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I set my phone on the counter and move closer to the mirror, studying the mark. About two inches maybe.
Back when I was in high school, I might’ve tried to cover it with makeup or worn a turtleneck, but I want people to see what Atlas did to me. Why the fuck, I don’t even know.
As I’m inspecting his artistry, my phone buzzes, and I see the notifications pop up on my screen:
Atlas: You love it.
Atlas: I wanna see my work.
Atlas: Now.
My greedy Atlas.
I notice my smirk in the mirror, appreciating that now’s a great time for him to get a view.
I fix my hair real quick but keep it a little messy for effect, then pose in the mirror, making sure to get my face and my torso in the shot, turning my wrist up so my bicep pops. Of course, I make sure what he’s wanting to see is prominently displayed, but I want to leave him a little thirsty.
I snap a few shots before I’m satisfied, then send him my favorite.
Me: Great timing. Just got out of the shower.
Atlas: You know what you were doing.
Me: You’re welcome. xx
I don’t know why it excites me so much. Just the thought of a little smile twisting across his face when he sees it sends a rush to my chest.
If he had a tat of my name, he could snap a pic of it to send back to me.
And now I’m fantasizing again about where I’d want it. His lower back? No…no, right under his left pec, running across his skin, along his torso. Yes, that’s much better. Just a little strip to let everyone know whom he belongs to—
What? No. He doesn’t belong to me! But he saidbelongfirst, not me. And why am I obsessing about branding him? Atlas would never get a tattoo of my fucking name.
I would never even let him know that’s something I want. Although, there are plenty of things he’d pulled from me in the past twenty-four hours that I hadn’t intended to say.
Like when I told him about that stuff with Brandon. When Atlas, who acts like such an asshole sometimes, stood there listening, seeing me in my pain, letting me see him in his.
No one else will ever know what shit he’s been through like I do. No one had been there to feel all that fury and pain. No one had experienced the way Glen treats him like a piece of garbage.
I’ve always known that was true, but since we started doing…whatever this is…it hits differently.
I shake out of this weird thinking and dress before getting some schoolwork done. My housemate Jesse asks if I wanna join the guys for pizza, and I take him up on it. I’d rather hit up Atlas to see if he wants to go to McDonald’s, but I can’t take up all his fucking time. Plus, I want to catch up with my friends.
There’s about ten of us at the pizzeria, and Jesse, Ash, and I sit near each other. There’s definitely some shit-giving about the mark on my neck, and I take it, especially since I can tell they’re all just jealous it’s not them.
“I doubt whoever gave you that paid nearly as much as I did,” Ash teases.
“You know you could have just hired a sex worker, maybe multiple sex workers for that much money,” Jesse points out.
We all laugh, and fortunately, it takes the pressure off me to comment about my mark.
A few minutes later, our housemate Lance joins us, frazzled and shaking. I’d already gotten the story from the guys before he got here—girlfriend just dumped him, and he’s taking it hard. But lucky for him, he’s got a good crew, and we’re all ready torally around him for support. Ash is perfect for this, since he also went through a rough breakup, and while I’m tearing into some hot wings, Lance says, “I want to hit Crave tonight. And hard. Like…don’t-wanna-remember-tomorrow hard.”
“I don’t know aboutthathard,” I say, “but Crave would be fun. Could get some drinks, then get out on the dance floor. Love some dancing, and they have great music.”
“Yeah, I love dancing,” Ash says, his gaze shifting my way.
Ooh, this could be an interesting thing to work around. When I told Atlas I wouldn’t touch Ash, I hadn’t considered all the interactions we would have outside our scheduled date. But I can figure this out, and Lance needs us there for him.
