“Do you?” he coos.
Then, he steps right into the water.
I gasp. “Your shoes!”
“I’ll buy another pair,” he says simply.
Shit. I forgot he can just do that. Of course he doesn’t care about a pair of sneakers in the grand scheme of things.
My smile slowly fades as he closes in, unable to pull my Vans from the mud with how entranced I am.
“You look frightened,” he observes softly, and as he reaches me, he extends a hand to run his fingertips over my heated cheek.
I shiver.
MixingthisAtticus—the running and the hunting—with my memories of late last night, laid up under his alter ego, is quite exotic.
“I’m not,” I whisper.
“I believe you.”
Then, he’s kissing me. It’s a gentle kiss, unlike our others, and it makes me feel small and cherished. Like he doesn’t believe I’m a waste of time or beneath him. It’s kind of cruel, really.
“W-what was that for?” I ask as he pulls away, and Atticus doesn’t answer, only leaning in and ripping my cap off to take a deep inhale with his nose pressed to my hair.
He sighs. “You always smell so good.”
“I smell like sweat,” I counter.
“And Iloveit,” Atticus groans.
My heart speeds up at the use of the L-word, and as he leans back up to look down at me, I know I have to be giving him a wide, startled stare.
“What?” he laughs out, the corners of his eyes crinkling beautifully.
“You’re just… different today,” I confess.
“I’ve been getting that a lot, actually,” Atticus tells me.
“What doesthatmean?” My tone is suddenly defensive and angry. “Who else are you chasing through these trees?”
Atticus sighs again, but this time, it seems to be in… relief?
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning down to press our foreheads together. “I’m such a fan of your jealous side.”
“I’m not jealous,” I mutter.
“Now Idon’tbelieve you,” Atticus replies, humor lacing his tone.
We stay like this for a long moment, breathing in each other’s air as Atticus’s hands trace my sides, my hips, my throat. Each dip and ridge of my muscles is quivering under his touch, and I may or may not sway into him a few times with how intoxicating his presence is.
I have no clue what he’s done with my cap.
Something warm and sweet is overcoming me, and it makes me hopeful. It makes me emotional. Was Cassie… did Cassie say something to him to make him not hate me anymore?
Did she realize my feelings, how I had him first, and come to tell him he should forgive me?
“So,” I start, hesitant. “Is this your way of saying you forgive me?”
