Briar looks at the games on the table and smiles. “I love board games. Is this our plan? I don’t want to see people today, and you all don’t count in that,” she says. “Honestly, work has been brutal with Lexi taking time off with the new baby and Silva needing a few days off for her heat. I could use some time to just relax.”
“I know exactly what you mean about not wanting to people,” I grin, watching as Atlas steps back so I can hug her. “How would you feel about a split date? Jude is setting up board games, and he never wins.”
“Are you suggesting I throw a game?” she asks, aghast.
“Fuck no. Beat his ass, baby!”
“You’re so mean,” Jude snorts, laying down fluffy floor pillows. I notice he changed into a pair of joggers and a tank top, and Briar can’t stop staring at him. I can’t blame her, he looks like a fucking snack.
I knew he wouldn’t mind staying in. He was up late last night working. He may even con Briar into a nap.
“This sounds fun,” Briar admits. “Bye!”
I can’t help giggling as she and Jude bicker about which game to play first. Atlas wraps his arms around my waist, kissing my forehead as he watches them.
“It’s like we’re not even here,” he mumbles.
“We’re not,” I say, reaching over to grab my purse. “I bet they’re napping like good little omegas by the time we get back.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Briar doesn’t nap,” Atlas scoffs, following me out the door. He stops when I continue walking down the hall, and I twist my body, knowing what he’s going to say.
“It locks automatically, snookums. Check it.”
Atlas grabs the handle and tries to open it, frowning as he jogs to catch up with me once he proves me right.
“You knew I was going to do that,” he grumbles, picking me up and swatting my ass as he settles me on his shoulder. “And snookums, really?” His eyes dance with amusement.
“It’s not my fault you’re predictable,” I giggle. “And what, you gave me a cute nickname, I think you deserve one too,” I grin mischievously.
“You’re a chaos gremlin. You're going to balance me out just fine.”
“What are your plans for me?” I ask, tickled that he’s jogging down the stairs without breaking a sweat with me as his passenger.
“I want to see the world through your eyes. We’re doing whatever you want. Need to go grocery shopping? I’m in. Still want something sweet? Let’s go to the bakery.”
“My brain is not very pretty,” I admit, gasping when he puts me back on my feet outside of the building. I’m a little self conscious because my mind is messy.
If I’m being honest, I need a kill to quiet how loud it is. I’m forgetting more, and it’s harder to work lately. I can’t exactly say that to Atlas though. He’d probably run for the hills, taking Briar with him, and I wouldn’t blame him.
“No one’s brain is pretty,” he shrugs, grabbing my hand and starting to walk.
Ridley’s Hawk is a small town, and there’s just enough here to sustain the people who live here. I have to admit there’s more to do in Widows Peak, but we have some cute shops, the strip club, a park, and a rage room I am a proud patron of.
“What crazy thoughts live in your brain?” I ask, dropping my head back to enjoy the sun on my face. “I have eight thoughts that trail off from the first one I had, and then an hour later,I’ll remember something that's related to the first thought I had. Talking to me is exhausting.”
“For who?” Atlas asks. “The world isn’t kind to anyone who doesn’t fit in their perfect idea of what they should be. Too many people try to emulate the wrong things, and it makes them mean and frustrated, Hummingbird. Don’t let anyone do that to you. I adore your mind.”
My lips pull into a smile as I bask in his praise. Jude rolls with the punches with me, but I don’t think anyone has ever told me that they love my mind.
“I need some new music for a project I have to work on tonight. Want to cruise through the record store with me?” I ask.
“Lead the way, beautiful,” he says with a grin.
Atlas listens to me talk about everything and nothing as I tell him about how Sally from the grocery secretly wants to sing, while Roberta from the rage room may be a serial killer. His lips twitch as he listens to me rattle on about things, though he shows interest in the rage room.
“How often do you go to the rage room? Are people regularly telling you their darkest secrets?” he asks. “I’m kind of fascinated by your ability to get this information from people.”
“As if people don’t spill their secrets to you,” I say, rolling my eyes.
