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“You like how I look? Well, that’s good to know. Fucking wonderful even.”
I decide to just own it. “I think you’re a good-looking man, yes, but don’t let it get to your head. Looks aren’t everything.”
“Nope, just being a businessman is.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re never going to let that go, are you? We are all allowed to have our own preferences. Men do all the time. But when women do, suddenly it’s a problem.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it.
Smart man.
“Women can have whatever preferences they like, but I do think yours is unusual considering all the men you love are bikers,” he says after a few moments. He says it in a gentle tone, not judgmental, and I realize I like the way he communicates. He doesn’t make me feel defensive.
“I know, but that’s the reason why. I grew up in the clubhouse, so I know what goes on. I saw it all. The women, the parties—”
“Your parents seem to have a beautiful relationship,” he points out.
“They do,” I agree. “My dad is loyal to my mom and treats her like a queen. But she’s the exception, because before that he was a notorious player.”
“So you’ll date a biker as long as you are the exception?” he asks, amusement in his tone. “Anyone who loves you would treat you like that. It doesn’t matter who or what they are.”
He’s right, and I know it.
“Well, if you fall in love with someone, nothing else would matter, would it? And besides, preferences change,” I reply, throwing my hands in the air. “Which would make them an exception to the rule.”
“Exactly,” he replies quietly. “You know, I do own a few suits.”
I laugh. “And I suppose I can get on the back of a bike now and again.”
He smiles widely. “Look at us, fucking compromising already.”
He’s cute, and I can’t help but be drawn to him.
I duck my head, feeling shy all of a sudden. I never let anyone see this side of me. I’m known as being a ball breaker, a woman filled with sarcasm and my guard up. Somehow he just knows how to get around me.
“I love this song,” he says, turning the volume up and singing along to the words of “Heat Waves” by Glass Animals.
Fuck it. I join him and sing along, too, just letting go and being in the moment with him.
Atlas seems to balance me out, and to soften me.
He also infuriates me beyond all comparison.
He brings it all out of me.
And it’s fucking terrifying because I don’t know what to do with that.
Chapter Eight
Atlas
“We can drop you off first, and then I’ll drive myself home,” she offers. It’s late, and we both have to wake up early to get to work.
“I don’t want you to drive tired.”
“It’s not too far.”
“Do you want to just stay at the clubhouse? You can have your own room,” I suggest, not wanting the night to end.
