Chapter 26 #2
Until I actually talked to him—trying my best to keep my cool—and then the most miraculous thing in the world happened: I caught him looking at me. At me. And he was looking.
Atticus was giving me that stare I’d seen a million times before—but never, not once in my life, had it made me feel like this.
It was soft and assessing, and its intent wasn’t sleazy. It didn’t feel sleazy. It was almost reverent—and wasn’t that something?
So I came back.
Over and over again, because I couldn’t not. Not when song after song kept invading my brain. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. My head had been on mute for so long I almost felt like the music had never been there in the first place.
He wasn’t exactly the easiest person to talk to, but I kept trying.
The guy either had some serious trust issues or just generally didn’t like people.
The only two he looked remotely relaxed around were Colin and Ezra—and even then, he was stiff.
I wondered if he ever truly let loose. Just opened up and unraveled with anybody.
Maybe he wasn’t out yet. Maybe he was still figuring himself out. He was young enough for that to be true. And that should’ve been a turnoff.
It should have been.
But he kept looking back at me, so really, it was his fault I couldn’t quit the stalking.
Nope. Not stalking. Observing.
I’d get that spider-tingly feeling on the back of my neck, and sure enough, when I turned, his pale eyes were fixed on my arms or calves. If they were ever on my face and our gazes met, he’d avert them quickly, and a flush would creep up the back of his neck.
So why did he keep running away?
It didn’t make sense. And it only made things worse, because it seemed like he wanted me to chase him. Like he was waiting for it.
It was a total mindfuck.
And what for?
For a kiss? A hookup?
Atticus was on an athletic scholarship. From what I overheard the guys talking about, and what I could dig up from David, he was really high-strung and hyper-focused on sports.
So what the hell was I expecting? Because even if he was interested, why would he ever be interested in me—other than for a one-night stand?
And I wasn’t looking to get rejected right now, which was exactly what this was shaping into. What if he was one of the no-kissing guys too?
Not fucking worth it.
I was letting this go.
I, Noah Rossi, was not going to obsess over this guy.
Period.
So… I ran into him at another party.
I’d had a god-awful day. One of my professors had pulled me aside and let me know I’d failed the class—for nonattendance.
Just like that. I’d actually been trying, making an effort, but the class was already a lost cause.
I called my academic advisor to set up a meeting, and the guy could only fit me in next Monday.
He didn’t even sound hopeful on the phone.
I could’ve stayed home. Could’ve downed a whole bottle, the way I was feeling. But I didn’t. Holly invited me to out, and I went—not really expecting to see him again. Not even looking.
But when I stepped out for a smoke, there he was.
Sitting on a ledge, alone. A little sweaty and absolutely scrumptious.
It would’ve been rude not to say hi.
“It figures you’d be hiding out here,” I said, letting him know I was there.
Atticus looked up, eyebrows arching in surprise. “Hi.”
I settled beside him, careful not to sit too close—not wanting to scare Bambi off too fast. He muttered something about being too hot, and I wholeheartedly agreed. His face was flushed, his shirt damp and clinging.
“Have you been drinking, Atticus?” I teased, drawing what seemed like the obvious conclusion. My heart picked up a little. This felt like a window cracking open.
You’re not supposed to be hitting on this guy, remember?
“Yeah, I guess,” he said.
Shit. I wasn’t going to be able to hold back.
What if I played this right? I could walk out of here with him. My stomach fluttered at the thought.
“Well, good. You should be. Congratulations on the win.” I threw in the bit of intel I’d picked up from casually browsing Colin’s socials.
He nodded, and just like that, silence slipped between us again.
My nerves were shot. I wasn’t used to flirting on the sidelines like this. I hated the waiting, the guessing. Normally, I’d just ask point-blank if he wanted to come home with me. But he didn’t seem like the type, and it kept holding me back. I didn’t want him to reject me.
I reached for my flask, trying to steady myself.
His eyes followed the motion, and a small crease appeared between his brows.
I offered it to him with a tilt.
“No thanks.” His voice was flat.
“Suit yourself,” I muttered, stung by the tone.
Jesus. This guy. He ran so hot and cold it gave me whiplash.
His gaze was still on the flask. “What is that?”
“Whiskey.”
His eyebrows lifted, clearly unimpressed.
“You’re not much of a drinker, are you?”
“No, not really. I don’t like the taste. Or the effects.”
Okay. So drunk fumbling was off the table. There went seventy percent of my game.
“Do you smoke?” I mimed lighting a joint when he hesitated.
“No.”
That was the other thirty. Now what? “Sounds about right.”
