Chapter 12 #3
Pretty sure I moaned in ecstasy at just the thought of eating the food. “I’ll probably be in a food coma in an hour.”
“Nah,” Atticus said. “You’re too disciplined for that. How’s your day going so far?”
I opened the container and stared down at the feast until Atticus whacked my leg with a package containing disposable utensils, a napkin, and a wet wipe. “It’s been pretty good so far, but it’s shaping up to be excellent. How was your morning?”
“Maintenance fixed the door handle on the art room closet,” Atticus said.
“Fixed or replaced?” I’d really hoped for the latter, but I suspected they’d go with the cheapest option first.
“Um, I’m not sure. We were working with modeling clay when Gary swung by to fix it. I just know the handle turns.”
I made a note to get the paperwork from Gary so I could document and close out the incident report.
“Enough about work,” Atticus said as he held a drumstick near his mouth. “I want to talk about your tattoos.”
My eyebrow shot up. “What about them?”
Atticus bobbed his head while he chewed, then took a drink from one of the water bottles he’d brought.
“I have so many questions. First, why do you cover up your beautiful skin art when you’re at work?
” He tugged on one of my long sleeves. “Aren’t you burning alive in that thing?
And also, tell me about some of your tats.
I tried to zoom in on the pictures you uploaded to Randy, but that only made them blurrier. Is there a theme to your ink?”
I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth.
Damn, he’d given my tats a lot of thought.
Dropping my fork into my container, I gave him my full attention.
“I haven’t purposely planned a theme for my ink.
I guess you’d just say they’re a representation of places I’ve been, experiences I’ve lived, and people I’ve loved. So, I guess the theme is life.”
Not that I’d done much living beyond breathing, eating, and working over the past three years.
But I thought I was ready for more, even if I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant.
Our lunchtime conversations drew me closer to Atticus and left me craving more.
I’d made myself vulnerable to him, but was I emotionally strong enough to explore the physical part of intimacy?
“Wow,” Atticus said. “That’s a gorgeous way to describe your tattoos.” He sighed. “Your body is a beautiful canvas, and I think you should flaunt it.”
“Thank you. The older generations don’t always think highly of people with tattoos, and I don’t want to cause any issues here or anywhere. The combination of my height, muscles, and ink is intimidating to many people, and I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. I wear long sleeves on every job.”
“I see where you’re coming from,” Atticus said, “but it’s disappointing you have to hide such beauty. How do you stand wearing that shirt though?”
“It’s made from a special material that helps keep the body cool in hot weather,” I said. “They use similar technology in the military.”
“Well, you don’t have to cover up around here because the residents are dying to know what you’re rocking under your shirts. One of them glimpsed part of a tattoo under the cuff of your sleeve, and the tongues have been wagging since. The security hunks are a hit with the Silver Maple crowd.”
I chuckled. “Is that what they call us?”
“Uh-huh. A particular security hunk is our favorite,” Atticus said.
My heart swelled about three sizes. “Our favorite? You live here now?”
“I was encompassing the staff and residents under one Silver Maple umbrella. One hunk makes a huge impression.” Atticus winked as he took a bite of his lunch and chewed.
“And if the Silver Maple crowd discovered the hunky heartthrob can cook too…” He shook his head.
“They’d all want to be your lunch buddy, and I’d have to fight them off. ”
Lunch buddy? The label was much too mundane to describe the way I felt about Atticus, but I wasn’t ready to put into words what my heart already knew. So I speared a bite of greens and said, “Do you have any tats?”
Atticus cocked his head to the side. “You’ve seen me wearing nothing but a pair of swim shorts.”
“I haven’t seen below the waistband.” Suddenly, the moisture-wicking fabric failed to do its job because my body heat soared to a dangerous level.
“No tats, but I sometimes wear a belly button ring.”
I choked on a bite of cornbread, and Atticus pushed a bottle of water into my hand. I took a drink and regained my composure. “Why didn’t you include that in your thirst traps?”
“It’s kind of cliché, right? Chad told me it made me look trashy and immature.”
I barely suppressed a growl from hearing that asshole’s name. “Do you like wearing it?”
Atticus worked his lower lip for a few seconds. “Maybe I should’ve outgrown it, but I really do.”
“Then wear it for yourself.” Or me. I’d love that. “Who cares what anyone else thinks?” Funny how I didn’t apply that same logic to my tattoos.
