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 snort into my sleeve.
When she’s down—miraculously, a smooth handoff tonight instead of the extended negotiation she sometimes demands, we drift back down to the living room.
“Listen… I’m going to make the grocery run now so I don’t have to do it tomorrow. The grocery store is mostly empty this time of the evening.”
Disappointment washes over me because I expected him to make a move. It’s what should happen in a sex-only relationship when there’s nothing else to do. Instead, he wants to go grocery shopping.
“Get lots of good snacks,” I say lightly, because I am attempting bravado as a hobby.
“On it. Captain Cutie has demands and I am a humble servant.”
“I’m going to finish my application.” Because saying it out loud might make it real.
His smile is immediate. “Let me know if you want me to read anything.”
“Your grammar is terrible,” I say, to keep the softness from spilling over. “But thanks.”
“Devastating,” he mutters.
I smile and grab my laptop from the table.
And then he says my name. “Mads.”
I look over my shoulder, and he holds my gaze. “I’m glad you’re going to be there tomorrow,” he says quietly.
“Me too,” I say, then nod toward the stairs. “I think I’m going to work in my room, then head to bed.”
Atlas stares at me, and I want him to say anything that leads me to believe he’ll be joining me at some point, but he doesn’t. He just nods. “Text me if you need anything specific outside of our regular list.”
In my room, I sit on the edge of the bed and open my laptop. The application portal is clunky, but that’s not surprising. The money doesn’t flow in agencies like this.
I fill in boxes, list my education, my work history, my licenses, my skills.
I falter at the “Why do you want to work here?” field, because the honest answer is messy. I can’t simply write, Because I’m good at it. Because it feels like something I owe. Because I can do for other kids what wasn’t done for me. Because I want to prove to myself I am more than what my past made me.
Instead, I write a measured truth.
My phone buzzes and I glance down at it on the mattress by my hip.
Atlas.
And a photo of a ridiculous mountain of baby snacks in a grocery cart, along with a huge bouquet of spring flowers. The photo itself does things to me, but the words have me nearly swooning. For Captain, enough snacks to feed an army. For management, pretty flowers well deserved.
“Stop,” I whisper to no one, smiling at my screen like an idiot.
I type back: I don’t accept bribes.
Three dots. This is extortion, not bribery.
I laugh and put the phone face down because if I keep going, I’ll want things I’m not allowed to want.
The cursor blinks at the bottom of the application, prompting me to attach my résumé. Once it’s uploaded, I hover over the “Submit” button.
I think about the last time I applied for a job, how flat and alone it felt. I think about Atlas in the kitchen, saying we’ll make it work like a promise he’s already keeping. I think about Grayce bonking the purple cat page seventeen times. I think about how rules are supposed to keep me safe, not small.
I submit my application. The rainbow wheel spins, loads and receipt is confirmed.
I put the laptop aside and lie back on the bed. I try to imagine tomorrow—meeting Brienne Norcross, the roar of fans, my nerves skittering out of control.
I try to imagine that I will not let fear keep my world small. That I will sit with women whose names I barely know and clap until my palms sting, and when cameras swing our way, I will look like a person who belongs exactly where she is.
I don’t believe it, not fully.
Not yet.
But I can practice.
I reach for my phone one more time. Atlas has sent nothing else, and that’s fine. He doesn’t owe me a good-night. He doesn’t owe me anything but the rules we both wrote.
Co-parents, that’s it.
The words taste hollow tonight so once again, I think about tomorrow where I’ll step into his world. I let myself have the luxury of wanting the version where his world is mine too.
Only for tonight. Only in my head.
Then I put the want away, like a good girl who knows the rules, and I close my eyes. I try to ignore the hollow feeling inside me.
And then my phone chimes again. My blood fires hot at Atlas’s text. Any chance you’d be waiting naked in my bed by the time I get back?
The hollowness disappears in an instant, replaced by a rush so fierce it almost makes me laugh. It has nothing to do with the promise of amazing sex—though that’s a guarantee—and everything to do with the fact that Atlas reached for me. That he wants the connection as much as I do, and that wanting it back might be the most dangerous rule I’m breaking of all.