Atlas' POV
I told myself it was just a passing thing, a phase, a glitch in my brain I could work through. So I did the only thing I knew how to do. I pulled back. I buried myself in work, made excuses, skipped dinners, and ignored Trina's invitations.
I distanced myself from Quincy-physically and emotionally, because being around her felt like standing too close to a flame I couldn't afford to touch. It was the only way I knew how to shut it down before it consumed me.
For five months, I was good. Really good. I held the line. I stayed away, kept my thoughts in check, convinced myself I was over it. I didn't see her, barely let her name cross my mind.
And after a while, I really started to believe it. That whatever this twisted thing was, this inappropriate, f*ck*d-up feeling that had taken root in me, it was finally gone. Or at least buried deep enough to forget.
Until Trina called two weeks ago.
She told me about the trip. Said she would be gone for months. Said Quincy would be alone in the house and she needed someone there, someone who cared, someone who could protect her. And then she said that word again. Trust.
I didn't stand a chance.
Now, every time I look at Quincy, it takes me right back to that moment, when she looked at me, not like a girl who needed help, but like I was hers. Maybe she didn't mean anything by it.
She's always been affectionate, always been comfortable around me. She could be acting the same way she always has. Maybe I'm the one who changed.
But I don't know. I can't tell anymore.
And that's what makes this so dangerous. The fact that I'm not sure what she's thinking, That I don't know how much she actually sees... or how much she wants to be seen. I'm ashamed of myself. I carry that shame with me like a second skin. Every time I look at Trina, I wonder how the hell I can face her knowing what's in my head when I see her daughter.
Knowing that somewhere along the way, I crossed a line in my heart, even if I haven't done anything. If she ever found out… f*ck, she wouldn't even need time to think. She would bury me with her bare hands. And I wouldn't blame her.
Three days in, and I'm already losing my grip. She's everywhere, her laugh, her smell, the way she moves around the house. She's not even doing anything wrong, but my mind keeps twisting every glance, every touch, every smile. I keep telling myself I've got this under control, but I'm lying. If I stop fighting it for even a second, I'll do something I can't take back.
I keep rubbing my fingers together like I can scrub off the ghost of Quincy's touch. But it lingers, and the guilt's starting to creep in again. I should've pushed harder to turn down Trina's request.
It would've saved me a hell of a lot of inner conflict.
"Mr. Vans?" Someone calls, snapping me back to the present. One of my employees is looking at me from across the table. "We need your input on the new marketing strategy." I blink. Right the meeting. Everyone's staring. I clear my throat and nod.
"Right. Go ahead." The meeting picks up again, and I try to zone back in, but my phone buzzes in my lap. A message from Quincy lights up the screen.
"Hey…" the message read, "Can you grab me a pizza on your way back?"
I raise an eyebrow and type back. She answers almost instantly. "Sure. Your usual, or you want to switch it up?"
"My usual, please! Thanks!"
The emoji she used makes me pause for a second, not because I read too much into it, but because lately, she's been warmer than usual. More affectionate. Then again, that's just Quincy. She's always had that sweet side. I shove down the warmth rising in my chest and refocus on the meeting.
After work, I swing by Domino's and order her favorite Darian pizza. I throw in pork meatballs and a Caesar salad too. She didn't ask for them, but I know she likes having them together. It's nothing, just... being thoughtful. That's all.
When I get home, the living room looks like a d*mn Pinterest board threw up on it, blankets, pillows, the works, light dimmed. Cozy. I head toward the kitchen and stop dead in my tracks.
Quincy has her back to me, headphones on, dancing while the popcorn pops. She's wearing the smallest pajama set I've ever seen her in. Her tank top keeps riding up as she moves, and her shorts cling to her hips, exposing the smooth swell of her butt.
Sh*t.
My jaw clenches. I tell myself to look away. I don't. Every part of her is a distraction, a temptation, a walking, breathing test I didn't sign up for. And I'm failing it just by standing here.
For a split second, all I can think about is yanking those shorts down, bending her over the counter, and f*ck*ng her so hard until she's moaning my name and forgetting her own.
