Page 7

Kairi

About fifty feet away at the bar, Atlas was staring at me. He was always staring at me. It was a bad habit he couldn’t kick, and it was one Mike had picked up on early. Now I couldn’t ignore it. I still couldn’t believe Mike had broken up with me like I was the one who had done something wrong, like I had invited the attention. Two years had passed since that mess ended, and now Ashlen and Atlas were two and a half years deep into whatever the fuck they called a relationship.

I’d taken to calling them the toxic duo—fight, fuck, break up, repeat. It was their cycle, and I’d become a pro at dodging their drama, slipping through the cracks when they were together and ducking Atlas when he was alone. I only let our paths cross out of necessity.

Like tonight.

We were at Ashlen's birthday celebration, a profligate affair that mirrored her personality. Atlas had paid for it all. Bottles. VIP. Dinner. Ashlen loved this lifestyle for herself. She spent his money like she spent her daddy’s. And I loved that for her.

The VIP section was thick with a sultry mix of expensive perfumes and laughter teetering on the edge of hysteria, the kind that only comes when everyone’s either drunk, high, or both. I sipped my drink, the burn of the brown liquor trailing fire down my throat. I exhaled as the warmth spread through me like a slow release.

Mason was beside me. Tall and inked up, his mixed Black and Indian heritage giving him this exotic edge that he played up. Everything about him screamed bad boy, but deep down, he was just a nerd fronting, hiding behind tattoos and a row-club body. Still, somehow, I knew he could fuck me to sleep if I let him, and I was thinking very hard about letting him. He was one of Atlas's boys.

“Kairi,” Mason leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “You look like a fucking snack. You should let me eat your pussy,” he said, being vulgar and unapologetic, his lips brushing my skin, causing goosebumps to explode on my flesh.

I liked it.

I smiled, slow and lazy, feeling the heat between us build. “You so nasty,” I giggled. I was down, and I didn’t have to say it out loud. I shifted, spreading my legs just enough to give him better access.

His hand brushed against my inner thigh, then slid further under the mini skirt I had no business wearing. No panties, just skin on skin, his fingers hovering close enough to the good spots to make me catch my breath.

Then suddenly—like a storm rolling in—a shadow fell over us.

I looked up, and there was Atlas, lording over us like a dark cloud to ruin a sunny day. His presence sucked the air out of the space. He was holding the drink Ashlen had sent him to get.

I groaned inwardly.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” Atlas growled, his voice a low rumble.

Mason straightened up, hands raised in surrender, but the smirk never left his face. “Chill, man. We’re just talking.”

Atlas wasn’t having it. His eyes were locked on me, dark and unreadable, like he was deciding whether to drag me out of there or not. The tension was thick, charged with something that felt like it could ignite at any second. I didn’t know whether to laugh or roll my eyes, but I knew one thing—Atlas was fucking annoying.

A gasp skittered past my lips when Atlas grabbed Mason by the shirt, pulling him up.

"Talking, my ass. Get the fuck out of my section."

He shoved Mason.

My mouth fell open when Mason started walking away. He didn’t even try to fight for me.

“Get your man.” I looked to Ashlen to intervene, but she was lost in her own world, intoxicated, giggling and slumped over in her seat, swaying to the music.

"Atlas, baby, don't be so mean," she slurred, but that was it.

Atlas ignored her, laser-focused on me.

“What is your fucking problem?” I yelled, loud enough to be heard over Kanye rapping about monsters. I pushed myself up from my seat, meeting him eye to eye.

Wrapping his big hand around my arm, he sat down, pulling me down with him, so I ended up in his lap.

His hard dick pressed into the crease of my ass.

I tried to get up, but his hand wrapped around my long weave ponytail, pulling me back down, keeping me from moving. His breath smelled like hot wings and vodka.

He was drunk.

"You wore this for him, didn't you?" His free hand traced my hip, sending a chill up my spine. His touch made me contradict my anger. I wanted to be mad. I was mad. But my body leaned into his for just a second. Just long enough to piss me off further.

"Let go of me, Atlas," I said, my voice trembling despite my efforts to sound firm.

"You smell so good, always fucking tempting me, You do it on purpose" he whispered, his nose grazing my skin. "He doesn’t deserve to touch you."

My heart pounded, a wild rhythm in my chest. "Stop it. Stop doing this crazy shit," I muttered, struggling to free myself.

I shoved my elbow into his ribs, breaking away, stumbling as I stood up.

I looked back to see if he was chasing me, but Ashlen intervened, pulling him down next to her. I read her lips. “Let her go.”

I left the club, taking the chauffeured SUV back to the apartment.

Thinking about what had happened, playing it over and over in my mind, trying to figure out what it meant, was about to drive me crazy.

It didn’t help that my skin was still tingling where Atlas had touched me.

I went directly into the bathroom, removing my clothes. I needed to wash his smell from my flesh.

I forced myself not to think of what he said.

I was good at compartmentalizing my weird interactions with Atlas now.

But later, sleep came in fragments.

I was haunted by dreams about having sex with Atlas, loving Atlas, carrying Atlas's baby.

I woke up to the sound of muffled moans and the creak of bedsprings.

Disoriented, I blinked into the darkness, my heart pounding.

Ashlen and Atlas never had sex in our shared room.

That was an unspoken rule, a boundary they had never crossed.

Until tonight.

I turned over, and through the dim light, I saw him—Atlas.

His eyes were fixed on me.

Our gazes locked for a charged moment before I turned away, my pulse racing.

I grabbed my noise-canceling headphones from under my pillow and jammed them over my ears.

Janet Jackson's "Any Time, Any Place" started playing—what a cruel fucking irony.

I pulled my pillow over my head, trying to block out everything—the sounds, the memory of his touch, the ache.

Was he trying to torture me?