At home, Dean’s in the living room, watching a movie and eating pizza, so I round the couch and join him.
“No racing or chicks tonight?”
“I was screwing one for a while,” he says calmly, biting into a slice. “Lost interest. I need someone like me. Not someone who’s afraid of me.”
“Sooo you’re looking for a serial killer in the making?”
“Something like that.” He smirks, brow arched. “Or I can wait for you to completely screw things up with your girl and take her.”
“You...” My fingers dig into the palms of my hands, fists ready to hammer into his jaw.
“Breathe, sucker! I’m kidding.” He snickers and takes another bite of his pizza.
“Dickhead!”
“Joke aside,” he says, tone shifting slightly, “I still think she’s keeping secrets. The way she handled Jacob. The way she handled you. You don’t get like that with normal upbringing. That being said—” He stuffs a final piece of pizza into his mouth and stands, taking his jacket along. “Get your shit together with her.”
“Where are you going?”
“There’s a race tonight. Who knows, maybe I’ll find my serial killer in the making there. Don’t wait up.”
The door shuts behind him, and I’m left staring at some movie, not processing a single frame.
I recognize who Summer is by her actions, and that’s what pulls me in. Whatever else she’s hiding, she’ll tell me in time. Adifferent name. A different past. None of that would change how I feel about her.
What the fuck do I feel for her anyway?
Chapter 24
Summer
Nothing like battling my fear of water in the pool—a torture I force on myself until it isn’t—to clear my head. But tonight that doesn’t do it for me.
Neither did the piles of documents I went through. There’s plenty in there Trent would find interesting. But if I give them to him, he’ll try to drag me away before I’ve done anything else. So for now, I’ll stash it all as a fail-safe.
Unfortunately, with every page I turned, my mind kept drifting to Atlas, no longer for the sake of my goal.
He hasn’t texted this afternoon, and that makes me anxious. But I won’t be the one to break the silence. I’ll let him sit in the corner of shame and regret a little longer.
Getting back to my dorm, my desolate room feels like another kind of torture. I check for any new messages, and when there are none, I head for the shower, staying there for longer than I should, doing what I shouldn’t, with one particular man in mind. Being mad at him has nothing to do with the simple desires of the body I decide to give in to.
My phone chimes in from the other room, as I’m wrappingmyself in a towel. I stare at the mirror, trying to see a version of myself unaffected by Atlas, pretending I don’t want to rush out of the bathroom and check his text.
Fuck it!
I stride out and grab my phone, hands shaky with excitement.
Atlas
Honey, I’m home.
My grin stretches ear to ear.
Leaving the phone, I head for my dresser when another ping follows. I spin on my heels, desperate to see what else he wrote.
Atlas
Do you like my gift?
