17. now
now
“I’m a little disappointed you guys aren’t swimming,” Hayden says as we pull up to the basketball court. “I mean, that’s what he does, right? We could be looking at him in a Speedo right now.”
I don’t reply. I’m too busy studying Atlas as he stands on Aberlena Park’s basketball court.
It’s situated across from the college, and unsurprisingly, there are a lot of people here.
It’s Friday afternoon, most classes are done for the week, and the weather is pleasantly warm.
Not too hot, no wind, and not a cloud in the sky.
The playground is packed with kids. The volleyball court is overcrowded with shirtless men and women in bikinis.
A few men linger near the basketball court, faces shiny with sweat and a basketball forgotten on the ground between them.
Atlas is the only one currently on the court.
He stands beneath one of the hoops, dribbling lazily with one hand and scrolling his phone with the other.
He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts.
“I mean, he could at least take his shirt off,” Hayden adds when I ignore her. “Maybe you should ask if he wants to play shirt versus skin?”
I twist in the passenger seat to glare at her.
“Remind me why I invited you.”
“Because I’m awesome,” she says. Then, “And because you don’t have a car.”
“Right.” I look back at Atlas. He hasn’t noticed us. He stops dribbling and tucks the ball beneath his arm. Not far off, a pair of women have taken notice of him. They’re leaning into each other, giggling and shoving each other playfully as they edge closer.
When they make the joint decision to approach Atlas, I roll my eyes. Hayden lets out a pleased, devious laugh.
“You are so fucked,” she squeals. “Look at you. Jealous over some random women Atlas hasn’t even noticed.”
“I’m not jealous,” I say. Hayden’s right though.
Atlas hasn’t noticed them, despite the fact they’re now on the edge of the basketball court.
It seems they’ve lost their gusto, and a small—very small—part of me feels for them.
I’d never have the confidence to approach Atlas if I was seeing him for the first time at this age.
He’s ridiculously tall and crazy hot. The rejection would sting too hard.
“It’s five minutes past.” Hayden turns off the car. When I whip around, eyebrows raised, she smirks at me. “Don’t worry, I’m not going over there. You have lover boy all to yourself.”
“He’s not…” I scowl at her. “Did me pouring my heart out to you mean nothing? He’s not a lover boy. He’s a traitor. I don’t want him all to myself. I don’t want him at all.”
“O-kay,” Hayden sing-songs.
There’s no point arguing with her. After telling her everything about what happened between me and Atlas five years ago, I expected her to have a bit more understanding, if not more sympathy.
It’s not like Atlas and I broke up because we were going to different colleges.
No, he sold out my sister’s darkest secret—the one I’d trusted him to keep—and it led to her running away.
Disappearing into the night, never to be seen again.
Yet, of course. We’re obviously going to find her. And once we do, she’ll come home and she’ll make a new bucket list. She’ll tease me for completing the list she made at nineteen, and eventually, the scars she left will heal to the point I forget they were ever there.
“Seven minutes past.” Hayden punches my shoulder. “You’re probably stressing him out.”
She’s no more than said the words when my phone buzzes. I steal another glance at Atlas before looking at my phone. Those two girls are circling like vultures, easing around the court until they’re in his line of vision. If he notices, I can’t tell.
My phone buzzes with a message from The Traitor:
I’m on the court.
Yeah, I think sourly. I know. I’m busy watching you like a stalker from my getaway driver’s car.
“If you don’t get out, I will,” Hayden threatens. “And I will suggest the skins-versus-shirts idea. So—”
“He ruined my life,” I say sharply. Hayden’s brows lift, but I plow ahead. “He doesn’t deserve to be a part of it anymore. But I… I’m worried this is a bad idea, that he’ll get the wrong impression and end up hurt. He’d deserve it, but I don’t want…”
I trail off. Swallow hard against the growing lump in my throat.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think he meant to hurt you either.” Hayden presses her hand over mine.
I close my eyes. It’s not what I wanted her to say. It’s definitely not what I need to hear.
Maybe Atlas didn’t mean to hurt me. Maybe he didn’t even mean to hurt Nat. But he did. Isn’t that what matters? And whether or not I mean to hurt him now, won’t it only matter if I do?
“I’ll text you when I’m done.” I pull my hand from hers and open the door. When I’m halfway out of the car, Hayden grabs her snack collection from the backseat. She tosses her keys onto the dash and settles against her window. I narrow my eyes. “What are you doing?”
