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)
“Blind and biased,” Rafferty says, and then pushes his chair back to reenact the scuffle. He throws an exaggerated shoulder check into thin air, feet shuffling like he’s back on the boards. “Guy comes at me like this—boom!—so I give him a little nudge—”
Tempe smacks his arm with the back of her hand. “You make it sound like you were defending the crown jewels. You just wanted to scrap.”
“I won the scrap,” Rafferty insists, puffing out his chest.
“Barely.” She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifts.
King raises his glass like a toast. “Hey, doesn’t matter—what matters is we shut them down. Beautiful game.”
Winnie picks up a pitcher and sets it in front of Lucky with a flourish. “Your turn, hero. Pour me one without spilling it all over yourself.”
Lucky’s brows shoot up. “I’m a professional athlete. I have balance and hand-eye coordination out the—”
Beer sloshes over the rim of the glass as he tips the pitcher too far.
The whole table breaks into laughter, Winnie cackling the loudest. “Hand-eye coordination, huh? If only I had gotten that on camera.”
Lucky sets the dripping glass down with mock indignity, wiping his hand on his jeans. “That was strategy. Foam adds flavor.”
And so the banter goes. I find myself laughing too, harder than I have in months. Somewhere between bites of fries and sips of beer, my shoulders loosen and I start to have fun. It helps that Atlas is by my side because even though everyone is friendly, I realize he’s the one who grounds me.
“So, first game in the suite?” Mila asks, chin propped on her hand. “Did Brienne feed you enough? She’s a one-woman catering service.”
“She practically force-fed me crab cakes,” I admit, earning a round of knowing groans and laughs.
Winnie leans in, conspiratorial. “We’ll get you out for girls’ night soon. Drinks, dancing, bad karaoke.”
My cheeks heat. “That sounds… terrifying.”
“Perfect,” Winnie says, smirking. “You’ll fit right in.”
Even Tempe, home from college for the weekend, pipes up. “So, was your college experience anything like mine? Because if you tell me you studied during laundry day, I’ll be crushed.”
That pulls a surprised laugh out of me. “Laundry was… chaotic. But survivable.”
The teasing rolls on, lighthearted and relentless, and somewhere in the middle of it I realize this is something I would very much like to have in my life on a day-to-day basis.
Then I start noticing the little things.
Lucky sliding a fry across the plate to Winnie, who swats at him but eats it anyway. King tugging Willa closer by the belt loop of her jeans. Farren leaning into North’s side as she whispers in his ear, making him choke on his beer. Mazzie resting her head on Foster’s shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Rafferty and Tempe bickering, rolling their eyes but smiling all the while.
Ordinary gestures. Silly, sweet, everyday couple things. The kind of intimacy that isn’t about sex but about belonging.
I’ve never let myself yearn for it because I’ve never met anyone who made the risk worth the supposed reward. And I say supposed, because I never saw positive examples of love and commitment while working my way through the foster system. It’s a foreign concept to me.
Even Gray never had a serious relationship. We both dated other people throughout college, but he was never interested in anything serious. Even with Grayce’s birth mother, there was an agreement to raise her as co-parents, but they didn’t keep a romantic relationship going.
Despite all my inherent skepticism, I find myself wondering what that would feel like with Atlas. There’s no doubt in my mind, he would give it a go if I agreed.
As if he hears the thought, Atlas looks over and our eyes catch. His brow furrows a little. “You okay?” he asks softly, voice low under the noise.
I force a smile. “I’m fine. Just taking it all in.”
He studies me a moment longer, then nods, like he doesn’t quite believe me but won’t press.
That’s when Winnie claps. “Photo time. Everyone, squeeze in—we need proof this crew cleans up after a win.”
There’s a shuffle as everyone squeezes together at one end of the VIP section, fans craning their necks from the main bar to catch a glimpse. I hover at the edge, not sure where to go, when Atlas hooks my hand and pulls me in, casual but certain.
I end up right beside him, and his hand settles lightly at my waist for the picture. To anyone else, it’s nothing—just practical, making room for everyone to fit in the photo. But to me, it’s electric. My heart slams at the sensation of belonging… to him?
The camera flashes. Everyone laughs and drifts back toward their food and drinks.
But I can still feel his hand on me, the ghost of it seared into my skin, the warmth lingering—a dangerous promise that my rules are slowly dissipating under the constant barrage of Atlas Karolak.