I squeeze my eyes shut and s*ck in a sharp breath. No. Stop. She's Trina's daughter. She's off limits in every way. She's Quincy. She has no idea what that kind of sight does to a man. But I do. And I have no excuse. I'm a grown man. I shouldn't even be looking.
I clear my throat, even though she can't hear it over the music. Still, I make the effort, one useless, last-ditch attempt to act like a decent man. I force my gaze anywhere but her body, trying to ignore the way she smells like vanilla and something floral. Sweet, feminine and completely addictive. It clings to the air, messing with my head. My grip on self-control feels like it's hanging by a single, fraying thread.
Down, boy.
I finally move, dropping the pizza and food bag on the counter louder than necessary. Quincy jumps and whips around, eyes wide and searching.
"Jesus, you scared me," she says with a breathy laugh, tugging her tank down as a flush creeps into her cheeks. "Didn't hear you come in."
"Just got here." I manage, my voice strained as I fight to keep my eyes on her face and nowhere else. She notices the bag next to the pizza and frowns slightly, tugging her headphones down around her neck. Then she leans over the counter, cleavage on full display, hips swaying just enough to catch my attention while she checks the bag.
"You got extra stuff?" I force myself to keep eye contact, but f*ck, it's nearly impossible with her cleavage practically in my face.
"Meatballs and salad," I say, leaning on the counter, arms folded, trying to act normal. "Figured you'd want more than just pizza." Her face lights up as she excitedly walks around the counter to dig into the food. Her scent hits me like a wave, making my pulse quickens. Being this close to her is overwhelming. I can feel the heat radiating off her just inches away. When she bites into the meatballs and lets out a soft, satisfied moan, it's like a shot straight to the d*ck.
"Ugh, this is so good," she mumbles through a bite. "Thank you so much, Atlas. You're seriously a lifesaver."
"Welcome." I manage, backing away like she's radioactive. Our proximity is screwing with my head. My body's betraying me and acting up, and it's pissing me off. I need space. Distance. Something cold. I head to the fridge and grab a bottle of water, cracking it open like it might save me.
I take a long sip, mostly to keep my hands busy. When I glance back, she's licking sauce off her fingers. My jaw clenches and my hand grips the bottle so tight it crinkles under the pressure.
"What's with the movie night setup?" I ask, trying to sound casual, even though my voice comes out tighter than I'd like.
She shrugs, finishing chewing. "Just thought it'd be nice to hang out. Watch a movie. Chill," she grins. "I even got your favorite snacks."
Her tone is casual, like she really just means to watch a movie. She probably does. Still, I hesitate. Not because of her… because of me. Because the more time I spend with her like this, the more I start to forget the rules I set for myself. I glance at the mountain of blankets, then back at her.
"I've got a bit of work to finish," I lie, avoiding her eyes. "Maybe next time."
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly, not in frustration, just curiosity. "Since when do you work at night?" Sh*t. She's observant.
"Just playing catch-up." I reply. "It's been a long day." She doesn't pout or beg, just smiles.
"No worries. But if you change your mind, the couch is yours too." She walks past me, her arm grazing mine just enough to leave a trail of heat in its wake. I catch a whiff of her sweet and I grit my teeth, setting the water down. Quincy isn't doing anything wrong. She's just being herself.
I'm the problem here. I'm the one letting thoughts creep in that have no business being there. She settles onto the couch with the snacks, adjusting a pillow behind her back. She glances over her shoulder and grins.
"You sure you don't wanna join? Just one movie?" There's no pressure in her voice, just a genuine invitation. Friendly. Like she always is. I exhale. F*ck it. I'm probably overthinking things.
"Fine. One movie." She beams without even looking at me, already wrapped up in her blanket.
"Knew you would cave." I roll my eyes, undo the top buttons of my shirt, ditch my tie, and kick off my shoes. The couch feels soft beneath me as I sit, making sure to keep a safe amount of space between us. But even then, I can feel her warmth. Hear her breathing. Smell that sweet, cozy scent clinging to her skin. This isn't a big deal.
"Just a movie. Just a friend. That's all." I chanted in my head, but the pounding in my chest says otherwise.