Chapter 8
“Are you sure this is okay?” Atticus asked before he sat down.
No, I wasn’t sure. Furthest thing from it, actually. Inviting Atticus to sit and share lunch with me had come out of nowhere. It had to be the enticing aroma of the chicken, not the tempting promise of his company. I held his gaze and said, “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
Yet Atticus didn’t sit. He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “But you didn’t invite me with words. I interpreted the silent pat as an offer to join you. It could’ve been a muscle spasm or something.”
Staring into his hazel-brown eyes triggered involuntary reactions in my body that made me hunger for so much more than the chicken. Atticus was giving me an out, but I didn’t want to take it. “Would you like to join me?” I asked.
Atticus sighed and smiled. “This is the first good thing that’s happened to me all day.
” He sat down on the opposite end of the bench, leaving a two-foot gap between us and making him both too close and too far away.
Atticus angled his body toward me slightly and pursed his lips.
A sexy combination of citrus, cedar, and vanilla teased my senses.
Was it his bodywash? I hadn’t noticed earlier, but that was likely from the shock of running into Atticus at work.
“Well, maybe this is the second-best thing to happen,” he said.
“Carl gave me free cookies to compensate for my crappy day.”
A kind gesture for someone who deserved it shouldn’t stir an uncomfortable feeling in my gut, and it sure as hell shouldn’t make me question Carl’s motives. “That was nice.”
“He’s a great guy. I think you’ll like him.”
I replied with a noncommittal, “Uh-huh.”
Atticus smiled nervously and opened his brown bag, letting the smell of fried deliciousness escape. He moaned, or maybe that was me, and shifted the contents for a better look. “Cookies aren’t the only goodies in here.”
My mouth had salivated at first whiff, and it took great effort not to snatch the bag from Atticus and bury my face in it. Or scoot closer and bury my face in his neck.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Atticus teased.
My mind went straight to the gutter, of course, but Atticus wore a stunned expression that said he hadn’t meant his taunt to be a double entendre.
I arched a brow and bit my cheek to keep from smiling at the blush creeping across those stunning cheekbones.
I had the craziest urge to run my finger over the skin to see if it felt as warm and soft as it looked, but I didn’t give in to that desire either.
Taking pity on him, I pulled out the items in my lunch tote. “I have the wrap I told you about, plus a container of watermelon, and a summer salad with strawberries, corn, quinoa, and avocado that I lightly drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette.”
His mouth parted in surprise. “Wow. Did you make that?”
I liked the awe in his voice, more than I should, and it made me want to impress him even more. “All of it, including the vinaigrette.”
“Wow.” Then Atticus shook his head. “I sound like a broken record.” He opened his lunch bag and said, “I’ve already told you about the fried chicken.
” He placed the container on the bench, and I moved closer, scanning the surrounding area before meeting his curious gaze. Atticus arched a questioning brow.
“With the way your day is going, some loose dog or wild animal is about to descend on this bench and steal our chicken,” I told him.
“Our chicken, huh?” Hazel eyes danced with happiness in the same way sunlight shimmered off the pond.
I couldn’t resist getting caught up in the moment.
It had been so damn long since I let go and experienced joy, and there was this adorable man who beamed it from his pores.
I owed Atticus the truth and an apology, but I was afraid he’d leave.
And it wasn’t the chicken I’d miss most. “You promised to share,” I teased.
Atticus agreed with a slight nod. “So I did.”
“What else is in there? I smell something buttery.” I sniffed the air, and my eyes widened with recognition. “Is that cornbread?”
Atticus grinned broadly and pulled out a large square wrapped in wax paper. “Carl was generous with his portions today.”
That guy again. I nodded toward his bag, a silent command for him to keep going so my brain didn’t wander too deep into the weeds. Atticus removed a container of potato salad with a single fork taped to the top.
“What else is in there?” I asked. “I believe you mentioned cookies.”
Waggling his brows, Atticus said, “There’s a paper sleeve overflowing with them. Want to close your eyes and guess the flavors?”
Closing my eyes meant letting down my guard.
Did I want to relinquish that kind of control to Atticus?
We weren’t in a war zone or in hostile territory.
Sure, another one of his crazy ex-boyfriends could spring out of nowhere and take another swing at me with the crowbar, but I liked my chances.
