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“No worries. We appreciate your coming.” He tosses me an apron, and I put it on. I go behind the counters and get ready to hand out meals. Once they open the doors, people begin flooding in. Peachtree Springs isn’t that big a town, so it always amazes me how many people deal with food and other insecurities, especially when I see where a lot of our tax dollars go and the laws our politicians are enacting. People are starving and don’t have homes or jobs, kids are falling behind in education, the mental health crisis is out of control, yet they’re worried about who uses what bathrooms and not allowing people to go by the pronouns they want. It makes no fucking sense.
Everyone here is friendly, grateful as fuck that there are people who care about them, but unfortunately, we run out of food before we do individuals. That’s always the hardest part and makes my gut sink. Mom used to talk about things like this all the time. When I was little, she would take me to help sort food and clothing for those in need. No matter how much we do, it’s never enough.
“Hey, got a minute?” Dixon asks when those who came to eat are gone and we have everything cleaned up. “Since you were a little late, you missed the discussion during setup.”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“A group of local businesses are running a fundraiser for Activate Kindness. They’re going to do a bachelor auction for a date. I think they wanted to try something different and fun. Feels weird, but I’ll take whatever people are willing to give us—you know we need the money. My first thought was to ask you if you’d participate, but I know you better than that.” Dixon chuckles.
What the fuck does that mean? I’m here doing the work, aren’t I?
“But then I remembered you have a really hot brother, and I was hoping I could convince you to ask him. Having someone from Peach State will help draw some of the college-aged people.”
My jaw tightens, my body feeling like it’s going to overheat. As soon as the reason for my frustration hits me, I bury it because I shouldn’t give a fuck who wants to sleep with Troy or who thinks he’s hot. On the other hand, it’s getting a little old too. Brenner has been telling me he wants in Troy’s pants for a year now. “Step.”
“Huh?”
“He’s my stepbrother.”
“Oh. Whatever. Same thing. Anyway, can you ask him? It’s in mid-November, so we have time to figure it out. And if you want to participate, we’d love to have you too.”
There is zero chance of that happening, but I also feel a little conflicted over the whole Troy thing. My point in volunteering is to help people, and there’s no doubt in my mind Troy could bring in a lot of money, but the thought of him being up there makes my stomach clench. Not to mention, I have no fucking idea how I could even ask him without him figuring out what I do at Activate Kindness. I damn sure don’t want him to know about it. But on the other hand, how can I not bring him on board if that’s what helps more people?
“Dixon, can we get your help here?” another volunteer calls over.
“I gotta go. You’re the best, Atlas. Thanks for always helping out so much.” He pats my arm and takes off without giving me the chance to tell him yes or no.
5
Troy
It’s hard topin down why I’m so pissed when I walk into the main office at the metal yard.
The F I got in Thermo? The hours I dedicated trying to make sure I wouldn’t get an F? Or that Atlas is probably still deriving pleasure from knowing his stepbro failed so horribly at something? Maybe it’s not even about today. Maybe I’m still mad at Mom for discarding Brandon’s stuff like it meant nothing…likehemeant nothing.
I’m sure all these things are playing into my mood, but it didn’t help that I had to drive ten minutes from the shop to buy the alternator Atlas could have just grabbed for me while he was there.
As I approach the front desk in the parts department, there’s no one there, giving me time to stew in my rage. I keep thinking about Atlas strutting around the shop without a shirt on, casually flaunting off his lean, defined muscles that he doesn’t have to do anything to maintain. Not that I’m attracted to him. Far from it. But I have eyes, and I doubt anyone—straight or queer—wouldn’t recognize what he’s got.
I think about what he said when he snuck up on me:“Waiting on a date?”He loves finding me in precarious positions around the shop just so he can get a joke in, and for a straight guy, he’s awfully into my ass.
As soon as I think that, I realize I might be projecting since I’m the one thinking about a dick inhisass, his mouth hanging open, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lets a girl peg him. Why did he have to put that fucked-up image in my head? He’s so full of shit. He’s never done that before. But he brought it up…so does that mean he’d be willing to?
What does that even matter? God, I hate how he fucks with my head!
Atlas’s coworker Charlie saves me from my thoughts when he finally comes out of the back room. We exchange pleasantries briefly before I say, “Atlas told me about an alternator that came in today. I wanted to take a look. See if it’s in good condition for a car I’m working on. Guy goes to Peach State. Was really worried when I told him how much the part was probably gonna run him, so I’m hoping this is fate.”
I’m waiting for him to check the computer or the back, but his forehead wrinkles. “Atlas already bought that one. I rang him up just a few hours ago. I didn’t ask, but I assumed he was going to sell it to you.”
The fuck?
I was just pissed before. Now I’m seething, but I remain cordial with Charlie before heading back to my car, sliding into the driver’s seat.
Why the fuck didn’t he tell me?
I snatch his tee from the passenger seat—I discovered it after he left the shop—and I grip it tightly, taking my frustration out on it. A whiff of musk and sweat reaches me—Atlas’s scent—and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m holding it to my face.
It’s…disorienting.
