Series: Peach State Stepbros Series by Riley Hart
Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
There is zero chance of that happening, but I also feel a little conflicted over the whole Troy thing. My point in volunteering is to help people, and there’s no doubt in my mind Troy could bring in a lot of money, but the thought of him being up there makes my stomach clench. Not to mention, I have no fucking idea how I could even ask him without him figuring out what I do at Activate Kindness. I damn sure don’t want him to know about it. But on the other hand, how can I not bring him on board if that’s what helps more people?
“Dixon, can we get your help here?” another volunteer calls over.
“I gotta go. You’re the best, Atlas. Thanks for always helping out so much.” He pats my arm and takes off without giving me the chance to tell him yes or no.
5
Troy
It’s hard to pin down why I’m so pissed when I walk into the main office at the metal yard.
The F I got in Thermo? The hours I dedicated trying to make sure I wouldn’t get an F? Or that Atlas is probably still deriving pleasure from knowing his stepbro failed so horribly at something? Maybe it’s not even about today. Maybe I’m still mad at Mom for discarding Brandon’s stuff like it meant nothing…like he meant nothing.
I’m sure all these things are playing into my mood, but it didn’t help that I had to drive ten minutes from the shop to buy the alternator Atlas could have just grabbed for me while he was there.
As I approach the front desk in the parts department, there’s no one there, giving me time to stew in my rage. I keep thinking about Atlas strutting around the shop without a shirt on, casually flaunting off his lean, defined muscles that he doesn’t have to do anything to maintain. Not that I’m attracted to him. Far from it. But I have eyes, and I doubt anyone—straight or queer—wouldn’t recognize what he’s got.
I think about what he said when he snuck up on me: “Waiting on a date?” He loves finding me in precarious positions around the shop just so he can get a joke in, and for a straight guy, he’s awfully into my ass.
As soon as I think that, I realize I might be projecting since I’m the one thinking about a dick in his ass, his mouth hanging open, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lets a girl peg him. Why did he have to put that fucked-up image in my head? He’s so full of shit. He’s never done that before. But he brought it up…so does that mean he’d be willing to?
What does that even matter? God, I hate how he fucks with my head!
Atlas’s coworker Charlie saves me from my thoughts when he finally comes out of the back room. We exchange pleasantries briefly before I say, “Atlas told me about an alternator that came in today. I wanted to take a look. See if it’s in good condition for a car I’m working on. Guy goes to Peach State. Was really worried when I told him how much the part was probably gonna run him, so I’m hoping this is fate.”
I’m waiting for him to check the computer or the back, but his forehead wrinkles. “Atlas already bought that one. I rang him up just a few hours ago. I didn’t ask, but I assumed he was going to sell it to you.”
The fuck?
I was just pissed before. Now I’m seething, but I remain cordial with Charlie before heading back to my car, sliding into the driver’s seat.
Why the fuck didn’t he tell me?
I snatch his tee from the passenger seat—I discovered it after he left the shop—and I grip it tightly, taking my frustration out on it. A whiff of musk and sweat reaches me—Atlas’s scent—and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m holding it to my face.
It’s…disorienting.
I’ve always enjoyed his smell, even back in high school. Something he never needs to fucking know.
I smell it again, and a growl rises from my chest, like a hound being given the scent of its prey.
That extra whiff somehow makes things click into place.
I’m brimming with pride because I figured what he did: fucking sold the alternator to AAMCO. He’s been around the shop enough to hear the guys complaining about all the business that franchise’s been draining from our little mom-and-pop. I bet he got it in his head that the best way to fuck with me is to sell to them. Maybe he was even able to get more cash from them.
No, Atlas wouldn’t do something like that for cash or even just to piss me off. But then, why would he buy the damned alternator?