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Atlas: Weirdest thing. My lips have been tingling a lot lately.
Me: You suggesting they’re psychic?
Atlas: Could be.
Me: Or just hungry for my dick?
Atlas: Maybe you should ask them next time you see them.
Me: I was thinking about heading to McDonald’s later.
For the first time since we started chatting, his response is delayed. Why did I send that?
Atlas: Are you telling me because you need a guardian present so you can go inside the playhouse?
Me: Ass. You know damn well McDonald’s doesn’t have a playhouse.
Atlas: Don’t call me an ass. Not my fault they don’t have a playhouse.
I roll my eyes.
He still hasn’t responded, and my nerves are on edge. I can see he’s typing, and I’m waiting for:No. Busy. Can’t.Some dismissive, one-word reply, like when he’s tried to get out of dinners with the fam in the past. Instead, I get:
Atlas: Sure, we can have a Mickey D’s date.
He’s obviously joking. Or is he? I thought he was joking about the BJ, but I was wrong. Very wrong.
I decide to play along like it’s a joke, since that’s what it has to be, right?
Me: You think you’re the first guy to trick me into a date after tasting this D?
Atlas: Maybe you can tell me all about it over fries…
“Date,” I mutter with a huff. Not that a real date with him would be such a horrible idea.
What am I even talking about? This is Atlas! My asshole, jerk Atlas, who’s been little more than a thorn in my side since freshman year of high school. My little fucker Atlas, who’s practically been my sworn rival since we started reveling in each other’s missteps and swapping insults. My intriguing Atlas, who’s got my mind spinning, and whose joke about a date has me more excited about fast food than I should be.
16
Atlas
Idon’t knowwhat I’m doing, standing outside waiting for Troy to swing by and pick me up. It’s not as if I don’t have my own vehicle and can’t take my ass to McDonald’s all by myself. It’s also not as if I should be playfully entertaining this date idea anyway. Not that it’s really a date. Holy fuck, is it really a date? Usually I don’t freak out about shit like this. I’m sure Troy is running it over in his head a million times, and it’s a whole lot easier to leave that to him. Both of us don’t need to be overthinkers. But then again, are there really any rules to abide by when you’re talking about your stepbrother? The worddateshouldn’t even be in our vocabulary, but considering I’ve had his dick in my mouth, playing around with flirty words is no big deal.
I’m leaning against the building when Troy’s car pulls up. He stops at the curb, looking at me expectantly, but I don’t move to go toward him. I can tell he sighs, and I have to bite back a smile. Frustrating him is one of my favorite things, making me get a tingle at the base of my spine and laughter bubble in my chest and—What the fuck? I shake my head like I can make those offending thoughts fall out. My brain is suddenly weird-ass poetry or lust letters to my stepbro.
Troy finally gives in and rolls down the window. “Are you coming or not?”
“Didn’t we do enough of that last time we were together?” I push off the wall and can see him flush from the fifty feet between us.
“Shh! What the fuck, A?” He sounds slightly nervous, but no matter how hard he’s clearly trying, he can’t wipe the grin off his face, as though thinking about orgasms with me makes him extremely happy.
I chuckle and get in the car. “No one heard me.” He’s already driving away as I buckle my seat belt. “You buying me dinner since this whole date thing was your idea?”
“I just mentioned I was going to McDonald’s. You’re the one who called it a date.”
“You’re the one who didn’t deny it.”
“That still means this was your idea.”