Closing my eyes, I leaned forward. The paper sleeve rattled when Atticus lifted it from the bag, and I sensed him move toward me more than I heard his body shift on the bench.
Cinnamon was the first thing I smelled, followed by something fruity.
“Oatmeal raisin is one,” I said. I took another sniff and moaned when my brain registered toasty nuts.
“Peanut butter.” I picked out chocolate on my next inhale, which was a common ingredient in many cookies.
I went with the most obvious and said, “Chocolate chip.”
“Yep. There’s one more.”
“Four cookies?” I asked.
“Mmhmm.”
I inhaled deeply one more time, but the flavors had blended into an indiscernible but mouthwatering bouquet. “You stumped me.”
“Sugar,” Atticus said breathlessly, making the word sound more like an endearment than a cookie flavor.
I opened my eyes to discover Atticus was much closer than I’d realized.
His hazel gaze looked greener beneath the shady tree, and the yearning I saw there held me prisoner, until he licked his bottom lip, drawing my attention to its wet and shiny perfection.
Kissing had always been my favorite form of foreplay and was the single thing I missed most about intimacy.
My body craved the biological release of an orgasm given to me by someone other than myself, but my soul missed the deeper connection I got from kissing.
I couldn’t—wouldn’t—press my mouth against his, but I could pretend I’d acted on the impulse later…
in the shower…while fucking my fist. I felt the ache deep in my core, a bottomless yearning I wouldn’t appease.
“Carl must like you a lot,” I finally said.
“So does his wife, Sofia. She’s our main chef.”
The relief flooding my system pissed me off enough to scoot a little to the right, setting a boundary Atticus couldn’t miss. He straightened and gestured to the food on the bench.
“I just have the one fork.”
“Same,” I said.
“I don’t mind if you get your vinaigrette in my potato salad,” Atticus said.
“And I don’t mind if you get your potato salad in my summer salad.” That was much better than sharing a fork. I pulled out the second half of my wrap and handed it over. “Turkey, bacon, feta cheese, spinach, and a tzatziki-style yogurt sauce.”
Both brows shot up, and Atticus smirked.
“I’m surprised you didn’t include your cooking skills in your Randy bio.
” His cheeks turned bright pink, and Atticus slapped a hand over his mouth.
I could tell by his immediate embarrassment that he hadn’t meant to acknowledge our previous acquaintance.
“Sorry.” The word came out muffled behind his fingers.
It was better for us to lay our cards on the table and put the botched hookup behind us. “Guys on those apps don’t really care about my kitchen skills, do they?”
Atticus lowered his hand and grinned sheepishly at me. “You have a point. In case you couldn’t tell by our brief messages on the app, I don’t know much about hookups.” His confession sounded so vulnerable and honest, the least I could do was match his sincerity.
“Me either. You’re my first attempt.” I should’ve left it at that, but I couldn’t seem to slow the train now that it had left the station. “And the last.”
Atticus’s beautiful mouth opened, closed, and opened again to let a sigh escape. He had questions but didn’t want to ask.
I had answers I didn’t want to give, but I still owed him the truth and an apology. I wouldn’t get a better chance. “I didn’t really have a work emergency on the night we were supposed to meet.”
“So, you do say things you don’t mean,” Atticus said.
“Not normally.”
“Then why did you lie?”
Damn, I hated that Atticus thought of me as a liar now. Telling him the truth would probably make things even messier, but he deserved to know what really happened. “I showed up on time, early even, but I couldn’t make myself get out of the car.” Fuck. I’d made things worse instead of better.
Hazel eyes shimmered with hurt, and Atticus worked his bottom lip between his teeth.
When he released the soft flesh, it was wet and so alluring that I nearly lost the thread of our conversation.
“It’s okay. You were allowed to change your mind.
I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.” Atticus turned his head toward the pond and blinked a few times.
Oh god. I couldn’t let this beautiful man think I’d found him lacking. “I wanted you too much, and I panicked.”
Atticus snapped his head to meet my gaze, his eyebrows forming angry slashes over expressive eyes. “There’s no need to placate me when I’ve given you an out.” He reached for his food as if he meant to go. “Maybe we should just—”