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Willa

A fter we unload the grill near the front grassy patch where others will join it soon as some of Atlas’ club brothers arrive to set up, I beg and plead for him to come back into the store with me. To be fair, it doesn’t take much begging or pleading. I know Atlas hates surprises and he can tell that I pretty much have pure devilment in mind.

I get behind the front sales counter and dig my favorite find ever out of the box on one of the shelves. I pull Pearl from the tissue paper I wrapped her in to keep her safe.

Atlas jerks back. All six foot two inches of his glorious sun-kissed body recoils in horror. He’s a full patched in member of his club, a biker through and through. No one would dare call him anything but a badass, but little old Pearl scares him shitless.

“Gah! What the fuck is that thing?”

I stroke Pearl’s not so fuzzy head. She used to be flocked, but most of the fuzz has been loved smooth over the years. She’s missing an eye, but I don’t hold that against her. She lived a few turbulent years where someone either loved her to decapitation, or some punk kid decided she’d be better off parted from her head. A few crusty lines of yellowed tape now hold it onto her moldering body.

“She’s a monkey. Can’t you tell?”

A shudder ripples through him. “Looks like an instrument of the devil.”

“Says a man who proudly calls himself a member of the Satan’s Angels.”

“I didn’t pick the name! And our logo is a fallen stone angel.” He whips around, pointing over his shoulder at the large patch on his leather jacket.

I try to focus on the details of the angel’s bowed face and her furled, lifelike wings, and not on the rippling muscle just below that jacket, or the rock hard ass in a pair of jeans that I’d like to remove with my teeth before running my tongue over the twin moons and delving between them.

No, salad isn’t my favorite meal, but there’s something about this god of a man who is so damn beautiful that he could easily bring masses of women to their knees and spontaneously soak panties everywhere, that makes me want to do dark, dirty, sinful things.

“I know you love the cursed things, the uglier the better, but that is too much. Hold on.” He grabs his phone out of his pocket. “Let me call up a priest to come perform an exorcism.”

I kiss Pearl’s worn, horrific face and Atlas gags for real. “Don’t listen to him,” I tell her. “I love you just the way you are.” Aaaargh, don’t say things like that. He’s right there and he’s going to know you don’t just mean the damn monkey. “Besides, when you have no soul, you don’t have to worry about demons entering your body and taking it over.”

Thankfully, he’s distracted by that. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“She’s going to join my collection of homely things.”

The weird and wonderful shit that I find doesn’t usually make the sales floor. Not when it’s so much more joyful to fill up my new, sprawling, two thousand square apartment on the top floor of this warehouse.

I tuck Pearl back into her box, covering her reverently with the tissue paper to keep her fragile body safe. She’s almost a hundred years old. Atlas would probably say she looks more like centuries old, something dug up by grave robbers.

“You have that look on your face. That sappy, soft, slightly sad, indiscernible look that borderline freaks me out,” he accuses.

“That would be witchcraft, darling,” I return, going for my best stage actress dramatic flair impression.

He snorts. “Seriously, though. Are you thinking about Lynette?”

Atlas is one of those people who masks his pain and pushes forward no matter what. I don’t know if he’s talked to anyone in his club about Jodie in the ten months since they split. I have a feeling he hasn’t really. If he’d talk to anyone, it would be his parents or maybe even his older sister. They’re a close knit family. A happy, middle=class, average, white picket fence style mom and dad who rounded up the two point two kids to three, and had more than one family dog growing up and a few cats.

You’d think that they wouldn’t be happy with their son’s chosen path, but I’ve met Josephine and Darwin a few times and they’re good people. Salt of the earth, wonderful, sweet, people who adore their children. They’re proud that he’s a part of the club. They supported Atlas’ older sister through college—she’s a teacher in Seattle now, and when his younger brother wanted to be a surfer down in California, they paid for him to go and bought him his board and everything. I don’t know if he’s going to make it any professional sense, but according to Atlas, Clem loves living down there and he’s happy working at a surf shop not far from the beach.

“What am I thinking about?” I busy myself with the antique cash register, pretending to check it one more time to make sure it’s functioning correctly. It would be a disaster if it failed to function on a day when I hope to make serious sales. “Hmm. I was just… going back through all the memories from the past ten months.”

“Hmph.”

Lynette would say I have no filter, and that’s true for the most part. I’m not used to being unable to push out the words in my head. Lynette is also so prim and proper and sweet.

Anyway, I never have been like my sister. Prim, proper, dignified, professional, and controlled aren’t words that I’d apply to myself. Before I met Atlas, I can’t remember a time when my face ever got hot. I know my cheeks are pink right now, which is discomfiting.

“None of this would be possible if I’d never met you.” I’m usually fearless, but I have to keep fiddling with the register. I crank the handle, and the drawer pings open loudly, right at the end of that statement.