Atticus sat taller. “You’re right. I totally should. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” And then because I was a masochist, I asked, “So, no other piercings beneath the waistband?”
“No. My act of rebellion was pretty tame.”
I caught his gaze and held it. “There’s nothing tame about you.”
Especially not the way he made me feel.
Atticus watched with rapt attention as I unpacked my insulated lunchbox.
“I didn’t get carried away this time,” I said. “I just brought chicken salad on croissants and fresh fruit. Oh, and Saratoga chips.”
“You made the chips, didn’t you?”
“Um, it sounds harder than it really is.”
“What’s your idea of roughing it?” Atticus asked.
An image of me railing him from behind sprang to mind. “Oh god,” I wheezed.
Atticus put both hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay? Is it asthma?”
I cleared my throat and offered him a weak smile, hoping none of my dirty thoughts lingered in my expression. “No, um, I just sucked air down funny.”
“Uh-huh,” Atticus said slowly. “Why don’t I believe you? I’m the clumsy one in this friendship.” He cocked his head to the side. “Did your thoughts go somewhere unexpected?”
“No,” I croaked.
“Uh-huh. Well, I mucked this up, so I need to get our minds out of the gutter.”
“Ours?”
“You think my mind didn’t go to naughty places before the words had even cleared my mouth?” Atticus shook his head and sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”
“It’s fine.” I handed him his wrapped sandwich and a cup of fruit. “What would you rather talk about?”
“I’d prefer to hear about us roughing it, but that’s not a good idea. So, we’ll talk about the nerve and audacity of Chad.”
Snorting, I looked up from my sandwich. “That almost sounds like a book title.”
“Yeah, well, I hope it reads better than reality,” Atticus said.
“An envelope came in the mail for me yesterday. It was from Chad, of all people, and it included a letter and a check for five thousand dollars. My dad thinks it’s because Chad hopes a judge will go easier on him when his case goes to court if he’s already paid me restitution for damages. ”
“Wow,” I said. “Not to belittle your lovely Sadie, but five thousand seems significantly more than her value.”
“The dick owes me money for other things. I should’ve seen the writing on the wall when he stopped contributing his half of the rent money and other household expenses. Five thousand doesn’t cover everything, but I’ll accept it as his debt repayment if that will get him out of my life for good.”
“Did he apologize in his letter?” I asked.
Atticus snorted. “Hell no. Chad was more concerned about justifying his actions than taking responsibility for them. He basically detailed how I’d ruined his life and implied I’d had it coming without saying I’d had it coming.”
Even though I knew the answer would only raise my blood pressure, I asked it anyway. “How are you responsible for ruining his life? Explain it to me like I’m five years old.”
Atticus slapped my arm. “You have a way with words.”
“Said no one ever.” I pointed my sandwich at him. “Now, talk.” I started to take a bite but stopped. “How likely am I to choke to death on food if I eat while you attempt to explain the audacity of Chad?”
“Highly likely.”
I set my food down and gestured for him to continue.
“Well, I didn’t do it for him sexually any longer,” Atticus replied.
Thank god I hadn’t taken a bite of food. And yep, there went my blood pressure. “What? He put that in a letter that might go before a judge?”
“Not in so many words. In the letter, Chad said I’d failed him as a boyfriend, but he’d explained in great detail why he cheated after I found out. I’ll spare you what he told me.”
“Because it’s all bullshit,” I blurted.
“You can’t possibly know that after one kiss.”
“It was one fucking hot kiss, and hell yes, I can.”
Atticus reached over and cupped my cheek. “Your face is getting red. Is steam about to come out your ears?”
“Maybe.”
“Your lap is looking so damn good right now.”
It took every ounce of willpower I had not to pat my thighs. Instead, I turned my face and kissed his palm. Atticus retracted his hand, looked down at it, and folded his fingers protectively around his palm. “You’re killing me, Smalls.”
Atticus grinned and shook his head. “You already know that I got both of us fired with my stunt.”
“Yes, and I still haven’t achieved that level of vengeance.”
“Stick with me, kid.” Atticus winked playfully. “Well, I also got us blackballed from finding jobs in our fields. We both hold a master’s in computer engineering, but no one was willing to hire us.”
“The troublemaker and the fuckboy?” I teased.
“That almost beats out the audacity of Chad for the best book title.” Then Atticus arched a brow. “I’m the troublemaker in this scenario, right?”
“Obviously.”