Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I don’t know what to do, how to act, what to say. Am I required to say something? It’s already somewhat been forgotten. Maybe I imagined it all.
Honestly, a guy like Atlas is inherently the stuff of dreams, and by dreams, I mean the more taboo, fantastical kind that includes getting naked without clothing. That’s what getting naked usually means.
I know he’s just a human being like everyone else, but he’s also kind of a really gorgeous, breathtaking god-man of a human being who could burn up a set of ovaries with a single stormy-eyed glance.
I realize I’m not eating. I’m not even breathing.
And then, as I’m about to enter total shy meltdown, panic mode, our eyes meet over a fork full of fries and a hand holding up a golden brown grilled cheese sandwich. Instead of rolling his eyes at his granny for making assumptions or at me for having stars in my eyes and a moony look on my face, he smiles the softest, most un-cocky smile that practically sends all my senses into full-on heavenly, slightly unbearable, altogether dreamy overload.
He’s smiling at me. Me. Victoria Abruster. Shy, see-through, wallflower, bookish nerd, little old me.
That smile stops all the bad doubts and sets my insides to clenching, my heart to wheeling, my pulse to slamming, my ovaries to pounding, my lady bits to singing, and my brain to thinking that maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something unforeseen, unbailable, and entirely, incredibly fantastic.
CHAPTER 9
Atlas
“That’s the last one, then. I’m glad it’s done. My back could use a break. How on earth is yours holding out? Actually, how are you that strong?”
Victoria flushes prettily even as she reaches up to wipe her forehead along her hairline with the back of her hand. Strands of her lovely brown hair are plastered all over the sides of her face, ripped away from the messy bun binding it on top of her head due to the effort of moving incredibly heavy furniture all afternoon. Her T-shirt is clinging damply to her body, and her leggings are molded to the lush contours of her hips and the muscles of her long legs. She smiles shyly at me.
“I don’t know. I think it had more to do with you bearing all the weight on your end and me just barely doing anything.”
“Believe me, you were doing something, or we wouldn’t have made it.”
“Thank you for all the help. I hope your back is okay.”
“It is. I was just joking about that. It’s good to get a good workout that isn’t in the gym. Makes a guy feel useful.”
She snorts and exits out of the bedroom, where there are new pieces of furniture everywhere, yet to be arranged. I follow after her, and at the top of the stairs, she tosses over her shoulder, “I’m sure you get a good workout all the time by building houses. You’re just trying to be modest.”
Right. Building houses. Because that’s what I’m supposed to do for a living. “Uh, yeah. I guess it’s tough.”
“How do you find time to do all that—own your own business—and still go to the gym?”
“I guess…I guess I get up really early.” I join Victoria in the kitchen. It’s so new in here, and all the smells are still quite fresh. Fresh drywall, fresh paint, new flooring.
“I don’t have to return the truck until tomorrow, but I’ll give you a ride back to the city. I thought you might let me thank you by letting me cook you dinner. And when I say cook, I actually mean I’ll throw some pasta in a pot, put margarine on it when it’s done, pan-fry a really thin steak, and make a salad. That’s about as good as my cooking gets.”
My heart leaps up into my throat, and my words come out far too forcefully. “Are you kidding?” I watch as her smile fades, her eyes fly to the floor, and her shoulders sag. Clearly, I just dashed her hopes. I curse myself in my head as an imbecile as I quickly rectify, “That sounds great. I meant are you kidding? That sounds amazing. As in, that far exceeds my own cooking. Steak? Who doesn’t love steak?”
“Oh.” She’s shocked, which makes me feel even more like a huge piece of poo. “But I did say pan-fried,” she adds shyly. “There are people who say pan-frying ruins a steak. And I already didn’t get high-quality ones. I suck at knowing the cuts, and I just bought what was cheap. I don’t usually eat steak. I just bought it in case…uh, in case you wanted to stay for dinner.”
“Yes! Yes, I’d love to stay. I’ll gladly accept your offer of cooking a fine meal to refuel the old stomach after all that moving.”
Victoria’s cheeks are still pink, and when she blinks at me, she looks stunned and totally adorable. She covers her mouth the next instant, though. “Shit! I forgot to buy a table and chairs. That’s the one thing I didn’t even think of.”