“You’re crazy if you think I’m going anywhere.” Hayden doesn’t so much as look at me. She opens a mini bag of Cheetos. “My show’s about to start.”
“I was afraid you weren’t going to come,” Atlas says as I cross the street.
He’s smiling wide enough that I can see both rows of teeth for a second.
It used to be my favorite smile, and I’d be lying if it didn’t stir warmth in my chest now.
His looks have always been damn-near flawless.
Even the arguably imperfect traits—the slightly stick-out ears and that scar on his brow—are beautiful.
It’s genuinely unfair that he’s only gotten better looking since we broke up.
“I thought about it.”
“You were sitting there for a while.” He nods toward Hayden’s car. The windows, tragically, are not as tinted as I thought. I can see Hayden’s outline perfectly, which means Atlas could see me sitting in there, watching him. When I look back at him, he’s still grinning. “Is she going to come play?”
“Um, no. I think she’s just going to watch.”
“Yeah?” Atlas’s brow quirks. “Why’s that? Is she hoping to catch an infamous Violet tantrum?”
“I’ve evolved,” I remind him. I steal the basketball from under his arm, my knuckles brushing against his shirt.
Heat radiates off him, and despite the late summer weather, I want to step closer.
To feel his heat pressed against me. I clear my throat, hoping it’ll clear these ridiculous thoughts too. “Okay. Let’s play.”
“What’s the rush, Vi?” Atlas easily sneaks the ball out of my hands and walks away, dribbling lazily. As he moves, he remains turned toward me, eyes crinkled with his smile. “Nat’s list wants you to learn a sport, not just play it.”
“I already know how to play,” I argue. Hands on hips, I follow Atlas to the center of the court. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me, and he hasn’t missed a beat in his rhythmic dribbling. Something tells me if I tried to steal the ball again, he’d effortlessly evade me.
“The first thing you’ll want to learn is how to dribble,” he says.
He switches hands, does some fancy move.
As much as I want to roll my eyes—he is clearly showing off—I can’t bring myself to.
I’m too fascinated, tracking his fluid and quick movements.
Despite his height, he’s graceful, easily trading the ball from one hand to the other.
I’m openly gaping at him when he abruptly stops, holding the ball out to me with one hand. He might be showing off, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s able to do it.
“You’re good at that,” I say stupidly. When I take the ball, our fingers brush, and I swear, there’s something animalistic waking inside of me. It wants me to get closer. To press my chest against his, to wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.
My mind understands the reality of our situation, but my hormones don’t. They’re begging me to climb this man like a tree, to kiss him like I used to. After so many years of missing Atlas, my body doesn’t understand why I’m not doing something about it now that he’s right in front of me.
“I have a lot of practice.” He nods toward the ball. “Go ahead and try it. Only one hand.”
“I know how to dribble.” Not well, obviously, but enough that I’m not going to dribble with both hands like a five year old.
I walk aimlessly around the court, dribbling while Atlas watches. Occasionally I bounce it too hard or not hard enough and my rhythm gets wonky, but it’s simple enough to get it back on track. Like with the ukulele, it’s easier not to look at my hand.
“You can say it,” I call over my shoulder as I dribble toward the opposite hoop. I turn slowly at the end of the court before grinning at him. “I’m a natural.”
He barks out a laugh.
“You used to practice all those hours on your driveway hoop,” I drawl, dribbling faster. I widen my pattern, attempting criss-cross designs in front of me. I look ridiculous, I’m sure, but I don’t stop. I don’t even try to hide my smile. “And here I come, out-performing you on my first try.”
“Aberlena has a basketball team,” Atlas says as I pass him. “You’ll probably get recruited.”
I don’t reply to that. I’m too distracted by the fact he’s looking at me, that I can feel his eyes on me, even as I’m faced away.
I’m a little ashamed to admit it, but I borrowed the tightest pair of shorts I could find in Hayden’s closet.
It’s been awhile since I’ve done anything remotely athletic, so she let me have free reign over her wardrobe.
These are so tight, they may very well be from Hayden’s pre-teen years.
My butt cheeks are showing by the time I reach the other hoop, and when I turn, I catch Atlas staring.
It’s more satisfying than it should be, sending a rush of warmth through my entire body.
Atlas, to his credit, looks embarrassed.
Blush travels up to his ears, and he sharply redirects his attention to the surrounding park.
He clasps the back of his neck, rubbing as he feigns interest in the nearby volleyball game.