“You did good, sweetheart,” I praise. “Ready for your reward?”
Cameron’s breath catches, his adoring eyes settling on mine.
“Yes,” he breathes out. “Definitely yes.”
I grin, so happy to oblige. “Let’s get you inside. I havefilthythings in mind.”
Cameron
29
ATTICUS’S PALM SITS HEAVILYagainst my lower back—a reassuring weight that grounds me.
I may or may not be on the verge of panicking right outside of Checkers. It’s not that I’ve been intentionally keeping my and Atticus’s reformed relationship a secret; it’s more that I’malwaysat Chastain Castle or the auto shop. We haven’t really gone out.
Now, as we wait for Cassie to show up, all the anxiety of reshaping yourself in the eyes of your peers is suffocating me.
I’m not scared—I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten over the fear aspect that used to strangle me as soon as we started performing the exorcism. But what if Cassie hates me for taking Atticus from her? What if people in town begin to give Atticus a hard time because of me?
What if people stop bringing their cars to Uncle Danny’s shop, all because a little gay boy works there?
“You’re overthinking,” Atticus murmurs, running a hand over my hair in a soothing manner.
“Yeah.” I wince. I literally cannot lie to Atticus, or he might very well deny me an orgasm for three days again.
Our time together over the past two weeks has beenbeautiful—all peace and surrender, hot sex and admiration.
Even when he’s punishing me for not perfectly obeying his every word—like when I wore the blue t-shirt to dinner last Friday and not the gray one—I’m incredibly happy to be at his mercy.
“There is nothing to be anxious about,” Atticus insists. “If she doesn’t love you after you tell her, then she never truly lovedyou.”
I take a deep, resigned breath. “You’re right.”
“That’s funny; I remember you thinking something very different the day you didn’t wear that gray t-shirt I picked out for you.”
I groan, shoving his chest. See? He just won’t let it go.
“Cam!” My head snaps to the left, spotting Cassie as she walks up the sidewalk.
Suddenly, Atticus’s hand on my back feels like a hot poker, an obvious and obscene admittance.
But she doesn’t seem to notice it.
“Hey, Cas,” I greet, attempting to sound as calm and casual as I normally do.
“Atticus,” Cassie purrs, batting her lashes up at him.
Maybe it’s because I became so used to her pining for him, but her reaction doesn’t make me angry. But itdoesmake me want to laugh, though I hide that desire.
“Hello,” Atticus says, all polite and stern.
“Let’s go in!”
We follow Cassie into the diner, and as we slide into the booth, I sit on Atticus’s side. Her eyes widen as she watches us, but sheseems more surprised that I wouldn’t sit with her than she is suspicious.
“Thanks for calling,” she says, shaking her shocked expression away. “I know we kind of fell out at Carl’s party a while ago.”
Atticus squeezes my thigh under the table, an admission that it was about him. That he was the source of our fallout.
