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Arrogant Asshole: No.
Me: I need to see you. It’s important.
Arrogant Asshole: I’m busy.
He never keeps it short with me. Yep, I really fucked up this time. Another message comes through, so I click on it.
Arrogant Asshole: But I’ll stop by if I have time.
Once I’m home, I place his gift on the counter in the kitchen then I change into my thick robe and stroll to my design room. I need to keep my mind occupied from thinking about him, to keep from thinking about the damage I did to our relationship, if we still have one. Fabrics ranging from different colors hang on the racks, gray and black cloths decorate my wooden floors. I started a lace bra with autumn leaf shapes sewed onto it. I cut the lacey fabric with a pair of scissors and stitch them together with my sewing machine. I place both items on the dress form and study the fabrics. The lace panties are smaller, and they’re see-through.
The doorbell rings, and my heart beats rapidly in my chest. He’s here. I didn’t think he would show up, but he did. Glancing down at my phone, the time reads a quarter to ten. Time flew by fast. The doorbell rings again, and I hurry, looking through the peephole.
Slowly, I swing the door open, and Atlas straightens his spine, holding his head high. His shorts hang low on his hips, and his white shirt is snug on his torso with a bag strapped across his chest. I wish he didn’t make my pulse jump out of my skin, or butterflies go crazy in my lower body. It should be a sin for him to look so yummy in regular clothing.
“You needed me?” he says.
I open the door wider, but he doesn’t budge.
“I’m sorry about what happened earlier, and you were right. I haven’t been so kind to you.”
He doesn’t respond and folds his arms across his chest.
“I brought you something to make up for my crappy behavior. Wait right here.” I go to the kitchen and grab the bottle.
“It’s a peace offering from me to you.”
He eyes the bottle then blinks at me several times. We stare at each other, and his facial expression is blank as a canvas.
“Um… Well, I’ll talk to you at work. I have to work on something.” I try to close the door, but he puts his foot in the space to stop me from closing the door fully.
“Wait. What are you working on?”
I study his bicep, and the spider veins in his arms. My hands shake as if I have jitters.
“Working on the lingerie for the fall runaway.” I thrust my fingers through my hair. “Does this mean we’re good?”
He nods. “We were always good, Lake. I needed time to cool off.”
I stand so close to him I feel his body heat. “I’m really sorry. You’ve been trying so hard, and I keep pushing you away and treating you like crap, and I don’t mean to.”
“I know. Stop apologizing.” He clears his throat. “Anyways, show me what you’re working on?”
I usher him to my fashion room. He glances around in awe at the different fabrics and dress forms. I have a painting of my mother in her youthful days hanging on the lavender wall.
“It’s a bit of a mess here, but I’m working on the lingerie for the fall line.”
He eyes the three different lingerie pieces hanging on the dress forms.
“You bring your work home?” he asks.
“Of course I do. I breathe fashion.”
He picks up a fashion magazine that has him on the cover wearing a white dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up, paired with sunglasses and a watch. Heat crawls up my neck and to my face.
“You miss me so much, you have to keep a picture of me here? I’m flattered, Boots.”
I snatch the magazine from his hand and toss it under a table.
