Page 183 of Becoming Us
He shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek. Then he sighed, as if bracing himself. “My mom calls me that,” he grumbled.
I stared for half a second—then cracked up.
God, he was too much.
Atticus swore under his breath and rubbed his face with one of those massive hands.
How could anyone ever find this guy intimidating? He was a fucking teddy bear, and I was already ridiculously enamored.
“See?” I said. “I’m right. You’re adorable.”
His eyes met mine again, and I had to swallow.
Maybe I didn’t want to keep pushing. That bathroom handjob fantasy felt miles away now, even if he was into me. Atticus was just…pure.
I lit the joint again, taking a long drag.
“Can I try it?”
My smile spread instantly. I held out the joint, and when he reached for it, his fingers brushed mine—rough and warm. He looked up at me, his eyes Bambi-wide.
“I can already tell I’m going to be a terrible influence on you.” I stepped closer, placing my hand on his shoulder and guiding him through it.
He gave me a look—maybe two—that were pure exasperation, but I couldn’t stop grinning. I took the chance to touch him again, and every place I landed was firm, solid muscle.
Predictably, he started coughing, pulling back and pressing his fingertips lightly to my hips to shield me from it. Even that light touch had me spiraling. I wanted those hands on my skin, all of me bare beneath them.
Atticus kept coughing, and I patted his back. It seemed to go on for miles, and somewhere along the way, it just turned into me running my hand over him.
“Sorry.” He sat back up, and my hand landed—regretfully—on his shoulder.
He handed the joint back. “That was worse than beer.”
I chuckled, pulled out the flask, and took another drink. I offered it to him, but he shook his head.
“You’re right. Maybe smoking’s enough for tonight.”
My mind was starting to hum, pleasantly numb, the edges of everything softening.
I sat beside him, letting our shoulders brush, and looked back at the house, idly watching people move inside. This was better. So much better. No spiraling thoughts, just quiet—and him. His solid frame next to mine filled a little of the emptiness.
Atticus smelled like man. Not the synthetic, overly cologned kind. Just a trace of clean aftershave and whatever bodywash heused. If I could’ve gotten away with it, I would’ve buried my face in his neck.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m super, Atty. How about you?” The words slipped out lazily, lips curled in a grin as I turned toward him.
“I’m good. I don’t think that did anything, but I’m good,” he said, lips still quirking at the corners.
So damn cute.
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what it’s supposed to do.” One broad shoulder lifted in a casual gesture.
“Well, you’re not usually this chatty, so that might be something.”
That brought a laugh out of him. He tried to suppress it—just for a second—but then let it out. It was a beautiful sound. Low and quiet, like everything else about him. So fucking soft. I wanted to kiss those dimples.
