“Who else? Did you not see Atticus Chastain go inside? Fuck, I wish he’d give us locals the time of day. I’d ride him like a horse—”
“Cas!” I shove her shoulder lightly, pulling a giggle from her in response.
“What? Just saying. If you were a girl, you’d beallover that,” she insists.
If I were a girl. Right. Because no one in this small, portside town full of mostly elderly folk and Christain’s would ever assume a man can be interested in another man.
Saying nothing, I continue to listen to her rant about how sexy Atticus is, how lucky some girl will be someday, and clench my fists where I’ve shoved them into my hoodie pocket.
Her rambling bothers me—not because I have some undying love for Cassie or anything, but because the onlygoodthing about how separate Atticus keeps himself is that no one else around me gets him either.
Wait… noteither.I was never an option.
“You know what?” Cassie says loudly. “Fuck it. I’m going to ask him.”
I kind of tuned out the last bit of her speech, so I’m a little lost. “Wait, what? Ask him…?”
Cassie rolls her eyes, reaching up to straighten her long brown hair. “To come to your party? God, you never listen.”
“No!” I shout, startling her. “Don’t… he won’t come anyway.”
“No shame in trying.” Cassie begins walking across the street without waiting for my response.
It’s not that I wouldn’twantthe man there—of course I would. But inviting him means surrounding him with all the other young people of Port Orford and inspiringmingling.
What if he finds himself interested in one of my friends? What if he doesn’t likeme?
Why do I care?!
Jesus, it’s obvious why I care: IwantAtticus to like me, and I don’t want him to like anyone else. At all. Why? I refuse to delveinto that, to psychoanalyze a part of myself I’m intentionally repressing.
But I find my feet following Cassie anyway, my cheeks flushing the moment we escape the cold and enter the heat of the bookstore.
Cassie is not slowing down. Instead, she barges right up to Atticus, her hands behind her back to emphasize those breasts that get her whatever she wants. I stay a few steps behind her, too intimidated to directly approach.
When she stands next to him, it takes Atticus a solid thirty seconds before he looks up from the book he’s holding, a single brow raised.
“Uh, yes?” he prompts, and the timbre of his voice shoots straight down my spine and into the pit of my stomach, making me flush even further.
His soft brown hair is slicked back, but a singular piece has broken free from the wind, falling onto his forehead. He’s taller than either of us, his shoulders squared as he stares down at Cassie.
“Hi! My name is Cassie; I’ve seen you around town for a while now,” my best friend starts, and though I can’t see her face, I know she’s batting her lashes and grinning.
Atticus, thankfully unimpressed, blinks once. Then twice.
“Alright?” he murmurs.
“I just wanted to come say hi and to see if you’re busy tonight?”
It appears Atticus doesn’t get approached often. Not that I’m surprised; he really does give offdon’t fucking talk to meenergy.But he’s staring at Cassie like she’s an alien as he slowly sets the book he was looking at back onto the shelf next to him.
“If I’m… Sorry, what?” He stands taller, his face still incredibly uninterested as he stares at her.
“Busy?” Cassie presses, clearly unable to read his mood. “I’m throwing a party for my friend here and wanted to invite you.”
When she waves vaguely behind herself, Atticus finally takes notice of me. His bright hazel eyes snap up over Cassie’s head and connect with mine, his features shifting into something unreadable.
“For what?” he asks, still staring into my fuckingsoul.
