone that doesn’t know our world. But once they see what I see, they’ll accept you and you’ll find it hard to leave.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
He turns to face me, his voice lower now, almost gentle. “It’s not. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to fit into their world overnight. Or even at all. Just be in mine.”
Something tightens in my chest. “And what is your world, exactly?”
He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “Right now? It’s you.”
I blink, stunned. We went on one date, and we’ve text a few flirty texts back and forth, but he’s talking like we’re about to marry. As if he senses my panic, he gives me an easy smile. “I’m sorry. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
I chew on my lower lip. “The all-in thing?” I ask, then nod. “Yeah, you are.”
We both laugh but it breaks the heaviness of the conversation, and I relax a little.
“I just don’t want you to see all this and run a mile,” he adds. “Because I know it’s a lot, but they’re my family. I won’t ever leave them, but I’d like you to stick around and give them a chance.”
I nod, rubbing my hands over my jeans. “I wasn’t planning on running anywhere.”
He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His knuckles graze my skin, and I swear the world shifts slightly.
“Good.”
My heart’s hammering. The kind of beat I usually only feel when I finish a really good book. Or start a really dangerous one.
And without thinking, I lean in closer, our eyes connected in something deep, wanting. I inhale, holding my breath, praying he reads the signs, and almost crying in relief when he does, inching closer until we’re just a breath apart. “Stop me now if I’m going too fast,” he murmurs. When I don’t move, his hand cups my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheek, and then he kisses me. It’s soft at first, nothing like I imagined. But as our lips brush together, and his hands slip to cradle the back of my head, he takes it deeper, sweeping his tongue into my mouth and groaning in the back of his throat like it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of. The fluttering in my stomach intensifies andjust as my hands twist in his t-shirt, he pulls back, panting and breathless as his eyes trace my swollen lips.
Anita
I pace outside, checking my watch for the tenth time. “Are you sure I can’t drive you home?” Anthony asks.
“Tessa is right around the corner,” I tell him. “Please stay and enjoy the rest of the evening.”
I lasted all of two hours before I faked a migraine and made my excuses to leave. This sort of thing isn’t for me. It wasn’t then and it isn’t now. Nothing’s changed. Apart from the fact I have friends I can call upon these days that’ll giggle when I call them desperately from the bathroom and ask them to come and get me because I’m in hell.
When her car slows to a stop right beside me, I sag in relief. I glance back to where Anthony is watching me and give a quick wave before opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. I stare straight ahead. “Please get me out of here,” I mutter, hardly moving my lips.
“It looks swanky,” says Tessa as she puts the car into drive and wheelspins out of the carpark. She laughs to herself. “But boring as fuck.”
“You’re not wrong,” I say, flipping down the mirror and checking my makeup. “How’s the barbeque?”
“Lively,” she replies with another laugh. “Fletch is playing guitar by the fire, and some of the guys are trying to sing, if that’s what you can call it. You called me just as shots were being poured.”
