Page 60 of Fool Me

“I thought we weren’t talking about this.” I raise an eyebrow at him.

“We aren’t,” he grits out, pushing a hand through his tousled hair, still mussed from the helmet. “I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

“That, at one point in time, I found him charming?” Cutting a piece of tender chicken, I bring it to my lips.

The glare he throws at me makes me chuckle.

“It’s true. We started out as friends—he was helpful, eager to show me the ropes, and easy to like when I first moved here. Plus, he was already close with my dad, so I trusted him. And, I don’t know, those things just put me at ease. I wrote off some things that otherwise would’ve been red flags and explained them away by him just being that guy.”

“He’s great at making people see what he wants them to see.”

“I trusted him. My dad trusted him. And then, after he just walked away, there was no remorse, no amends. He shattered my trust, nearly cost me everything, and it was like no big deal to him.”

“It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.”

“What shouldn’t?”

“That you two were together.” His voice is cautious, like he’s afraid to let the words out into the world.

I take another bite, putting off my reply because what am I supposed to say to that? “I can’t change the past.”

“No. It’s not even that.” He pushes a piece of chicken around his plate. “He didn’t deserve you as a friend, or . . .”

I cover his hand with mine. “Hey.”

His fork clatters to the plate and he turns toward me, taking me by surprise. “I hate it—that he got you like that. And I hate what that says about me. But I don’t blame you.”

“He doesn’t have me anymore.”

But you could, the voice in my head insists. It’s a steady refrain getting louder all the time, demanding my attention.

Atlas’s eyes drill into me like maybe he can hear it too. There’s a blink-and-you-miss-it shake of his head before he says, “No, he doesn’t.”

There’s not enough space between us to contain the heat and tension. I need to change the subject and my eyes dart around for anything to help, landing on the couch. “You should really take the bed. That couch is going to be too small for you.”

“Absolutely not. You need rest.”

“We both need rest, and you’re not getting any with your feet hanging over the edge.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“Or . . .” My vegetables are suddenly fascinating. “We could platonically share my bed.”

“That’s certainly an option. But as we’ve discussed, you need rest.”

“I can rest with you next to me.”

An unreadable sound starts in his throat. “It’s better if I sleep on the couch—you’ll sleep better if I’m not taking up space in your bed.”

“Fine.” I’m not going to beg the man to share a bed with me. “If you’d rather wake up with a cramped neck, have at it.”

I finish my chicken in silence, feeling more rejected than I care to admit. When we’re done, Atlas refuses to let me help clean up, so I feed Echo and grab the book from my end table. I’ve got it spread out across my lap when Atlas notices.

“What are you doing?”

“Studying for the assessment and interview.”

“That’s not resting.”

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