Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“I’m the person who’s supposed to keep this house stable for Grayce,” I say, forcing each word. “And I can’t do that if my judgment is compromised.”
His eyes flick back to the oatmeal streak on my wrist and then to my mouth, and his throat works like it costs him. “Was your judgment compromised last night? Or did you choose me?”
The question is a scalpel. It also doesn’t matter.
“It doesn’t change what is smart,” I whisper. “We can’t do this. The morning routine. The coffee the way I like it. The version of a family we play at. Because I will—” I bite it off before I say the truth out loud.
I will want it. I will crave it so hard it will burn me down. And I’ll be destroyed when you take it away from me.
His face shifts on the word family—something bright and pained at the same time. “You think I’m playing?”
“I think you want everything to be simple.” I gesture around at the tidy kitchen, the sippy cup, the bib catching oatmeal. “It isn’t.”
“Simple and good aren’t the same thing,” he says quietly.
Grayce starts to fuss, little whimpers building toward a cry. She’s exceeded her oatmeal patience. Atlas moves immediately, wiping her hands with practiced quickness, murmuring nonsense in that low, steady tone that works better than mine most times. He knows how to move toward a need—not away. It’s one of the first things I noticed about him. One of the first things that scared me.
He lifts her from the high chair, tosses her gently—just enough bounce to get a breathy giggle—and then presses his nose to her cheek.
My chest squeezes. I shouldn’t even be here, shouldn’t be watching him with her and imagining this is a picture of us. I clear my throat and force out the words. “Last night was a mistake, Atlas. I can’t… we can’t do relationships. Not with our history, not with what I’ve been through.”
He looks up, brows raised. Not defensive, not hurt. Calculating. Then his mouth quirks, slow and deliberate. “Okay, then we don’t make it a relationship.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“We keep it about sex.” He says it like he’s suggesting switching brands of laundry detergent.
“Sex?”
He shrugs one broad shoulder, setting Grayce on his hip like his body was built just for that purpose. “You already said the relationship part won’t work. But last night worked, didn’t it?” His eyes cut to mine, unflinching. “Hell, more than worked. The dirty things you said lead me to believe it was as amazing for you as it was for me.”
A flash of heat shoots through my body, low and traitorous. He’s right. It wasn’t amazing—it was life altering. My body still hums with echoes of it. But hearing him strip it down to just sex stings like salt in a wound I didn’t know I had.
And yet, I brought that on myself.
“So, you’re saying we just… have sex?”
He gives me a steady look. “I’m saying I heard you and I accept your limitations. You don’t want a relationship. You want lines and boundaries so you feel safe. Fine. I’ll work with that. I’ll take the one thing we both know we’re damn good at together and leave the rest alone.”
I open my mouth. Close it.
My brain whirls through the possibilities he’s laying out before me. I don’t know whether to be furious or flattered. The sex was beyond amazing. The idea of more, without the threat of entanglement, sets my skin buzzing. But the casual way he frames it? Like he’s boxed me into something I swore I’d never let happen again? That confuses me more than anything.
“You really think that can work?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend.
He shifts Grayce to his other hip, calm as can be. “Why not? We both get what we want. You don’t have to risk the emotional mess of a relationship. I don’t have to pretend I don’t want you. And we both walk away satisfied, no guilt, no pressure.”
I stare at him, stunned. Part of me wants to argue, to call it reckless, to accuse him of reducing me to a body. But the part that hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the way he touched me, how he knew exactly what I needed, whispers yes.
Atlas smiles faintly, as if he knows what battle is happening in my head. “Think about it, Maddie. You’ve already admitted you can’t do the whole hearts-and-flowers thing. Fine. So don’t. Let yourself have this.”
I truly can’t tell if he’s manipulating me or rescuing me from myself.
Maybe both.
Maybe it doesn’t matter.
I blow out a shaky breath, my pulse thundering in my ears. “You’re serious.”
“As a playoff game,” he says easily.
The idea is insane. Way too dangerous and everything I should run from.
And yet, “Okay,” I whisper.