Edged (Sweet & Twisted #2)

Chapter 1

Atlas

Step One: Look as snatched as possible.

Step Two: Go to the club and find a hottie.

Step Three: Have a night of hot sex.

Yeah, right.

I wiped the condensation off the mirror after my shower.

It was Friday night, and I was off from work.

Normally, I worked more on weekends when the restaurant was busiest because the money was better.

But a co-worker wanted to switch shifts, needing the extra tips.

I couldn’t remember my last Friday off, and I wasn’t about to waste it sitting at home alone.

I stared into the mirror, looking at my face.

Not a fan. I was definitely not my roommate, Ryder.

He looked like a damn supermodel. God, he was hot in a cornfed sort of way, and when I found out he was bisexual…

Let’s just say I had some fantasies that I wouldn’t dare mention out loud.

In fact, he started dating an actual supermodel.

You could find Finn Larson, with his wavy, light brown hair and green eyes, in virtually every fashion magazine.

I’ve had a tiny crush on Ryder for a while, but he was so out of my league. Plus, it seemed weird to try something with a roommate. Talk about awkward if things didn’t work out.

Yeah, he wouldn’t be interested in me anyway, even if he weren’t taken.

I ran my fingers through my damp hair with some leave-in conditioner.

It was too curly and a bitch to maintain.

I hated it. My lips were too thin, and my nose was too big.

It was a face only a mother could love—and my mother did.

If I could afford it, I’d pay for some lip filler and a nose job.

To tie up the ugly package, I was short and skinny.

I’d spent months working out at the apartment gym to build muscle.

It helped, but nothing would make me taller or prettier.

The only thing I could do was enhance what I had.

I added a sheer foundation to my skin. Once that was blended in, I smoothed on some contour, highlighter, and a touch of blush. Nothing too much. I kept it subtle. After brushing out my thick eyebrows, I rolled on dusky-rose lip gloss that tasted like cherries.

I struggled to find a guy to like me, probably because I was ugly.

Fine, maybe I wasn’t ugly-ugly, but I wasn’t exactly hot either.

I didn’t need to rush to have a relationship.

Sex was fun and all, but I had one of those Greek mothers—God love her—who perpetually nagged me about when I would finally find my guy and get married.

With my towel wrapped around me, I left the bathroom I shared with Ryder and rushed to my bedroom to put on some clothes.

My walls were covered with my art. It was colorful and bold, much like my personality.

I’d been trying to find a gallery to take my work, but there had been no takers yet, which didn’t help with my insecurity issues, making me doubt my skills on top of everything else.

I had to remind myself that it was hard to get into galleries.

That it had nothing to do with my capabilities.

Maybe. Still, the impostor syndrome was fucking real.

After I’d buttoned up the lacy black blouse I’d recently thrifted and cropped, my phone rang. I took it off the charger on my nightstand and looked at the number I didn’t recognize. But the area code was local, so I answered it.

“Hello?”

“Yes, I’m looking for Atlas Stavros.”

“That’s me.”

“This is Jessica Martin. I work in the HR department at Cross Corp. Apologies for calling so late, but Mr. Hugh Cross and Mr. Linden Pierce would like to meet with you for an interview on Friday morning at ten thirty sharp.”

My stomach flipped, and I nibbled my lip to keep from screaming out in excitement.

I couldn’t believe it. When the job listing for a PA came up, I immediately applied, wanting something that paid more and perhaps offered permanent work with benefits.

And the job paid eighty thousand a year.

The likelihood of my getting hired wasn’t high, but it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?

I took a deep breath to make sure I didn’t squeal like a girl. “Thank you so much, Jessica. Can I call you Jessica?” Before she could answer, I said, “You can tell Mr. Cross and Mr. Pierce that I’ll be there right on time.”

Jessica went on to list everything I would need for my interview.

This was the third job I’d applied to, and I hoped it would be my last. I was ready to move on from coffee-making and waiting tables.

If I couldn’t work as an artist, at least I could find something more stable, which didn’t rely on tips.

When we hung up, I grabbed my pillow, brought it to my face, and screamed into it. Simply getting an interview was a huge deal.

After my excitement calmed down, my mood was uplifted, now filled with a surge of confidence.

