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Conjecture.
For now, that was all it was.
I sniffed and forced myself to pull away from him—to look into his green eyes and pretend I didn’t see his determination to keep me close, even if it meant damning himself. “So we just what…live in the gray until then?”
The gray.
The sliver of space between right and wrong, knowing and not knowing, salvation and damnation—between hope for a future and the calamity of us.
Because that was the gritty truth of what Rowdy was proposing.
We walk hand in hand into obscurity and hope the two sides looming over our heads don’t crush us into nothing.
We hope that we wouldn’t be utterly destroyed by it.
“Yes.” Rowdy took my hand in his. I linked our fingers. “Together?”
I sniffed again and nodded. A lone tear for my soul trailed down my face. “Together.”
Grief, after all, makes you do things.
And even though we’d agreed to hope, to be together until the truth either forced us apart or brought us closer, my heart still mourned what could have been.
Ialways knew I was going to hell. I never thought loving the wrong woman would be the reason.
It had barely been a day since I told Atlas what Jada suspected, and so far, I’d upheld my promise. I’d kept my hands to myself. Atlas was back under my roof, which would have to be enough for now.
Last night, I’d tucked her into bed, kissed her cheek, and ignored the pain in her eyes when she realized I wasn’t going to join her. I’d gone to the guest room, where I showered, avoided my reflection in the mirror, and slept alone.
It was the first time I wished Atlas hadn’t made me a better man. I was still a work in progress, but nine months ago, I would have taken all I could, cut my losses on what I couldn’t, and forgotten her name.
Instead, I lay awake, thinking of a plan on how to keep her. I didn’t get much sleep.
From the look of her, neither did Atlas.
I was leaning against the counter, eating a bowl of cereal, when she stumbled into the kitchen the next morning. I paused mid-chew when I noticed she’d ditched the sleep shorts she’d changed into last night and now only wore one of my wifebeaters that barely covered her ass.
Was she even wearing panties? The way her ass jiggled freely under the stretched tank, it didn’t look like it.
“Morning,” she sleepily greeted, her eyes barely open.
I didn’t return her greeting. I was too busy staring at her nipples poking through my shirt. The cotton was so thin I could see the brown areola underneath.
Atlas didn’t seem to notice as she turned, opened one of the cabinets, and lifted onto the tips of her toes to reach the ceramic mugs on the middle shelf.
She liked to drink tea in the morning and sometimes before bed, so those mugs were one of the first purchases she’d made when I gave her my credit card and let her loose in here.
The bottom of my shirt rode up as she stretched, revealing the soft curve of her ass and the red string nestled where my face should have been. I didn’t even realize she’d turned and caught me staring until I heard her soft voice call my name.
“Owen.”
Hearing the reprimand in her tone, I tore my gaze away from her pussy hidden from me by my own damn shirt, got an eye full of her hardened nipples once more, her parted lips, and then finally, her eyes. My lips tilted when I saw the restraint in them slowly unraveling. “Yes, Atlas?”
“You can’t look at me like that. You promised.”
I turned away to dump my milk in the sink and collect myself. “I promised no such thing. I said I wouldn’t touch you. I never said I wouldn’t look. If you have a problem with me looking at you like you’re a meal for me to devour, maybe you should think twice about looking so appetizing.”
“What?” I paused cleaning the bowl and looked over my shoulder in time to see her look down at herself. “Oh.” She flushed. “Sorry. I-I think didn’t about it.”
