Page 7 of Killer Confections
“I don’t know,” I lie.
She stares at me, her deep irises looking like molten chocolate with specks of gold in them. I could sit here forever,enjoying this moment and forgetting about what waits for me at home.
Then she smiles. Her pink lips reach her eyes, changing her face and making her brighter than she seemed before.
I hold my breath, committing her look to memory. If this is the only time I’ll ever see her, I want to remember it for the rest of my life.
“I’m Loxley,” she says shyly, her cheeks taking on a light pink glow.
She’s cute. Her name suits her.
“I’m Atlas,” I respond.
Her smile grows. “That’s a cool name.”
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” I ask, brushing off her compliment. Compliments make me feel weird—like no one actually means them, but with Loxley, I feel it’s entirely too genuine.
Her thick brows pinch, “Why would I be afraid of you? You seem nice.”
Once again, she sounds completely authentic. There’s really no spite inside of her heart.
An overwhelming urge grips me. I don’t want her to lose that. She’s so pure, and I refuse to allow my world to taint her. I’ll protect her innocence at all costs, because after today, I don’t think I can live with only seeing her once.
“What if I’m not nice?” I ask, sounding hesitant. My heart pounds as I wait for her answer. Will she leave and never look back? Will she realize her mistake and run for the hills?
Instead, she laughs. The jovial sound fills the school’s hallway, making my breath catch. It’s light and girly, something I haven’t heard in a long time. Girls rarely laugh around me. They tend not to get too close.
“Then, I guess that’s on me for trusting my gut. I like you, Atlas.” She says, rocking back on the bench like she has no care in the world, unaware that those two sentences have just uprooted my whole existence.
I like you, Atlas.
“I like you too, Loxley,” I say.
The rumbling of a truck’s muffler sounds from outside, shattering the illusion. I’m quickly slammed back into reality, peering out the glass doors at my dad’s massive pickup truck that just pulled into the parking lot.
“You have to go,” I stand, ushering her up from the bench urgently.
“What—”
I place my hands on her shoulders, turning her in the direction she came from. “Trust me. Go back to class and I’ll see you around.”
She shoots me an unsure look over her shoulder, that worry making my chest ache.
When was the last time someone felt worried about me?
I hear the truck door slam and my head whips up. Dad looks like he was in the middle of a job. His black shirt is wrinkled and his cargo pants have odd stains on them—nothing incriminating. His dark hair is messy and slicked back with sweat. His massive boots crunch on the gravel as he stomps through the lot, an austere expression on his face.
He’s pissed.
My heart thuds painfully, a fear I’ve never felt before overtaking me.
He can’t see Loxley.
“Is that your dad?” she asks curiously. “You look like him—”
“Go,” I command, my eyes pleading with her. “Go back to class. Now, Loxley.”
She must read the situation because her face falls. She gives me one last lingering look. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asks.
