I elbow him just barely. “But you asked them to do it, so thank you,” I say. Watching the snake tattooed along his throat as he swallows, I get lost in him for a second. This dirty, greasy man with a chip on his shoulder and a penchant for silence is actually hiding a thoughtful, intellectual, gentle human under all of that. One with a huge cock, too. God, I want to taste him. And yet last night, he wouldn’t let me do anything for him. I swallow hard.
“I’m sorry you had to call in today. If I was thinking, I wouldn’t have drank last night. That way, you wouldn’t have had to miss work today.”
He lowers his sandwich to the plate, dragging a paper napkin across his lips. He’s got something of a short beard now, his cheeks coated in a few days of growth. It’s… incredibly sexy. A week ago, I might’ve called the look homeless or sloppy, but now, I feel like a bitch for having thought that way. Because everything about Atticus Winters is insanely sexy.
“Don’t apologize for shit you don’t need to be sorry about. I drank Brandy. No one had a gun to my head.” He takes another bite as his parents return to the table, and for the rest of lunch, we don’t speak. The four of us chat and have a very nice time. Being with the Winters feels like being home, and I’ve never really had that feeling before.
* * *
An hour later,Atticus is shutting the door to his truck as he walks me to the stairs leading to my apartment. When we reach the bottom of the stairwell, he hands over my duffle bag and snatches the car keys from under the indoor floor mat, where Beau apparently left them.
“Here you go,” he says, dropping them in my palm.
He’s wearing that hoodie that I never wanted to take off. And seeing him in it makes me pulse between my legs. I’d love to be wrapped up in that hoodie in my bed tonight and dream about Atticus being my man, his family being my family, and my life being better.
But he wouldn’t let me see him naked. He didn’t let me touch his cock. When we slept in his childhood bed, he was more of a gentleman than I wanted.
The interest was geographical, right place, right time type stuff. I have to be smarter about the signs moving forward.
“Thank you for a wonderful weekend. I’m sorry for…” I don’t know where I’m taking that sentence, and when I look up at him, I catch him rolling his eyes. I shove him in the shoulder, even though he’s a wall of a man and doesn’t budge.
“Why are you rolling your eyes? I’m thanking you for a hospitable weekend!” I tease, a bit thankful for the chance to lighten the energy of this goodbye. He’s seen my orgasming pussy and my asshole–how do you say goodbye to a man who’s seen that but never kissed you?
“You’re just lookin’ to apologize for shit, ain’t ya?” He shoves a hand through his hair, his man bun looking frayed and messy from his work in the snow this morning.
I shrug. “It’s ingrained in me, I guess.”
His jaw ticks from side to side, and his tongue sweeps across his bottom lip in a way that makes me wish his lip was my clit.
“Ingrain this. You’re a good girl, Goldie. And you look sexy as hell when you cum.”
My cheeks grow hot, but I don’t dodge it. “I wondered if we were going to talk about that.” I tilt my head to the side, terrified but willing to be real. I know that’s what he wants. “Was it a mistake? Do you feel like it was a mistake?”
He grunts, and I reach out to punch him playfully because I refuse to let such a wonderful weekend end in awkward regret, but he catches me by the wrist, and before I know it, his hand is supporting my body on my lower back, and his lips are crashing down on mine.
His kiss is rough and feral, our teeth clashing as our tongues twist together. My pulse skyrockets as he leaves a signature groan in my mouth, his lips moving to my cheek, then down my neck. And as fast as it happened, he lets go.
“It wasn’t a mistake, but it ain’t gonna happen again.” Next to him, he lifts a small grocery bag his mom packed full of soup, bread, cookies, and lord only knows what else. “Mom packed this for you.”
“You keep it,” I offer, willing my eyes to stay dry from his words.It ain’t gonna happen again.“Thanks, though,” I smile sweetly. My most perfected, crafted smile. He cups my cheek, and the grate of his calloused skin against my smooth skin makes my body ache for him.
“Be real,” he says, and I don’t know if it’s about the smile or the rejection of the food, but I take the bag from him anyway. “Later, Goldie.”
With a singular step, he’s out the door.
After I’m unpacked, have taken a hot shower, and have laundry going in my tiny washing machine with soup reheating on the stove, I text Beck.
Goldie:Tell Beau thanks for the cabin weekend. I’m sorry you guys didn’t make it up. It was the best weekend of my life. Like, seriously.
Goldie:Except for that time we ate pot brownies and saw Elton John.
Goldie:And when Jett was born.
Goldie:Third-best weekend of my life.
Beck:I’ll tell Beau. Glad you two had fun. Did Atticus have a good time?
I’m about to text her back when a fist crashes down on my front door three times in a row. My phone falls to the floor as I rush to the door and press my eye to the peephole, my heart racing. I don’t know why I illogically worry it’s Reynold. He doesn’t give a fuck about me.