Quincy
I wake up already in a mood. Irritated, restless, stomach in knots for no real reason other than the fact that I didn't sleep well and, once again, Atlas's taken up way too much space in my head.
I take my time getting ready, choosing something cute but not obvious. My favorite low-waist jorts the ones that sit perfectly. It's exhausting. I keep telling myself to let it go, but I never do. He's everywhere, even when he's not trying to be.
I smooth my hair down, pinning it back with a clip that makes the whole look feel just a little more put together. I keep my makeup light and natural like I didn't try too hard, even though I did. A swipe of gloss to make my lips look rosy and kissable. I even pick out my tiny gold hoops.
He once said they looked good on me. I spritz a bit of perfume not too sweet, but enough to leave a trace behind. By the time I'm lacing up my sneakers, I feel good. Confident. Pretty.
I start heading downstairs, and then I freeze halfway down the staircase.
His voice.
Atlas in the kitchen, on the phone. I stop dead in my tracks, one hand gripping the railing.
"Yeah, I got up early. Couldn't sleep much," he says casually, his voice low and a little hoarse in the morning. That lazy kind of tired that somehow makes him even more attractive. "You know how it is, mind won't shut up." He chuckles lightly. That chuckle that usually melts me. But right now? It tightens my chest.
"I made coffee, so I'm surviving," he continues, still calm, like this call is easy. Like he does it often. "What about you? You sleep okay?"
There's a pause, then he laughs again, quieter this time. A different kind of laugh. Softer. More intimate.
"Of course you didn't. You never do. You worry too much." The words hit like a punch. Who's this? Who the hell is he being all gentle with before the sun's even fully up? Why is he talking like that, like he actually cares?
My teeth clench. I shouldn't care. It's none of my business. But I do. Way more than I should.
"I'll let you go," he says after a beat. "Yeah, I'll text you. Promise." I hear his low chuckle as he says goodbye, and it feels like a stab to the heart. I press my lips together, trying to keep my emotions in check. I know it's stupid to feel jealous, but I can't help it.
It didn't sound romantic but it didn't sound friendly either. I clench my fists, fighting the tears welling up in my eyes. I want so much to be the reason for that smile, the one who gets to hear that warm, intimate voice when it softens just for me. I hear the scrape of a chair pushing back, the low sigh he always lets out after standing too long. I wait a second, then walk down the rest of the stairs, trying to act normal.
The second I step into the kitchen, his cologne smacks me in the face, addicting, It's too much. I hate how it makes me want to melt into the floor and stay there.
Atlas turns around, coffee mug in hand, looking annoyingly perfect in a crisp dark suit like it's just another Monday.
"Morning, Quincy."
"Morning" I mutter, heading straight for the cereal like I didn't just hear him playing sweet with someone else. I don't even look at him. I don't want to look at him. I pour the cereal but don't eat right away. Just stir it around like I'm trying to solve some kind of problem in the milk. I'm not even hungry.
Not after that call. Atlas watches me, quiet for a second. "Want a ride to school?"
I shrug. He nods, not pushing. He never pushes when I'm in a mood. He knows how I get. He pours himself more coffee. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, and every stupid inch of him is irritatingly hot. Like he just rolled out of a magazine cover and into my kitchen.
"Got any plans after work?" I blurt out, a little harsher than I meant to. Atlas lifts a brow over his mug, leaning casually against the counter.
"Yeah. Meeting someone later." I blink, then bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to show how much that stings. Someone.
"Why? You need something?" He asks, sipping from his mug like he's got all the time in the world.
'Yeah… you.' But, I didn't say that either.
"Just curious." I grumble, frustrated. He eyes me carefully I know he caught the attitude but he doesn't say a word. Typical. He probably just thinks I'm being a dramatic teenager. Like this is some passing mood. He has no clue how deep it really runs, how much it's chewing me up inside.
Without thinking, I shove the cereal bowl aside, milk splashing onto the counter. Atlas's eyes don't leave me for a second as I stand, sling my backpack over my shoulder, and head for the door.
"You didn't eat." He observes, his deep, smooth voice making me shiver.
"Not hungry" I snap, trying to ignore the way his eyes make my skin tingle. "I'll wait in the car."
