Chapter 26
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
BEFORE
Iwasn’t religious.
We’d been raised that way—Sunday Mass, plaid uniforms, the whole thing—but in that vague, inconsistent way Catholic school can sometimes be. So it never really clicked with me.
Not that I didn’t believe in anything. I believed in the universe. In energies. I used to believe in love. In fate.
Right now, the little Catholic boy in me was losing his mind, because the guy standing in front of him looked like a fucking angel brought down straight from heaven.
Not the delicate kind. A soldier angel, cut from stone, with a face that didn’t give anything away, pale-blue eyes, and dirty-blond hair neatly in place.
His features were still boyish—maybe he was younger—but he was tall.
Not lanky or awkward. Built like a damn wall, lean muscle wrapped around every surface my eyes could cling to.
And he was staring right at me.
“These are a couple of guys from the team,” Colin said, snapping me back to the present.
I shook the other guy’s hand, barely catching his name, then looked back at him.
Atticus, Colin had said.
Even his fucking name was perfect. Up close, his eyes were the lightest shade of blue I’d ever seen—almost gray—and his thick, dark-blond brows were drawn in a scowl.
I held out my hand, and he clasped it firmly before letting go. Big hands. Ripped, veiny forearms.
“That’s quite a name. Atticus,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else. I was still trying to piece myself back together after the shock of him—still trying to figure out where the hell he’d dropped from.
There was something about him. Something about this moment. It felt right. Prophetic, even. Like the curtains had been pulled back and the light hit me, full-force, sharp and blinding; faint beats of music fading in and out of my brain, not quite catching on a song.
“My mom liked the book.” His voice was deep, low, like it rolled right out of him. His brows lifted just slightly, a small crease forming between them like he regretted what he said.
Okay, that was cute.
I bit back a smile. And snapped my fingers. “Atticus Finch.”
His expression flickered—surprise, then a barely there softening around the eyes.
He nodded. He was like a fucking ice prince, and I wanted nothing more than to melt him.
My grin stretched across my face, and I probably looked like a creep, but I didn’t care.
He kept holding my gaze. The music got a little louder.
“What position did you play?” Ezra, the other friend, asked. He glanced at Atticus and shook his head like he was trying to signal something. Atticus might have attempted to follow it, but he just looked confused.
“Middle blocker,” I said.
Atticus’s face lit up. It was the lightest gesture, but it melted some of the ice off.
God, he was so fucking handsome.
“And you went here? Why didn’t you join?” Ezra asked.
“Not interested anymore.” There really was no point to it.
Before that thought could spiral, Atticus frowned, and I found myself watching the way his expression shifted. Those tiny changes on his face were magnetic.
Ezra pushed his beer toward him, making him take a sip. He scrunched his face, slightly, when he did. Adorably.
Colin offered me one, and I nodded, my eyes still catching on the shape of Atticus’s forearms.
Ezra stepped in closer. “You know, that’s just his face. He’s not unfriendly. We’ll be right back.”
I forced myself not to grin. Atticus looked mortified at his friend’s declaration. Poor guy. He was obviously shy. Maybe I could get him talking.
“I heard you had a good game today.”
“We won,” he said—kind of pointlessly. Then he winced like he knew it.
I chuckled. “Yeah, I heard. So you’re a freshman and already a regular on the team? That’s impressive.” I figured volleyball might warm him up.
“I’ve been playing my whole life.” He cleared his throat.
Shy was definitely a good look on him. Not that he had any clue what kind of effect he had. Fucking gorgeous.
A little louder. Now I could make it out; Faith by George Michael. Yeah. That was perfect for him.
“The regular setter graduated last year,” he explained, and it clicked.
My friend David had told me about this guy.
I knew him from my freshman year, and he was also part of the volleyball team.
He’d told me at a party the last time I saw him that a huge freshman had taken over his new spot as starting setter.
He also said he was scary as fuck. I couldn’t say I saw any of that.
“Yeah, David’s better at blocking.”
Atticus nodded. “That’s right. He’s pretty tall.” A hint of a smile flickered across his face. Then he frowned again. “How did you know that? Have you been keeping up with the team?”
“I still like it. I just don’t want to be on it,” I said. “Plus, David’s a friend of mine.” I watched his eyes take that in—sharp and clear like shards of ice. “You’re pretty tall too. You’ve got to be what? Six-three?”
