Page 102 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
Atlas smirks. “Thanks.” And then he adds, “Do you think she got it that I was talking about her?”
Storee nods. “I think so.” Then she turns to me and whispers, “Did you understand that he was asking for you for Christmas?”
I feel my cheeks blush. “Yeah, I think so.”
Atlas then turns to Storee. “Can you make it clear to her that I was talking about her, because I don’t want her second-guessing what I said.”
Tanya quickly drops off my drink, and I thank her as Storee cheekily says, “He was talking about you, Betty. He really wants you for Christmas. I even saw drool come out of the corner of his mouth when he asked.”
Now Atlas turns to me. “Can you please let Storee know that there was no drool?”
This is so stupid and so ridiculous, but I can’t help but play along. “Storee, Atlas wants to be clear. There was no drool.”
“Can you please tell Atlas that there is drool right now?”
Laughing, I turn to Atlas. “There is drool right now.”
“Where?”
Keeping up the charade, I lightly brush the corner of his lip with my thumb. “Right there.”
His eyes are burning into mine as he lightly wets his lip. “Oh, my mistake. It’s probably because you smell like fucking heaven this morning.”
Storee leans in even closer. “If you didn’t catch that, he thinks you smell good.”
I turn to Storee and say, “I think he smells better.”
Storee rolls up her napkin and tosses it at Atlas. “Atlas, she thinks you smell better.”
Atlas smirks and turns to me, tucking some hair behind my ear. “Yeah, well?—”
“What the hell are you doing?” I hear someone roar behind me.
And I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. I can hear it in the voice, and I can see it in the way Atlas reacts.
Before I can answer, I’m yanked out of the bench by my arm.
“Hey, don’t fucking touch her like that,” Atlas says.
I look over my shoulder to find my steaming uncle.
“Excuse me?” he asks. “Don’t touch her like that? Want to explain to me why he feels like he can speak to me in such a way?” Uncle Dwight asks.
“Dwight, I think... I think you should lower your voice,” Storee suggests.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” He then whips me around to face him. “What are you doing? Why is he touching you like that?”
“I . . . um.” I’m tongue-tied, unable to answer.
He leans back, his eyes searching mine, and then he starts shaking his head. “No, no, Betty. Please don’t tell me you like him.”
Guilt once again consumes me.
“I . . . I don’t . . . I don’t know.”
It’s a lie. I do know, but I can’t get myself to say it out loud.
“You realize what he’s doing, right?” Uncle Dwight gestures to Atlas. “He’s acting like he’s interested to deter you from putting him out of business, because he’s desperate and he knows that’s what we can do. So he’s resorted to this.”