“Oh my god, Willa, yes it would have.”

“No. I know your parents helped you buy the building, and you’ve put in so many hours renovating it.”

“I’m your landlord. You can’t make money off a property if it’s unusable. You pay me rent. My help wasn’t charity. This is a good income source.”

He’s downplaying this. All the days we spent together here, the massive effort he put into doing most of the demolition and construction himself when he’d never done any of that sort of thing before. For the first few months, it was just us, often camping out in the massive shell of a building in sleeping bags, then going to classes during the day at the community college and coming right back here.

“You hadn’t even done this before and yet, you figured it all out. You got the club to help too, which was amazing.”

There isn’t a single member of the Satan’s Angels that didn’t have a hand in making this dream a reality. From the drawings to the manpower, they had my apartment ready to live in by January, as promised, and had the store down below ready for June. For the past few weeks, they’ve been helping me move furniture into place, arrange clothes, even set out toys and old books. It wasn’t just the men either, but their old ladies and families who were here, helping me put the finishing touches on this place so that I could meet my grand opening date.

“I did, because if you can’t make money, then I won’t get paid either. I’d have to evict you, and do you have any idea how much effort that would be?”

I shut the drawer and look up. Staring at Atlas used to be like looking directly into the sun. I got over that fast, but today, it’s like seeing him for the first time. “There’s no way you can downplay this, Simon Backun. You’re a good man. Selfless and kind.” Gorgeous. Off-limits. Enough to drive a woman mad. Literally the best score on this planet. Your ex was an idiot who didn’t appreciate what she had. “And I’ll be thankful to my dying day for the help you’ve given me, and for being my friend when I didn’t know a single person here.”

“I had to be your friend. I was forced, remember?”

I snort. “Don’t make me get Pearl out and extract a confession. You loved taking me to college so much that you’re doing a degree now.”

“I’m doing a degree because I love studying. Taking you was torture.”

I race out from behind the counter and punch him playfully in his huge, leather-clad shoulder. His face twists up and he pretends to be injured.

“Ouch, Willa. That hurt . This, after all I’ve done for you.”

I’m mentally five, so I pull a face far worse than Pearl’s monkey grimace. “I thought you just said you didn’t do anything.”

He grows serious fast, and for a second, I’m afraid that he’s seen straight through to my heart. I’m naturally flirty, silly, fun loving, and easy going. Half of the people I meet probably don’t assume I have a brain in my head. It comes with the territory of being blonde, blue eyed, and curvy. No one would suspect that underneath my casual, playful exterior, I’m actually capable of deep thoughts and feelings.

“Mom and Dad wanted to know if you’d like to come for dinner tomorrow. I told them it was a bad time with the opening, but they’re not going to let it go. They’re going to come this afternoon, so they’ll probably ask you themselves. I didn’t want you to be surprised.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve gone with you.”

I search his face, trying to figure out what’s different this time. If people assume things about me, they also assume that Atlas is just a stupid jock with stupid jock tendencies.

That’s the last thing he is.

“I just wanted to tell you.”

Atlas is wicked smart. He plays himself off like he’s not emotionally intelligent either, but I know that’s not true. Whatever is going on in his big, beautiful, downplayed brain, he’s not going to let me in on it. I give him my brightest smile. “Okay. I’d love to come. And I’m super excited to see them this afternoon.”

“Georgia’s coming from Seattle too.”

“Oh!” I’ve never met his big sister. Should I feel pressure?

He’s seen me sweat enough times in the past to recognize that I’m starting to stew in my anxiety right now. “She’s sweet. You’ll love her.” He grins at me. “Everything will be perfect today. We’re all so proud of you, Willa.”

When he walks over and hugs me, platonically , it sets my heart racing. I have no right to long for more, but as I drag a deep breath of his citrusy, motor oil scent in, my chest tightens. He uses hair product that smells like coconuts, and whatever is in it brings out the golden streaks. He has the kind of hair that any woman would be jealous of.

“Thanks,” I murmur near his ear.

I force myself to release him and when I step away, there’s a bright smile in place that masks everything that’s in my head and heart.

Story of my fucking life.

There are different kinds of love. I’m in every one of them. I’m not exactly a fan of wrecking myself either, so I’ll forever be careful to keep my feelings hidden. We can be playful. Friendly. Confidants. Business associates. I can treat Atlas like an obnoxious older brother whom I secretly adore, and he can treat me like his pesky younger sister. Anything else would ruin what we have, and that would be a tragedy.

He’s had enough tragedy this past year.

Atlas’s heart is still broken beyond repair. If I respect one thing, it’s a person’s pain, and Atlas isn’t ready. I might have been okay with being his rebound at first, but then I got to know him, and to know him is to love him and to love him means doing what’s best for him, even while I die a slow death on the inside.