As I reach to the car, the lights flash on, Atlas must have unlocked it from the kitchen. I don't care. I'm too p*ss*d to care. But the second I slide into the passenger seat, his scent hits me again, and it's infuriating how it calms me and makes everything worse at the same time.
I close my eyes and breathe it in like a junkie desperate for a fix. I sink into the seat, letting it drown me. I want to hate it I really do. I should. But I don't. It's everywhere: in the air, soaked into the seats, clinging to my skin. It's almost overwhelming... but in the best way. I want to breathe it in until it's all I know.
The car door clicks open, and I blink my eyes open just as Atlas slides in next to me. His presence fills the space, and I have to remind myself to breathe. He doesn't say anything at first, just glances over once.
"Seatbelt." He says it casually, but it still hits with that quiet authority he always has. Not bossy just firm. Unbothered. And yeah, I like it way more than I probably should. I buckle up quickly, glancing out the window to hide the way my face warms up.
"Address?" He asks, already pulling out his phone. I rattle it off and he plugs it into his phone. While he's focused, I watch him, biting my lip. His brow is drawn, mouth relaxed, one hand resting on the wheel. He looks serious, like he always does
I rattle it off, and he plugs it into his phone. While he's focused, I watch him, biting my lip. His brow is drawn, mouth relaxed, one hand resting on the wheel. He looks serious, like he always does when he's concentrating. It's unfair how good he looks doing absolutely nothing.
When he finishes plugging in the address, he doesn't even need the directions just starts driving like he already knows the way. Every time he shifts gears, the muscles in his arms flex under his suit jacket. I try not to stare. Really, I do. But it's impossible when he's sitting right next to me, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift.
Veins snake across his hands, down to his thick fingers fingers. I've imagined way too many times doing things they shouldn't. I picture those strong, rough hands on me-on my waist, my hips, in my hair-gripping me, pinning me down, while he fucks me hard enough to make me forget my own name.
I squirm in my seat, trying to ignore the ache pulsing between my legs. But it's pointless. I'm wet. Stupidly wet and pathetically turned on just from sitting this close to him. He hasn't even looked at me, hasn't touched me, hasn't said a d*mn thing, And still, my body's already acting like I've been f*ck*d senseless. It's humiliating how easily he gets me like this without even trying. All he has to do is exist in the same space, and I'm a mess.
I steal another glance. His legs are spread comfortably, and I imagine dropping to my knees between them. My teeth sink into my bottom lip before I can stop it.
It's crazy, how far gone I am for him. And I know it's unhealthy, how much I think about him. How badly I want him. He's completely off-limits, not just because of the age gap, or the fact that he's my Mom's best friend, but because he's never given me a reason to hope. Never once looked at me that way. Never flirted. Never hinted. He's always been respectful. Always distant.
But I'm not a kid anymore. And I'm done pretending I don't feel what I feel. Atlas doesn't belong to me. Not yet. But I want him. Not just the fantasy of him. Him. And if I have to be the one to make the first move, so be it.
I'm going to make him fall for me just as hard and deep as I've fallen for him. I'll show him I'm not just a little girl he's known since forever. I'll show him I'm a grown woman. That I see him.
That I can handle him. Because I know what I want and I want him.
"We're here." Atlas announces after pulling up in front of the school, his voice snapping me out of my head.
"Thanks." I say, unclipping my seatbelt and grabbing my bag.
"Eat something during break," he says again before I open the door. "You barely touched breakfast." It's such a Mom thing to say, and it really shouldn't make my chest feel all warm, but it does. Without even thinking, I place my hand over his. A jolt runs through me at the contact. His hand goes still like he wasn't expecting it, and I run my thumb across the back of it.
"I will." I murmur, meeting his eyes. His hand doesn't move. He doesn't pull away, but he doesn't hold me either. His jaw ticks slightly, and his gaze lingers just long enough to tell me he felt it too, even if he won't admit it.
"Have a good day." I add before reluctantly letting go. I don't wait for a reply. Just step out and head toward the building, pretending like my heart isn't still beating a little too fast from that one tiny touch. Maybe nothing will ever happen.
Maybe he'll always just be Atlas-off-limits, unavailable, completely out of reach. But that won't stop me. He'll see me soon enough.
And I'll make damn sure of it.