Chapter Seven
HECTOR
“What are you all dressed up for?” Atlas asked with a smile. He looked me up and down, and I tried not to squirm under his heated gaze.
“I’m just wearing a polo,” I said lamely.
“You styled your hair too, didn’t you? I think it’s the first time I’ve seen you use gel.”
I pulled the collar of my only polo shirt, now feeling awkward about getting all dressed up. It was the same one I wore to Russell Junior’s birthday party last week. Having a life that revolved around the diner meant I didn’t need much in the way of formal clothes, but maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to invest in a few additional pieces, especially when it meant having Atlas looking at me like that.
The unfiltered desire in his eyes was something I wasn’t used to, and it was doing things to my long-dormant libido.
I wasn’t successful in keeping still under his fiery gaze, but who could blame me? I doubted anyone could keep calm if Atlas looked at them the way he was looking at me, and add on the fact that he was nowmy boyfriend, not that I had the guts to say that out loud.
Not yet, at least.
I’d had nothing but sleepless nights for the past couple of days, wondering if I was crazy after all. Or if all this was a dream.
What was an old man like me doing, thinking things could ever work with someone so vibrant and full of life? But then the quiet nights we’d spend on the couch right before bed holding hands…those were the moments I’d felt alive for the first time in a long time, and it made me want totry.
Even if this thing with Atlas was fated to end in heartbreak for me, I still wanted to give us a chance and put my best foot forward.
“I want to take you on a date,” I said after clearing my throat.
“A date?” Atlas looked thoroughly surprised, which made me feel like a bad boyfriend.
“Yes, a date. I want you to have fun with me.” Worry drummed through my cells. “I mean, unless you don’t want to.”
Atlas’ lips curled up in a smile. He took slow steps toward me, which were basically a walk of seduction, with his sexy gaze fixed on me. His hands grabbed me as soon as I was within reach.
“Adate,” he repeated. His hands curled around my neck, and his lower body was flush against mine. I suspected this was Atlas’ favorite position. “I would love to go on a date with you, Hector Flores.”
The relief that washed over me almost had me unsteady on my feet. Atlas hanging off me was the only thing keeping me upright.
“But we’re goingnow? What about the diner?”
I shrugged, or at least shrugged as much as I could with another human slung over me.
“I already put up a sign saying we’re closed today. It’s always slow on Mondays anyway. I was thinking we might make Mondays our official day off.”
I wasn’t expecting him to frown at the news. “You don’t have to change things just because we’re dating now. I meant it when I said I like you just the way you are, even your workaholic tendencies,” he teased.
I smiled. Maybe if it were anyone else saying this, I wouldn’t have trusted the words right away, but Atlas wasn’t one to hide behind word games. He meant exactly what he said—he always had—and that was the very reason it made trusting him so easy.
“I don’t think I’ll ever stop being a workaholic—and the diner will always remain open late—but maybe I’m starting to realize there is more to life than just work.”
Atlas beamed, and although he was much younger than me, there was a sense that I was making him proud. I’d never made anyone proud before, and it was a strange feeling. One that I didn’t hate.
“If you’ve made up your mind, I’m not complaining. I need to get dressed, then. Where are you taking me?”
“I thought we’d visit the springs—the one the town is named after—and have a little picnic.” I gestured to the picnic basket by the apartment door. The basket was Becca’s, and she’d lent it to me the other day when she peeked over my shoulder when I was shopping for one.
Her nosiness meant she hadn’t dropped it until I finally told her I was taking someone on a picnic date. I hadn’t said it was Atlas, but Becca gave me a knowing look that told me she knew without me having to clarify. She’d insisted on lending me her basket and sneaking it over later that night so I could surprise my “date.” Her words.
The plan had worked, and Atlas looked pleasantly surprised. “You made me a picnic basket? You even decorated it!”
“That was all Becca,” I quickly added. The brown basket had a vine of plastic flowers wrapped around the handle and a giant red bow on one side. It looked nice, I guess, but definitely didn’t match my personality.
