Summer #2
“Summer, right?”
How the fuck does he know my name? I’m sure Jacob catches my surprise, but he loses my attention when I spot the psycho I came here for, striding toward us with an infuriated look—one spelling MURDER in caps.
I force my features to rearrange into the definition of playfulness with the sole intention of provoking him further.
His stride for me is one that would most certainly make most men shit their pants. Thank fuck I’m not a man!
“May I ask how you know my name?”
My question is left unanswered when Atlas passes Jacob by, bumping his cousin’s shoulder with enough force to make him stumble forward, prompting me to take a step back. I’m not catching him if he falls.
“Jacob!” Atlas barks out more like a warning than any kind of greeting, and he gets by my side.
I expect to see anger on Jacob’s face, but he seems amused when he answers, with a smirk popping as the cherry on top of Atlas’s frustration.
“If there’s something you’d like to discuss, my dear cousin, it will have to wait, because I’m in the company of an absolutely stunning young lady.”
I don’t glance at Jacob when he utters those words, for the explosive show unfolding on Atlas’s face is epic, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
He snakes an arm around my waist, marking his territory with a bruising grip I couldn’t get away from even if I wanted.
“You’re in the company of my girlfriend.”
I’ll need a minute to collect my jaw from the ground and search for my eyebrows that I’m sure got lost somewhere in my hairline.
“Your what?” Jacob chokes on his words while stifling a laugh, his eyebrows in competition with mine of how far up they can reach. “Since when do you do girlfriend?”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” I hiss in protest, but neither of them spares me a shred of attention, too entangled in their battle of who’s got the scarier look contest. I think the handsome psycho by my side is winning. Definitely it’s him!
“See! She isn’t your girlfriend,” Jacob notes, the muscles of his mouth contorting into a sneer.
Atlas’s hand leaves my waist as he moves between Jacob and me, getting into his cousin’s personal space with no good intentions in mind.
“She is! I’d hate to have to explain to my aunt why I bashed your face in, but I’m sure she’d understand, considering you are bothering my girlfriend.
So fuck off! Now!” Atlas barks loud enough to be heard by at least half the crowd around us, making everyone stare, as even the music gets turned down a notch.
Jacob meticulously studies every part of me in a way that seems less like admiration and more like calculation. I’m far from shy, but he still gives me the urge to cover myself with the way his eyes skim my skin.
“Interesting.” That’s all he utters, taking in his cousin’s face again, before turning to leave with a challenging smile plastered on.
I’m sure the thoughts roaming Jacob’s mind are that I have some kind of magic pussy, summoning flying carpets and levitating dicks to make Atlas Holt call me his girlfriend.
Too distracted by that walking-away-from-us brand of trouble wearing a man’s skin, I miss when Atlas turns to face me, but I don’t miss when he grabs me—one hand on my throat, the other squeezing my ass—and forcefully plasters his lips on mine.
It’s what I wanted, right? For him to claim me in front of everyone. He called me his girlfriend. That’s more than I bargained for, and I couldn’t have imagined it at this point.
Fuck, I love this!
No, you don’t, you stupid cunt! You’re being branded like cattle for everyone’s entertainment.
What I do next is on instinct, not an idea my brain processes properly, much less agreeing to execute.
I push him off, and my hand flies with an interstellar speed, bitch-slapping him hard enough to make a tooth or two come loose in his mouth.
Okay. Maybe not that hard, but the slap is loud.
Louder than the voices in the crowd, and the music, too.
Which doesn’t really say much by itself, since both got turned down to a dog-whistle level while Atlas and Jacob were engaging in a verbal dick-measuring contest.
Silence spreads like wildfire, scalding every sound before it’s born, leaving a single voice among the spectators to narrate my thoughts with a spot-on “Holy . . .” gasp. Everyone’s frozen, staring at us, probably waiting to witness a murder in progress.
Atlas shifts his face back on me, holding a feral look, which is a not-so-subtle hint to all the ways he’s going to devour me.
Well, what’s done is done. Best I can do is own it.
I get in his face, trying to match the level of ferocity in his expression. It’s an act, though—false bravado, not enough courage in me to make it feel real.
My slap definitely pissed off whatever rabid, impulse-control-deficient animal he keeps barely contained, and I think I’m about to get mauled as I’m hauled off my feet over his shoulder, a palm cracking against my ass hard enough to leave a mark, making my earlier smack a pathetic contender in the loudest-slap contest.
He carries me through the crowded room, justifying the potato sack insult he bestowed upon me on our first meeting, and not only does no one try to stop him, but they actually make way.
“Put me down, you fucker!” I shout, but he slaps my ass harder than the first time, forcing a yelp to burst past my lips.
My imagination runs wild with the scene of me stabbing him with a fork lying on a nearby counter.
I attempt to grab it, but Connor—yes, I’m sure it’s him, and not his brother, because he regularly wears mismatching socks like now—pulls it away from my reach.
He holds a spark in his eyes like a six-year-old in the front row of a Wheel of Death circus show.
The kind of six-year-old who’d wonder why everyone’s clapping when the marksman misses the girl.
I shoot him a glare with my teeth bared, ready to bite, but he grins.
Fucking freaks!
Once Atlas starts climbing the stairs, a full-blown freak-out takes over me. If someone else had hit him the way I did, he’d already be dead and buried, while everyone at the party would’ve pretended nothing happened. But he likes me. What’s the worst he can do to me?