4. Eloise
The elementary school is a welcome sight. I stop by Sage’s classroom on my way to my room.
“Hey, Weezy.” She smiles at me. “How did moving night go?”
Where do I even start? “Great.” It would take more than the entire school day to explain everything. “I’ll tell you all about it later.” I give her a wave before heading down to my classroom.
The official school year is over, but I still have to finish inputting final grades and pack up my classroom for the summer. I dive into grading and organizing, pushing away everything except survival.
I’m knee-deep in semester tests when I realize I haven’t accomplished anything besides daydreaming about Atlas. How will I make it through this without losing my heart to him? It’s going to take a small miracle for me to survive unscathed. I attack my grading with renewed fervor, letting the boring work drown out the hum of confusion and burn of desire.
No matter how much I focus on work, my thoughts always return to Atlas. It doesn’t help that my day started with him practically naked, all muscled and perfect. I must be insane to think I can share an apartment with a man who can melt my mind and sanity in one fell swoop.
I organize bookshelves, throw out broken crayons, and clean out the art closet, trying to push the image of him and his six-pack abs from my mind. Instead, it sticks, replaying over and over with increasing intensity.
My brain skips back and forth between possibilities, lingering on every glance and word, running in circles. I sit down at my desk, the classroom suddenly feeling too small.
I attack the final report cards, scribbling grades with newfound focus, ignoring all thoughts of my hot new roommate.
The afternoon slips away, and the noise in the school begins to quiet. Most of the teachers have gone, leaving the building silent and me alone with my thoughts. I sit among the boxes and remnants of my class, papers and books scattered around me like debris from a storm.
I have to go home eventually, and when I do, he’ll be there. How can I manage this? My heart is too tangled up, and the realization leaves me breathless and on edge. I pack up the last of the supplies and sit, catching my breath.
It feels like ages before I stand and gather my things, resigned to facing my inner hussy and his perfect, devastating body again.
I make one final trip to the office to say goodbye to the secretary. “See you in August, Ms. Betty.”
She peers over her rhinestone-studded glasses, the sparkle catching the soft fluorescent light, and offers me a warm smile. “I’m not sure I’ll be here in August. I’m still debating retiring.”
I doubt that will happen. One of the older teachers once confided in me that Ms. Betty has been mulling over retirement for the past twenty years, an ongoing saga that has become part of the school's lore.
“Oh. I’ll miss you.”
“Don’t worry, deary, I’ll keep in touch if I decide to retire,” she tells me as another late worker ambles in, his footsteps mingling with the quiet buzz of the office.
When I reach the parking lot, I find it mostly empty. I quickly stack the boxes in my trunk and prepare to head home.
The drive home seems to pass by way too freaking fast. When did I become such a wuss? Oh yeah, when I walked out and found a nearly naked Atlas Hot dancing around my kitchen.
I pause at the door, a moment of hesitation between what I think I know and everything I don’t. When the door swings open, I’m not prepared for what I see. The room is unrecognizable. Everything, all of it, is orderly and impossibly clean. Not at all how I left it this morning.
The room has been meticulously tidied, every surface gleaming and free of dust. The carpet bears the neat, parallel lines left by a vacuum. Shoot. I don’t remember the last time I vacuumed.
My collection of throw pillows, once scattered haphazardly, is now arranged perfectly on the couch, each one fluffed and positioned with care.
I close the door, careful, tentative, and catch the smell of something delicious. Everything is perfect, and I don’t know what to make of it. My heart thumps painfully as I feel my ability to keep my feelings for Atlas in check slipping away.
Atlas steps into the room, and my breath hitches. He’s wearing jeans and a concert t-shirt that clings to his muscular chest.
“Hope you’re hungry,” he says with a grin, gesturing to the table set for two with candles and a vase with flowers right in the middle.
I nod, dumbfounded, my mouth suddenly dry and uncooperative.
“I wanted to say thanks,” Atlas explains, closing the distance between us. “For letting me move in.”
“Oh.” My voice is a strangled sound, caught between surprise and disbelief. “You didn’t have to... I mean... this is...”
“Sit,” he insists, pulling out a chair and making it impossible for me to say no. I sink into it, watching him with wide eyes. “I made chicken parm,” he adds, sitting across from me.
He spoons pasta onto my plate, and my stomach growls loudly. I really should’ve taken the time to grab lunch today.
He keeps smiling, a genuine warmth that leaves me speechless. “How was your day?”
“Long,” I manage, fiddling with my fork, afraid I’ll melt into a puddle of confused happiness and tension. “I’ve been trying to wrap things up at school.”
Atlas nods, genuine interest in his eyes. “Sage mentioned you teach. What grade?”
“Fifth,” I say, meeting his gaze and finding it hard to look away. “What about you? Find everything you need?”
“No problems at all,” he says, and the way his eyes hold mine captive causes my heart to catch.
As we eat, I can’t stop staring at him. The food’s incredible, but it doesn’t compare to the way he looks at me. The way he pays attention. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he has feelings for me, too.
“Thanks,” I finally say, my voice more certain than it’s been all day. “This was amazing.”
Atlas smiles, the curve of it sending an unfamiliar thrill through me. “Glad you liked it.”
I nod, biting my lip, unsure how to hold everything in. “Let me help with the dishes.”
We stand, moving toward the kitchen together, and I wonder if he’s noticed how nervous I am. I take a deep breath, trying to get my zigzagging emotions under control.
Our hands brush, and an electric current shoots up my arm, igniting a wildfire inside me. We both pause, and the moment hangs between us, taut and trembling.
He stares down at me, and I swear he’s about to kiss me. Then he takes the plates and steps away, leaving me aching. My pulse roars like a train on an endless track, and I try to breathe, to think, to stay grounded.
I’m so screwed.
As soon as the kitchen’s clean, I lie and say I’m dead on my feet before hauling ass to my room. Running isn’t my usual style, but nothing is going normal right now, and I need to get away before I jump Atlas’ bones.
I close the door behind me, leaning against it, heart pounding as I acknowledge to myself that I’m falling hard and fast for Atlas Hot and there might be no stopping this runaway train.
I groan as a thought suddenly occurs to me. Now that I don’t have to work every day, I’m going to be stuck in this tiny apartment with him and my growing feelings. Yep. Screwed.