I slid into a pair of baggy jeans and checked myself out in the long mirror hanging behind my closet door, twisting and turning to make sure I looked good from every angle.

My jeans had to be loose, so my partner of the evening wouldn’t have to battle it out with my clothes just to tap my ass.

I’d always wanted to head over to Legends Night Club, where Ryder bartended, but that place was beyond my means. It was high end and pricey as hell. Ryder said he’d hook me up with some drinks if I ever did, but the cover was like fifty bucks. No thanks.

Instead, I’d head over to Bottoms Up, a gay nightclub. That place wasn’t exactly cheap either, but it wasn’t nearly as expensive, and I almost always found someone to fuck or suck me.

I put pearl earring studs into my ears and clasped a matching pearl choker around my throat.

Mom gave me the jewelry for Christmas last year.

After a quick spritz of my favorite cologne, I headed out.

Usually, I’d do a fit check with Emma and Luna, my other two roommates, but no one was home tonight.

Instead of driving, I took the Metro to DuPont Circle, where the club was located. If I stayed late, I’d Uber home.

While I had friends, I wished I had more gay friends to go with.

Luna went with me once, but she was in college and had a job, so she was always busy.

Sometimes I felt desperate and pathetic going alone to a bar for sex.

Then I’d reassure myself that I wasn’t the only man out there scoping.

Still, sometimes I wish I didn’t feel so needy for companionship, even as short-lived as one-nighters were.

The Bottoms Up line was long, so I had to wait for about 20 minutes to get in. At least it was early August, so the evening was warm.

Once inside, I immediately headed to the bar and ordered a cosmopolitan.

Then I found a spot to lean against, so I could scope out the crowd or wait for someone to come to me.

I adjusted my cropped top, which showed off the abs I’d worked so hard on, and rested my foot against the wall, doing my best to look cute and available.

I pulled out my phone, held it up to my face, and took several pictures at different angles. I scrolled through them, picked the one I liked best, and posted it on Instagram. ‘Looking for my Daddy tonight,’ I captioned before I hit post.

As I sipped my drink, I scanned the crowd of men and some women.

It was growing more crowded by the minute.

The bar was dark, filled with purple and pink neon lights, and the pop music was loud.

The lights and darkness always made me look and feel more attractive, so I felt bolder and more confident.

If I didn’t find someone soon, I’d hit the dance floor and find someone to grind against. That usually did the trick. As fun as dancing was, I hated getting all sweaty, so dancing was generally my last resort.

By the time I finished my drink, no one had approached me. There were plenty of men who looked, but no one tried to talk to me. I could speak to them, but my confidence was sinking faster than the Titanic.

I headed back to the bar, dropped off my glass, and ordered another drink, then I headed back to the wall, doing my best to look sexy and available.

Maybe tonight wasn’t my night. Perhaps I looked too desperate.

I didn’t know why that would matter as long as they got a fuck, right?

As the minutes ticked by and the songs played on, my confidence dropped to near zero.

Yeah, I needed to work on my self-esteem.

I was smart enough to know that. But knowing and feeling were two different things. They often competed for dominance.

Before I was about to give up and go home, a man started heading my way.

I could tell because his eyes never left mine, the closer he got.

There was also no one standing close to me.

He was so tall, with broad shoulders. As he meandered my way, easily moving through the crowd, I could see an air of elegance and grace surrounding him. He was a man of refinement.

Hell, at this point, I would’ve taken some bonehead jock wanting to experiment for the first time, but to have this man head my way… Perhaps no one approached me earlier because fate was saving that man solely for me. Ridiculous, but a boy could dream.

I put on my naughty-boy persona, gnawed on my lip, and slipped my hand through my blouse to pinch my nipple. His eyes narrowed, and his brow dropped at my movement. I took a sip of my drink and kept my eyes on him. Not bad for a guy with little confidence, if I said so myself.

The closer he got, the sexier he looked. Yeah, he was hot as hell. The man had to be at least ten years older. I loved an older man, but not my father’s age. Not my thing. Older men tended to know what they were doing sexually. And they also had this confidence I could only dream of.

“Hel-lo, Daddy,” I mumbled to myself.