I gave him a once-over with zero shame. Ten wasn’t a high enough rating for him. He broke the damn scale.
“Six-two.”
Mother, have mercy.
“And you’re nineteen?”
“Eighteen.”
Aaaaaand he was young. Fuck. There had to be a catch. I’d never been into that.
But that also meant he was probably going to get even bigger.
I could feel my smile stretching, totally betraying me. I wasn’t doing a great job of hiding my attraction.
He didn’t look away. It was hypnotic, the way he held my gaze—like I was the only damn person in the room. Did he always do that? Shy people usually had a hard time maintaining eye contact. It didn’t add up.
The music wrapped around us, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to ask him to dance. Silly, right? He wouldn’t agree in a million years.
Atticus shifted his weight, his brows lifting slightly, making him look his age again, in spite of his size. I was definitely making him uncomfortable, but he was trying his damndest to be polite.
So fucking cute.
“You don’t seem so scary,” I said before I could think it through and censor myself.
He tilted his head, confused—going from brooding soldier to golden retriever in two seconds flat. I wanted to pet him. Or have him roll over for me.
“What?” he asked, still puzzled.
I just smiled. If I said anything else, it would absolutely turn into me asking him back to mine for a quickie.
No, scratch that. I’d want to take my time with him.
Luckily, Colin and Ezra walked back, interrupting what would inevitably be me scaring off this poor, possibly straight kid.
They asked me to join them for practice, and I forced myself to tear my gaze away from him to answer. Then, before I could help it, I looked back—and his eyes caught mine.
“Would you toss for me?” I tried to keep the flirt out of my voice, extremely aware of how quickly Colin would pick up on it.
Atticus nodded, offering that tiny glimpse of a smile again.
He must look like a fucking god when he grinned. I wanted to be the one to pull that out of him. I was definitely going to crash practice.
We said our goodbyes, and he even managed a “Nice meeting you too” that melted me.
I walked off, and when I spotted Holly in the backyard, I practically ran to her.
She smiled up at me. “Look at you, showing up.”
I gave a dramatic sigh. “I just met the fucking love of my life, Hols.”
She chuckled. “Again?”
“I’m serious this time. I ran into Colin, and he has the most ridiculously hot friend. He’s built like fucking action figure. Am I still drooling?”
She laughed, clearly delighted to finally get some tea after such a long drought.
“The love of your life is a he? I thought you said men were only meant to be used as sex toys.” But there was something else lurking beneath her amusement.
A flicker of something quieter. Something that looked a lot like longing.
And for a second there, I did feel like myself again.
I squirmed uncomfortably. “This one’s different. And the love of my life is supposed to be a fantastic sex toy. Why else would I keep them?”
“Sure. Let’s say that’s how that works.”
I closed my eyes, picturing his pale eyes staring back at me. “He’s so hot.”
“And was he interested back?”
“Slight hiccup,” I said, taking the drink from her hand. “He might be straight, but who knows?” I bit the rim of the glass and tried not to outright grin at the memory of him.
“Look at you, smitten. I haven’t seen that face in a while.”
She was right, wasn’t she? I couldn’t remember the last time anybody or anything had sparked my interest. George popped back into my head with a faint, You gotta have faith. Maybe it was fate. Maybe this was bigger than just some guy I met at a party.
The chances of that being true were probably close to zero, but also—it was nice having something to daydream about.
And his lips had definitely looked daydream-worthy.
It wasn’t stalking.
No.
Stalking was bad. Illegal, even. This wasn’t that.
This was just…thinking about him. Because the fantasy was nice. I mean, he was nice, so this was the only natural conclusion.
I even started going back to classes. Not all of them—just here and there, whenever I thought I might run into him again.
He never showed up at another party. Asking Colin about him crossed my mind more than once, but that felt like stepping over a line.
I hadn’t talked to the guy in over a year—was I really going to call him up and ask if his friend was down for a good time?
No, didn’t feel right.
But.
He had asked me to come play. And, god, that man looked even better in the daylight. So see? It really wasn’t stalking. He just looked like a fucking dream, knees bent, ready to catch, set, serve. Laser-focused. Locked in.
Okay, so maybe I could keep crashing practice. Because I actually didn’t remember just how fun playing this stupid game was, and the guys on the team were cool. Even the coach was fine with me just stepping in.
Plus, it was just one game.
Until it wasn’t.