Page 54 of Driftwood Daffodil 2

“No, you wouldn’t have.” Simon had a better chance of that than Atlee, and he cheated on me. “But I’m flattered that you find me that cheap.”

“You’re hardly cheap,” he leaned in and softly added, “I’m just that good.”

Did he just stroke my ego and insult me in the same sentence? That took some serious skill. I was a little impressed.

“You’re not that good. Trust me.”

“You sure about that?”

One tip of Atlee’s head had me more uncomfortable than I’d ever been. His whiskey eyes shone with sin while darkness and desire sparked in the small curl on the corner of his mouth. Until that moment I didn’t know that a single look could make me feel dirty.

“Stop that.” I was two seconds away from needing an emergency trip to the confessional.

And did he stop? Of course not. Atlee amped it up to the point that I was sure he could see what I looked like under my clothes.

“Alright,” I threw a couple of chocolate chips at his chest. “You made your point.”

The shower inducing expression was wiped away and replaced with normal annoying Atlee. Never thought I’d be happy to see that stupid grin.

“Don’t look so cocky.” I poured some more chocolate chips in my palm. “It’s not like I’m hard prey.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He casually reached over and stole some of my snack out of my hand. “You haven’t fucked Gio yet.”

Yet? “That’s not going to happen. Unlike you, I have standards.”

They weren’t very high standards, but they were there. Asshole did not meet my requirements for a potential relationship. Not that I was ever going to have a real relationship since I was technically engaged, and I might have to touch him. Babies were kind of hard to get without touching unless the turkey baster method was applied. But all that was four years in future Me’s problem.

As if my words bothered him, Atlee placed his hand over his heart. “I have standards.”

“Where?” I didn’t see these standards. Nor did I believe his fake gesture of hurt.

“Okay, fine, I’ll give you that. But…” He pointed at me. “I won’t fuck just anyone.”

I found that hard to believe. “Name one person you turned down.”

His brow knit as he looked up in contemplation. I watched him tick through names in his head, then I got bored and turned my attention to the timer. The aroma of fresh-baked cookies was making my mouth water. Waiting for the timer to ding was like torture. Every second felt like an hour.

“Martha Dickson.” Atlee exclaimed, making my heart jump in my chest.

“What the hell, Atlee?”

“You asked me to name someone I turned down.”

My brow cocked at the timer, then back at him. “And it took you seven minutes?”

How many girls had he slept with?

“Yeah,” he said as if there was nothing wrong with that. “Do you want to know why I didn’t fuck her?”

I don’t know? Did I? This kind of felt like a trick question.

Skepticism narrowed my eyes, “I guess?”

“She was shady as fuck, always running her mouth and taking credit for other people’s work, stealing their essays and shit.”

Really that was his big issue? Don’t get me wrong, taking someone else’s credit was a shitty thing to do, but I expected more. Like webbed toes and a mutated nose or some other deformity.

Atlee shook his head. “Daddy don’t play that game.”

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