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Great. It’s a date!
I overthink that little exclamation point he added at the end for far too long. Is it overeager? Am I overeager? What does it mean? Is he right?
Is it... adate?
Eight
Rowan
A date.
Atlas has a date. With some asshole who’s way too into his facial hair. Freddy Mercury lookin’ ass bitch.
What the actual fuck?
I watch her through the dormer window as the girl–Anna–is dancing like a lunatic behind her and then she’s grabbing Atlas’s hand, then they’re both dancing and shaking their asses, giving the poor dead fool on the table more action than he’s probably ever seen his entire fucking life.
“Fuck,” I hiss to myself. I crack my neck sideways and curl my fingers into the fabric in my pocket. I hid her panties in my bathroom drawer after changing this morning, but as soon as they were gone, a cycle of anxiety tore through me. They were back in my pocket within minutes. The rigid feel of the lace brushing back and forth beneath my fingertips calms me.
Slightly.
He’s dating her, but I’m the one crawling out of her closet at six in the morning after she falls asleep. We are not the same, my dude.
A weighted sigh shoves from my lungs.
She’s going on dates while I’m stuck in a goddamn bush just watching her have a life. A life she deserves, honestly. The only fucking problem is she’s going to live that shit without me.
Sure, I swore up and down that I wouldn’t touch her. That was my one fucking rule. And after breaking it yesterday, I’ve become addicted to the feel of her soft skin. I want more. And if anyone else gets to touch that skin, I’ll rip them apart from the inside out.
With a sigh, I close out of the app I installed on my phone to receive her messages. I can’t watch them flirt in real time. It’ll ruin me. It’ll ruin him. I’m already in deep fucking shit with the man I killed last night and with rearranging Nathan’s pathetic face... I can’t add another dead body to my roster so soon.
I need to exercise some self-fucking control. The thing is, when it comes to her, I lose all reason and don’t want to find it.
My hands shake and my mind reels. Maybe I could go to this guy’s house. Drop in and...
And what? Kill some college kid for asking her out?
Yes.
No!
Fuck.
Ten seconds ago, I was on the moon because she lied to the guy about last night, and now I have to sulk and watch her celebrate him asking her out. Our relationship is so fucked up.
Because you don’t have a relationship,an annoying little voice at the back of my mind reminds me. She doesn’t even know I fucking exist.
My phone lights up, and I look down at the new text on my burner app.
Where are you?
The unsaved number is one I recognize instantly. Ed hates to be kept waiting. He’s my boss but not. I’m like an independent contractor. I work for a lot of men. Most of them terrifying and powerful.
But I don’t belong to them. As I remind Ed day in and day out.
So, Ed will have to wait.
My phone flashes again, and I almost think it’ll be Atlas’s little boyfriend messaging her once more, but it’s a number I don’t actually know. And when your job is to be an unknown man, it happens a lot.
