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“Okay.”
“Yeah?” He seems surprised.
“Yeah, come on. I want to get out of here before the professor arrives.”
“Well, okay then.” He laughs, grabbing his bag while I scoop up my own.
Seconds later, we’re running out of class like we’re breaking some kind of law, laughing and ducking around each corner like we’re going to be caught any minute, Atlas’s hand in mine the entire time.
When he tugs me outside, an involuntary shiver runs straight through me.
He stops, sliding his bag off his shoulder before unzipping it.
“Here.” He produces a red WSU hoodie, extending it to me.
“You sure you don’t need it?” I ask before realizing he has a jacket on. Stupid.
“Come here.” He coaxes me forward, taking my bag before tossing both mine and his over the same shoulder. Sliding the sweatshirt over my head, he helps me get my arms through, laughing when I get a little tangled before finally getting it smoothed out.
It smells like him and I revel in it, breathing in as deeply as I can.
“Better?” he asks, stepping back to take a look at me.
“Much,” I admit. “How do I look?” I hold my arms out, not missing how the long sleeves completely cover my hands or that the length damn near hits my knees.
“Cute as hell.” He grins.
I used to hate that word...Cute. But I have to say, it’s growing on me. Especially when Atlas says he wants to fuck my cute, tight pussy. Or that he wants to kiss my cute, pouty lips. He’s found a way to make cute feel sexy, and because of this, he’s made me feel sexy, too.
“Come on.” He jerks his head toward the parking lot before heading in that direction. I walk directly next to him but avoid touching him. No matter how badly I want to hold his hand or reach for his arm, it’s too risky doing it here.
Instead, I keep an acceptable distance between us as we make our way to his Jeep.
He throws both of our bags into the backseat, climbing into the driver’s seat at the same time I climb into the passenger.
Again, his scent wafts around me, commanding the attention of all my senses.
I’ve never met someone that smelled like Atlas. A mix of cologne, soap, and his own unique smell. I swear I could breathe him in all day, every day, and never tire of the scent.
“So, where are we going?” I ask, snapping my seatbelt as Atlas fires the engine to life.
“Well, we’ve got roughly four hours before someone might wonder where we are. Is there anything you’ve been wanting to do? Anywhere you’ve been dying to go?”
“Well, there is one place...” I hesitate.
“Name it.”
“My dad told me about this little place on Clark Avenue, Le Bistro. I’ve really been wanting to try it. Apparently, it was his favorite spot when he lived here. But if you’re not hungry...”
“When am I not hungry?” he interrupts, throwing me a wink as he backs out of his parking spot.
“Good point.” I giggle like a nervous fourteen year old that’s out with a boy for the very first time. And while that’s not true, something about being with Atlas makes everything feel new and exciting, like I’m seeing the world for the first time.
“Le Bistro, it is,” he says in the worst French accent I think I’ve ever heard.
“Oh god, please don’t ever do that again.” I snort out a laugh.
“What? I happen to think my French accent is the shit.”
