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After working on Dad’s porch from early morning until the sky turned the faintest hint of pink and orange, I’m ready to soak in the tub for hours unwinding my knotted muscles, but Atlas with that handsome grin and steady fingers that work into my shoulders tells me that he has plans for us tonight. I’m too weak for him to say no.
“Where are you taking me again?” I ask as I sit cross-legged on the bed with my eyes closed. Atlas has my face cupped in one of his big hands, brushing a burnt orange color of eyeshadow over my lids.
The makeup was actually his idea this time. He asked if I liked wearing it out, and as long as it’s somewhere off campus and not towards home, with someone I’m comfortable with, then I’m usually more open with what I’ll wear. It’s hard to get people around here to pay you for hard work if they’re used to seeing you in tight clothes and makeup.
Tonight, Atlas told me to dress up in whatever would make me happiest, and staring into my closet, I realized I didn’t really know what that was. What I settled on was another pair of leggings like what I wore out to the club, only these were black and shimmery and somewhat sheer around my ass. I’ve never worn them out of my bedroom, but by the appreciative stare and lip bite I get from Atlas, I think I’ve made a good choice.
I paired it with a high necked crop top in a deep maroon color, one that clings to my chest and makes the pink Dahlia on my abdomen stand out. Once I was dressed, Atlas sat me down and pulled my hair back into a loose braid and insisted on letting him do my makeup and nails for me.
Which isn’t a kind of pampering that’s ever been offered to me, and I still feel guilty sitting down to do those things myself, much less letting someone else do them for me. But those big honey eyes get me every time.
“I haven’t told you yet,” he says, pressing something against my scalp that has me cracking one eye open.
“What are you doing?”
He’s got his tongue sticking out between his teeth as he does it again. “Bobby pins. Because your hair is a pain.”
I laugh and reach out to stop him after the fourth one, threading my fingers into his. “Are we ready now?”
Atlas grips my chin and tilts my face to reach his mouth, a gentle and steady pressure against my lips. “Should be.” He looks down at our still-joined hands, rubbing his thumb over the pink and black colors we picked out. “You’re incredibly handsome all of the time, but right now...” He kisses me again. “You are breathtakingly gorgeous.”
It makes my stomach feel warm and tight when he says things like that, and if I wasn’t so curious about what he has planned, I might drag him down to the bed and get lost in the cavern of his mouth.
But A is taking B on a date, and I want to savor every second of it.
The sun has set by the time Atlas has us in the truck driving down a dark, desolate road away from the bright lights of the town. The street lamps ran out a few miles ago, and it gives off a certain level of peace: the warm May air coming through the windows, the trees passing by in a blur of greens and browns, and Atlas’ hand wrapped securely over mine on the gear shifter.
“You get me all dolled up to murder me out in the boonies?” I ask when he takes a turn down a dirt path that cuts into the woods.
“No,” he says through a laugh, following the path until we come to a clearing of sorts and parking the truck in the middle of the field. With the car shut off, he turns to me and pulls our hands to his lips. “I made you get comfortable and dress in a way that makes you feel good so you could come out here and dance with me. No one else to see or judge.”
He turns my wrist over, kisses over the crisscross of faded scars, and smiles brighter than the moonlight outside. “For tonight, you’re just mine, and I’m just yours.”
There goes that warmth again. Spreading outward and blooming on my skin like a brand. The sky is dotted with specks of white as we step into the humid air, nothing but sky, trees, and grass as far as I can see in any direction.
I cross my arms and lean back on the hood as Atlas climbs into the bed of the truck and rummages around under the tarp he’d covered it with. When he comes out, it’s with one of those handheld Bluetooth party speakers, and he sets it down on the hood as he pulls out his phone and starts connecting them.
“Ya know,” I start, “if you wanted me to grind on you, there are much simpler ways to go about it.”
Atlas bites down on his smile and gives me a hot look over the screen of his phone. “While I’m not opposed, that’s also not what I’m going for.”
He puts his phone in the pocket of his jeans as an acoustic guitar plays through the speakers. His hand reaches for mine, and even if I don’t know where this is going, I let him pull me along the dirt and grass until the beat of the song kicks in. Laughter bubbles out of my chest at the unmistakable tune of country music filtering through the clearing.
“Gonna teach me a line dance, cowboy?”
Atlas tightens his fingers around mine and yanks me into his chest, a wide grin plastered on his lips as they fall over mine. “Smart mouth,” he grumbles, mindlessly rocking us both to the music. “It’s a queer country song. Came on while I was working out the other day. I got a good chuckle out of it. Thought you might, too.”
I don’t get what he means until the chorus hits and my brows fly up. “Wow.” Atlas drops his hand to the small of my back and I rest mine on his biceps, following the beat with the rock of our hips and the back and forth pressure of my groin on his hip as Atlas presses me to him.
“I’m not sure if it’s figurative or if he’s talking about sucking dick,” Atlas says, and I throw my head back on a laugh. “It’s fun, though. And it reminds me of you.”
I shake my head and lay my cheek on his shoulder. “A horny country song reminds you of me?”
“You suck at guessing. Shut up.” He pulls me back up for another kiss, parting my lips to give my tongue a sensual suck before nipping it and breaking away. He mouths along to some of the words, catching the back of my neck in his hand and holding me still as he repeats them over my lips.
“Hmm.” I dart my tongue out to taste his mouth. “Catching feelings, are we, A?”
His hands on my hip and neck stop all movement of us swaying to the song, and he peers down into my eyes with a volcanic seriousness. “Not as A,” he whispers. “A and B are a mutually beneficial agreement. They’re about exploring and experimenting and becoming comfortable in our bodies. This isn’t that.”
