Page 72 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“Um . . . okay.”
I grab my purse and get out of my car. He holds his hand out, and I take it, only for him to chuckle. “I was actually looking for your keys.”
“Oh my God,” I say, embarrassment washing over me. “Of course. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. Simple mistake. Anyone could have made it.”
I hand him my keys, and he slips them under the driver’s seat and then shuts the door.
“You can take my hand now if you want.”
He holds his hand out, and it’s really tempting. Super tempting actually, because I remember how it felt when he held it, but I shake my head instead.
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?” He wiggles his eyebrows in a teasing way.
“Positive.”
“All right, then come this way.” He leads me toward a dark green truck, something that looks like it’s been restored and welltaken care of over the years. With tall tires and a boxier frame, it’s definitely something I could picture him in. He walks over to the passenger side and opens the door for me.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“I might not get along with you, but I’m still a gentleman... contrary to what your relative believes.”
It’s a low jab, but it seems to be a deserved one.
Once I’m in the truck, which took a hoist from me, I buckle up and wait for him to join. I take in the pristine interior. Clean, not a scrape or a scratch. Barely a speck of dirt. How does he keep it so clean working on a tree farm? I’d half expect the cab to be full of pine needles.
Though it does smell like a freshly cut tree, and if I were honest with myself, that’s the scent that Atlas carries around with him.
He gets in on his side, an easy step up for his size, buckles up, and then the truck roars to life. “You chilly?” he asks.
“A little,” I answer. So he turns on the heat for me and then twists the vents in my direction. “Thank you.”
Guilt consumes me.
Consumesme.
Because let’s review this. Minus the peeking-in-the-cabin thing, he’s been... nice. He’s been cordial. He’s been helpful. He’s been a little goofy. Maybe I’m missing something. Or... he could be playing me. I don’t like to be that person, the cynic, because I like to think the glass is half-full all the time, but it’s hard not to consider the change of behavior as something strange. But then there’s what he said moments ago too.
“I’m just... I’m having a hard time dealing with all this stuff. 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 myfamily, but... Jesus Christ, Betty. I’m so fucking attracted to you that it’s... it’s fucking with my head.”
Ugh, I don’t know.He’sattracted tome? All six foot four of striking manliness attracted to, well, me? I’m not exactly unattractive, but I could imagine a man as good-looking as Atlas doesn’t have to look far for a woman to fall at his feet.Why am I thinking about this?
“Everything okay over there?” he asks as he pulls out onto the road.
“Oh yeah. Just thinking.”
“I know. You were muttering to yourself.”
“Oh my God, was I?”
He smirks and makes a right-hand turn. “Yeah, you were.”
“Did you hear what I was saying?”
“No, but were you thinking about me?”
