I don’t know when anyone has taken care of me like this. The last time I got sick, Noah brought me a drink, and I slept on the couch. I was able to take him to school; it wasn’t as bad as this.
“Atlas,” I start slowly. “Why are you here?”
He sits down next to me and grabs the seat of my chair, dragging me closer to him. Placing his hand over my leg, he gives me a look. “Because you needed me,” he simply responds, as if it’s obvious.
“I never called you.”
“True. But I stopped by, and yourbrotherlet me in. You were in no shape to take care of anyone, let alone yourself, so I helped you into bed and made you take some cold medicine.”
I guess that explains how I ended up without shorts. I shiver, thinking of what he could have done to me when I was asleep, but it’s not from fear. Would I let him have his way with me if I wasn’t awake? Shaking that thought out of my brain, I refocus on his face.
“Don’t worry. I was strictly business. I like you to be awake when we have our fun.” Leaning into my ear, he whispers, “I like the way you whisper my name in your sleep, though. I bet I could make you moan it.”
Blushing, I try to move away. His presence is too much. Being this close to him, I notice how amazing he smells. I’m pretty sure he used my bodywash, but there’s still something there that’s Atlas. It’s like fresh air and cedar. I want to lean into him and experience it close up, but his voice breaks me out of my thoughts.
“Eat. It should be cool by now. Emma sent it over with me.”
“Who’s Emma?” I ask as I gingerly take a bite of soup. I’ve heard the guys mention her before.
As soon as it hits my taste buds, I groan. I know it’s only soup, but it’s been so long since I’ve had homemade chicken soup, and I forgot how good it is. Mrs. Morgan is obsessed with soups in the winter, and I’d never admit it, but this is better than hers. The broth is rich, and the carrots are so tender and sweet.
Atlas’ gaze zeroes in on my mouth, and I blush as he stares. I’m dying to know what’s going through his mind.
Clearing his throat, he explains, “She’s our mom. I told her Noah was sick, and she sent me with it. As it turns out, you needed it more. There are a few other containers in the freezer just in case.”
“It’s delicious. Please tell her thank you.”
“Oh, you can tell her yourself tonight.”
My eyes dart to his. They aren’t as dark as they normally are. Atlas has beautiful brown eyes with lighter swirls around the center. When he looks at me like he is now, they look even lighter. “What do you mean?”
“We’re having dinner at her house tonight. You, me, and Noah.”
“I have to work tonight, and I think you have clients,” I remind him.
“Nah. I already texted the guys. I rescheduled mine for the evening, and they said to take today, and get better.”
Staring at him dumbfounded, I internally panic. I can’t meet Emma. She’s his mom, and we aren’t dating or anything. Sure, we went out to the game, and he kissed the life out of me, but that doesn’t mean he wants this with me. Plus, it’s not just me he’s getting; it’s Noah too, and I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.
“Atlas. I appreciate all you’ve done, but?—”
“Butts are for sitting, not talking about,” he interrupts me, causing a laugh to escape me.
“What are you, five?”
He grins at me, and it hits me straight in the chest. “No, it’s what Emma says, and I don’t want to hear you say but, unless of course you’re talking about mine.”
Is he flirting with me? Who is this guy, and what did he do with grumpy Atlas? I’m so confused. The Atlas I’ve known these last few weeks doesn’t make jokes, doesn’t run kids to school, or drop off soup. The Atlas I know is difficult and moody.
I try not to flinch when he abruptly stands from the table. “Eat your soup. I’m going to finish my project.” He kisses my forehead andheads toward the living room. I’m too busy staring at the way his dark jeans and T-shirt hug his body; it takes a moment for his words to click.Project?
Curiosity wins out, and I follow him, trying not to think about that kiss and abandoning my food. I’m full anyway. Heading out to the living room, I take in the new dark bookshelves along the wall that are currently being filled. Not only is he putting books on, but there are also a few pictures of me and Noah.
As if sensing my presence, he turns and explains, “I saw them in boxes over there last night and Noah said they’d been there for weeks. He told me you were planning to put them here”—he gestures to the wall—“and turn most of the wall into shelves.”
Standing speechless, I just stare at him. “I was going to do it eventually,” I murmur. Maybe on one of the rare days when I don’t have a million things to do, or Mr. Morgan could do it.
“It’s okay. It didn’t take much time, and the good news is, you have plenty of space so we can fill it with more things like books, pictures… memories.” As he finishes speaking, he throws me a heated look, his dark eyes focused on mine.
