Chapter 8 #2
Atlas tells me about the new housing development he’s been working on and how it’s one of his largest contracts.
Being a business owner would be too stressful for me—with ordering supplies, payroll, taxes, and all that bullshit—but Atlas seems to revel in it.
He radiates happiness and accomplishment when he talks about his work and I love to hear it.
We talk late into the night, not running out of things to say. Atlas looks at me like everything I say is important, like he doesn’t want to miss a word. I could quickly become addicted to the attention he gives me.
“So you went to nursing school right out of high school?” he asks, spooning food into his mouth.
I nod and swallow, then say, “Yep.”
“How long ago?”
“Ugh,” I groan, pressing a hand to my forehead. “I don’t wanna tell you. It’ll make me sound old.”
He pulls a face, making me chuckle. “I’m fifty, Calvin. I’m sure I was raising kids while you were in school.”
I sigh, because he’s right. “I graduated high school when I was seventeen and started the next semester the week after my eighteenth birthday… nineteen years ago.”
He whistles and I glare at him. It’s his turn to chuckle. “And you graduated in two years?”
I shake my head. “There was a program that helped us get a few credits to start and I went from there. I did accelerated bachelors in nursing, so I became an RN in three years instead of the standard four.”
“Overachiever?” he asks with a smirk.
I return it, but something unfriendly settles in my gut. I did the quicker program so I could help Mitchell through school, since he only got a partial scholarship and didn’t want to take out loans. He could have used the money from his illegal side gig instead of putting me to work, though.
God, my whole life was tied to my ex, and even thinking about my years in school makes me feel dirty. Like he tainted parts of me I didn’t know were corrupted.
Our plates are taken away and a few minutes later, dessert is placed in front of us. I push thoughts of Mitchell and his bullshit away so I can enjoy some sweet treats.
“What was your worst patient?” he asks as we share a brownie and ice cream.
I shake my head as I scoop some of the delicious sweet goodness onto my spoon.
“It’s usually not the patients, but their family members.
They think every little cough or sneeze is a crisis and call us in like it’s an emergency.
We love their enthusiasm to help their family, but it starts to wear us down. ”
“I can imagine. Still, worst patient or family member?” he prods.
I slide another piece of brownie into my mouth while I think.
“Oh, there was this guy who came in and refused to tell us what was wrong with him. Me, other doctors and nurses, we all tried to pull it out of him, but all he would say is that his stomach hurt and he thought he might have swallowed something. I had to build a rapport with him over two hours before he finally told me the issue.”
“What was it?” Atlas asks, leaning forward, eyes bright with curiosity.
“He’d swallowed his son’s GI Joes. Twelve of them.”
Atlas looks nonplussed, then he bursts into laughter. I join in, remembering the embarrassment etched on the guy’s face. It wasn’t funny at the time, but the patient and I had a good laugh when he got out of surgery.
When he gets himself under control, Atlas asks, “Why would he do that?”
I shrug. “He said he wanted to see what it felt like.”
He laughs again. “I guess that’s a good enough reason.”
“Being a nurse isn’t for the weak, that’s for sure.”
“But you’re so good at it. It’s like you were meant to be a caretaker. It radiates off you.”
I smile, setting my spoon down and crossing my arms on the table. “I love my job. Some people get into it because they think it’s easy or they can breeze through it, but it’s a very demanding job. It’s also very rewarding.”
“I guess getting to meet someone like me is a pretty good reward, hm?”
A warm chuckle bubbles up my throat as I throw my napkin at him. “So full of yourself.”
His eyes grow hooded and I can only imagine what he wants to say in return. But Atlas is a gentleman and just smirks.
He wipes his mouth with my napkin, then stands up, holding his hand out to me. “Would you like to dance?”
“I would.” I place my hand in his and allow him to lead me to the small dance floor.
Almost as if the band saw us coming, the music changes from upbeat and lively to slow and sensual.
Atlas snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me close as he grips my other hand in his. I lean against his chest, resting our clasped hands against his pec.
I release a soft sigh, never feeling so treasured in all my life. We move to the music, all kinds of emotions and feelings dancing between us.
It’s only been a few weeks, but I already feel this inexplicable closeness to Atlas, like this might be something long term. Surprisingly, that doesn’t frighten me.
Over the past few years, I’ve kept myself walled off, not wanting to get involved with anyone for fear they’d find out who I am and either not want anything to do with me or fangirl about dating the ex-husband of a notorious drug kingpin.
For some reason, though, I don’t think Atlas would do that.
He might be shocked—most people are when I tell them my ex’s name—but I don’t think he’d hold it against me.
He might question all the steps I’ve taken to keep myself safe, like being proficient in shooting and having an escape plan everywhere I go, but it’s necessary.
After all the threats against my life, I had to take care of myself.
Other than wondering why a nurse has to do so much to not end up a victim of one of Mitchell’s victim’s family members, I think Atlas will understand.
Fuck, at some point, I’ll have to tell him about my past, about who I really am. I changed my last name back as soon as my divorce was final, but if he googles me and sees me pop up in connection to a drug dealer, he’ll have questions.
But not tonight. Being in his arms, breathing in his spicy cologne and feeling his hard cock brushing against me, I don’t want to ruin it with my messy past. I want to be a man who’s on a date with another man without a care in the world.
I tip my head up to tell Atlas how perfect tonight has been, how much I’m enjoying being with him, but he takes my lips in a gentle kiss and all thoughts leave my head. We sway side to side, our lips locked, our bodies close.
His hand moves from my waist to my ass, pulling me in so close not even air passes between us, and I mewl, wanting more. So much fucking more.
Three slow songs play back to back, and by the time the band picks up the beat, I’m more than a little hot and bothered. My lips feel swollen from Atlas’s soul-devouring kisses, and I’m so close to exploding that if he so much as brushes against me, I’ll come in my pants.
Atlas breathes out a chuckle, using his hands to separate us. “Okay, I think it’s time I get you home.”
Is he… is he saying what I think he is?
He has to be, right? We’re both turned on as fuck. When we get home, Atlas will finally, finally make good on making me say his name for the whole night.
We pay our bill and leave the restaurant. The drive home is less awkward than I thought it would be, Atlas picking up the conversation we were having at the dinner table. But I hear the strain in his voice, so he has to be as keyed up as I am.
When he pulls up to my apartment, he looks straight ahead, pulling in a deep breath. He releases it, then looks at me. “Can I come in? We can talk over a cup of coffee.”
“Cup of coffee… right.” I drag the word out with a smile on my face.
He sends me a flirty grin, but shakes his head. “No, we really do need to talk. There’s… I had a great time tonight.”
“I did too,” I say hurriedly, not wanting him to think I didn’t enjoy our evening.
He smiles and thumbs across my lower lip. “I know. Which is why we need to talk. I think it’s important that we know each other, really know each other, before we move forward.”
My stomach drops to my feet. Fuck, did he find out who I am? He hasn’t shown any indication that he has, but Atlas might be a good actor. If he knows, why drag it out? Why not mention it before he wined and dined me tonight?
I bite my bottom lip, trying to figure out Atlas’s angle. Does he want all the gory details about what Mitchell did? Will he ask where I was when he was building a drug dynasty? Will he think I was involved?
So many questions and I have no fucking answers.
Sighing, I nod. “Okay. Come on in. I’ll make the coffee.”
Damn, one of the best dates of my life ruined by my piece of shit ex-husband.
I hope he fucking rots behind bars.