Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
My laughter bubbles up from my belly. “Be careful now, you might live to regret saying that.”
“Nah.” Atlas starts the truck, checks his mirrors, and pulls smoothly into traffic. “There’s no regrets when it comes to you.”
Contentment swells within me, leaving no room for doubt. “Thank you, Atlas,” I whisper, even though those three words aren’t the ones I really want to say.
I love you has been stuck on the tip of my tongue for days now. But that’s crazy, right? Is it even possible to fall in love this fast? I mean, sure, technically I’ve known Atlas for years, but only in the loosest sense of the word.
Maybe love is like grief—maybe it’s not logical either. Maybe trying to justify or quantify my feelings isn’t the answer. Because the reality of it is, no matter which way I slice it, I love Atlas Wallace.
The question is, could he ever truly love someone as broken as me?
“Did you hear me?” Atlas asks, alerting me to the fact that he asked an actual question.
“No, I’m sorry.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and focus all of my attention on him. “Say it again.”
“Do you want to grab something to eat?”
“Like from a restaurant?” I drum my fingers over my well-worn leggings. “Sure.”
“Are you?” He glances my way before flicking on the turn signal. “We can hit a drive-thru if you want.”
“No, I’m good. It’s just… been a long time since I’ve been out to eat.”
“Gonna kill that rotten motherfucker,” Atlas mutters viciously under his breath. “What sounds good to you?”
“Take me somewhere you love.” He knows so much about me, it’s only fair for me to learn all about him. “Your favorite place.”
He shoots me a wicked grin. “Hope you don’t mind getting a little messy.”
Before I have a chance to really think about what he meant, he turns into a familiar parking lot.
“Cluckers?” I ask, bouncing slightly in my seat.
“You know it?” He parks and cuts the engine.
“Yeah. My dad used to bring me here all the time when I was a kid.” Memories of our many meals here flash through my mind, leaving me as excited as I am sad. “One time he even won the Clucker Challenge. He gave me the shirt, and I slept in it every day for a week.”
“Maybe next time we come, I can compete and win you a shirt.” He hops down and jogs around to my side, opening my door.
“You’d do that for me?” I ask, once I’m on my own two feet beside him.
He gives me a duh look. “I’d offer to do it today, but I have something else in mind.”
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?” Butterfly wings flutter low in my belly as possibilities race through my mind.
He presses a hand to the small of my back, ushering me toward the entrance. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
“That was so good,” I mutter for the hundredth time since polishing off the last of my six wings. Growing up, I always got honey barbecue, but Atlas convinced me to try the mango pineapple habanero, and I have zero regrets.
Ugh. Is it possible to have a real baby and a food baby?
“We can come anytime you want, Pip.” He smiles over at me from the driver’s seat. “You just gotta say the word.”
“I’ll hold you to that. Where to now?”
His kissable lips curl into a mischievous grin. “You’ll see.”
“Atlas.” I whine his name, not caring one single bit how childish I sound. “I don’t like surprises.”
Surprises have rarely ever turned out well for me. Instead of surprise, we’re going on vacation, I got surprise, your dad is dead, and it really just snowballed from there.
“Okay, fine.” He pauses a beat. “I was thinking we could go shopping.”
“Shopping?” I ask. “Like for groceries?”
“No.” He draws out the word. “Like for you.”
“For me?” My brows dip in confusion. “What for me?”
“Clothes for one.”
“I have clothes,” I argue, knowing full well that’s a lie. I’ve been living in the same two pairs of leggings and borrowed shirts and socks for weeks now.
“C’mon, Nora,” he pleads, turning into the Target parking lot. “That bump of yours is growing every day and as much as I love seeing you in my clothes, I know you need some of your own.”
“You know I don’t have any money.” Guilt over the money he’s already spent on me pricks at me like tiny needles. “And you’ve already done so much for me—”
“So let me do one more thing.”
On one hand, he’s right, having my own clothes sounds like a dream, but my debts owed to him are racking up faster than I can tally.
“Atlas.” Tears fill my eyes as I whisper his name.
“Please?” He has the audacity to pout at me, puppy dog eyes and all.
Damn him. I can feel my resolve weakening… bending to his will. At least he uses his powers for good and not evil.