Fine. Old-fashioned flirting it was. I adjusted my smile, just enough to be noticeable. His eyes narrowed slightly, like he caught the shift.
“Would you ever try it?”
“I don’t think so.”
I let my smile stretch slowly as I shifted closer, hoping he’d catch the hint. “How about if it was with me?” I kept my voice low, letting my eyes roam over his face. My smile didn’t waver.
His lips parted, slow and soft.
Yeah, that’s it, handsome. Are you in?
Atticus frowned. “Why would it make a difference if it was with you?”
His cluelessness made me laugh. I tried not to let the sting of disappointment show. Fuck. I was going to have to be a lot more direct with him.
I pushed off the ledge and took a breath. Okay. Okay. Okay. How the fuck was I going to play this?
I pulled a joint from my pocket, lit it, and took a drag.
Come on, Noah. You’ve made moves on way more scandalous choices. This is nothing.
“Do you still think I’m intimidating?” I wasn’t really sure where I was going with it, but I used that conversation we’d had to hopefully spur us on.
His expression softened. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Okay. I’ve got it.
“You’re fucking intimidating, Atticus. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Not really. Scary, yes. But not intimidating.”
I chuckled. That honesty was lethal.
“Well, you are.” I took another hit and stepped closer.
He sat there with his legs spread, and I knew exactly where I wanted to be.
His gaze followed the joint as I raised it to my mouth. “Why?”
“For starters, you’re fucking huge.”
That did it. A soft laugh slipped past his lips, and he grinned. He had dimples.
Fuck me.
“I’m not huge,” he muttered, sheepish.
That shy smile just about ended me.
“You are. And you’re blunt. It’s like you don’t know how to soften your words.”
His lips stayed curved. The right dimple was deeper than the left.
“Sorry.”
I shook my head and stepped closer. My thoughts stopped making sense. All I could think about was closing the distance. Seeing those cheeks up close. Maybe tasting them too.
“And you stare,” I added. “A lot. Without saying anything. It’s a little unnerving. It’s like I’m not even sure if you find me really fucking annoying—”
His eyes widened, and he shook his head. “I don’t.”
That made me smile.
His eyes—those eyes—were the most intimidating thing about him. Cold at first glance, but if you held the stare long enough, everything was right there. He was nervous. I was making him nervous. And that was written all over his face.
I took one last step forward, landing between the open V of his legs. His eyebrows shot up. He noticed the distance shrinking —didn’t say a word—and his throat worked around a thick swallow. He was so into me.
I dropped my voice. “Or if you like me.” There. No more circling.
He cleared his throat in the most obvious nervous gesture; his neck flushing a little deeper. “I don’t mind you.”
Oh, sweetheart. Don’t start lying now.
“Good.” I pressed my lips together to keep from smirking. “I don’t mind you either.”
I didn’t move. Just let the closeness speak for me. And he didn’t look away. Just sat there, staring.
“You’re doing it again.”
Atticus blinked, as if coming out of a trance. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
I laughed. He was so damn cute. “It’s fine, Atticus.”
How do I get past that wall? How do I get even closer? I ran his name through my head. It was too formal. Too…much.
“Atticus, Atticus,” I muttered, thinking aloud.
Okay. Maybe the weed was hitting.
“What?” That golden-retriever look made an appearance again.
“What do your friends call you? Att, right? That’s what Col calls you.”
“Yeah. That, or my last name, I guess.”
“What’s your last name?”
“You’ve heard the team say it.”
I frowned, thinking. Had I? “Nope. I’ve heard them call you Att and King. But that’s like a volleyball thing.”
“No, that’s it.”
My eyes widened. “Your last name is King? Your fucking name is Atticus King?”
He nodded.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed—loud, full, ridiculous laughter. This guy seriously couldn’t be any more perfect.
“Yeah, that’s my name,” he said, while I struggled to stop.
He knew I wasn’t laughing at him, though. A second later, he let out a quiet, sweet little laugh of his own—low and soft despite the deep pitch of his voice. He arched a brow, pressed his lips together, and shook his head slightly.
“You’re unreal,” I said. “I’m not calling you King, that’s for fucking sure.”
That got another laugh out of him.
I looked him over. I couldn’t exactly call him handsome or sweetheart—that would’ve been way too much for someone like him. Att felt too generic. I hated the idea of blending in with everyone else in his life. I wanted to stand out.
I ran my tongue slowly over my bottom lip and watched his eyes track the movement.
“Atty,” I tried out, the name curling off my tongue.
His eyes widened.