Page 70 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“Positive.” I twist my hands together, unsure of what else to say as he stares down at me.
And I stare up at him.
Our eyes locked.
His chest falling up and down faster from his irritation.
My heart rapidly beating in my chest from the confusion I’m facing.
And then after a few seconds, he tugs on his hair and says, “Um, well, okay. I’ll let you go. Sorry about earlier and the yelling and the awkward conversation and just, fuck, everything. Sorry about everything.”
Thing I never expected to happen today: Atlas apologizing to me.
It doesn’t feel right, because in the grand scheme of things, did he really do anything wrong?
“You don’t need to apologize.” I thumb behind me. “I was a jerk back there too.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I was a bigger one. I made it weird by showing you a shirtless picture of myself.”
Wow, really going far back with the apology.
And to be honest, I didn’t mind the shirtless picture. I learned some things from that picture... so many things.
“It’s fine. The picture was fine.”
“It wasn’t,” he says.
“But it was.”
He looks me in the eyes. “Betty.”
“Atlas,” I say as his eyes don’t leave mine.
He wets his lips.
His hands fit into the front pockets of his jeans.
And as we stand there, staring at each other, a heavy tension starts to build between us.
My palms start to sweat, his gaze far too strong.
My brain fixates on just how attractive he is. There is a slight curl to the ends of his chestnut brown hair. It seems like he shaved, but it just grew right back into a thick scruff. How he towers over me, his shoulders bulky with power, but he doesn’t have any resemblance of an intimidation factor. Like he presents himself as someone not to mess with, but deep down, he’s just... he’s...
“Fuck,” he grumbles, looking away and then pulling on the back of his neck. He clears his throat, and when his gaze meets up with mine once more, he quietly says, “I... I feel all out of sorts around you.”
“What . . . what do you mean?” I ask.
He turns away, hands on his hips, truly looking like he’s in distress. “I’m just... I’m having a hard time dealing with all this stuff.” His eyes meet mine again. “I’m clearly not a fan of what you’re trying to do. I think it’s wrong, I think it’s vindictive, and I don’t understand why you’re doing it, especially since you don’t really know me or my family, but... Jesus Christ, Betty. I’m so fucking attracted to you that it’s... it’s fucking with my head.”
Oh.
That’s, um, that’s unexpected.
“And I don’t want my brothers near you, and I just sort of lost it back there, so I’m sorry.”
Doesn’t want his brothers near me?
Attracted to me?
