Chapter 7

7

Troy

“Youhave a way to help me with my grades?”

After assuming the worst about him while he actually bought me the alternator, maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt, but what if he’s fucking with me because of what an ass I was about it? It’s hard not to be skeptical.

“If you’re just gonna assume I can’t, then you’re welcome to leave.” He steps out of my path. I’m tempted to head straight for the door, but as is Atlas’s talent, he said the one thing that can keep me on the hook. I’ve never withdrawn from a class in my life over my grades. I don’t hide from my problems; I face them head-on.

“What is it?” I ask as he plops back down on the couch. He opens a pizza box on the coffee table and grabs a slice of pepperoni, eating it as though I’ve already walked out. “Atlas?”

Chewing, he leans back on the cushion, his gaze wandering like he’s working something out in his head. After he swallows, he says, “You remember that panty bet we made junior year?”

“How could I forget it?”

“Remember what it was about? You were running your mouth that the Raptors were going to beat the Eagles, who were undefeated that season—”

“Yeah, I remember how annoyed you were.”

“And we said if the Raptors won, I’d cough up a hundred dollars, and if the Eagles kicked your ass, you’d buy some lacy panties and wear them to school for a day.”

“And you won the bet. I felt like a loser the day of the game and then again that day when I was wearing those panties around school. Congratulations. What about it?”

Why is he bringing this up?

He places his pizza slice on the box, then wipes his hands on a napkin. “You guys were just one point away from victory.”

“And…?”

“You played really well that night. Maybe better than usual.”

“Not that you’d know. That’s one of the only games you came to, and, I should add, were sitting on the opponent’s side.”

The corner of his lip curls up as he shrugs. “That’s who I was rooting for that night. And did you or did you not play harder because of our bet?”

I hate when he’s right. Yeah, I played a lot damn harder, which only made losing hurt that much more. “Sure. What are you on about, A? I’m lost.”

He picks up a beer and takes a swig, then says, “What if we made a little bet around your next test?”

Now I’m downright suspicious. “What do you need?”

He grins. “It’s not something I need, but I could use you for a few hours one night. I’m not telling you what it is before the end of the bet, but whoever wins, if I tell you, you’re not allowed to tell Ellie and Glen, or anyone else, really. That’s officially part of the bet.”

“So if I fail this Thermo test, then I’m basically your servant for a few hours? Doing anything? Why would you think I’d ever agree to that?” How stupid would I be to let him have an open-ended request where he could make me do anything he wanted?

“I promise it’s nothing unreasonable. It’ll be like coming to a party some of my friends want you to come to. It’s not that, obviously, but just so you have a rough idea. I’m not going to tie you to a motel bed and pimp you out for a few hours, if that’s what worries you.”

“But it’s a little creepy that you said that, right?”

“I can be creepy sometimes. What of it?” He winks, making me chuckle.

“So that’s all I get about this thing I’d have to do for you?” Why am I even asking? It’s not like I’m going to do it! “In a hypothetical world where I say yes to this, what do I get out of it?”

Despite wanting to blow this off, I’ve got my mind fixed on my name scrawled across his ass. There’s this competitive part of me that would welcome the opportunity to mark him again. Do I really want that so bad, I’d be open to doing whatever he wanted for hours? No, this is a horrible idea.

“Use your imagination,” Atlas says. “You want to write on me some more?”

It’s like he pulled that right out of my head, and I hate that he knows me that well.

“I know you enjoyed it that first time…senior year,” he adds.

During the panty bet, throughout the day, I realized that every time I sat or bent over, I had to stress about someone seeing the underwear. So when I won against him the following year, I enjoyed placing my name right above his shorts so that he would have to be as self-conscious as I was for the day. Petty as our little bets may have been, there was something life-giving about them…intoxicating, even.

“I’ve already done that,” I say. “And it’s gotta be bigger if I’m having to do some mystery challenge.”

“So you want something more substantial? Come on. Name your price. Have you been thinking about me in panties since I made you do it?”

“I’m more original than that.”

Atlas grins. “Then what have you got? There must be something you want me to do. Something that would put me in my place if you aced your next test.”

“Whatever I say, it doesn’t even matter because I only have a few weeks until the next test. You know damn well you’re going to win and then parade my F and whatever creepy-ass secret thing you want me to do.”

Atlas pushes to his feet and approaches me. “Lil stepbro, are you conceding before we even made the bet?”

“You don’t get to make up an impossible bet for me to win and then act like you won when I refuse to accept it.”

“Think of something you want from me. I can be your personal Uber for a month.”

“Not good enough.”

“Then what?” He studies my expression. “Something more personal. Something that’ll really show me, right? You want me to eat a rare steak?”

I heave. “You’re gross, Atlas. I would vomit just watching you eat that, and you know it.”

“You’d prefer something more pervy than gross, wouldn’t you?”

What a fucking prick! “Suck my dick, asshole,” I say through my teeth.

“Okay.” He shrugs, and it takes me a moment to process his response to my insult. “That what you want it to be?” he presses. His expression is so unfazed that there’s no way he’s being serious, but heat surges through me so fast, I clench my fists.

“Shut up, Atlas. That’s definitely homophobic.” There are times where I’m a little quick to throw that at him, but this isn’t one of them. What the fuck is his problem?

His eyes widen. “How is that homophobic?” He looks totally lost.

“You’re making a joke about the fact that, because I’m gay, that’s what I’d want you to do to me. Like I’m some kind of perv.”

“What about that sounded like a joke? I’m trying to help you brainstorm. Surely you realize there’s nothing intrinsically homophobic about the idea of me sucking your dick.”

“You’re not queer, Atlas!”

“I can suck a dick and not be queer.”

He’s being so fucking rational when I’ve got a tank full of emotion. Damn, this is frustrating. “Whatever you meant, you know damn well you have no intention of actually doing that.”

“Well, not if you don’t ace your Thermo test. And just to be clear, you have to get an A or you lose. B plus isn’t gonna cut it, lil stepbro.” His lips tug into his dimples as he taps his beer against my shoulder. Now he’s just trying to piss me off. He’s flaunting the fact that he knows how far I am from even passing my next test, let alone acing it. And this whole BJ shit is the last straw.

“Will you just be serious for a minute? Listen to yourself. You’re telling me, if I get an A on my test, you’ll do that.”

“I’m curious why you’re so sure I wouldn’t.”

“Because we’ve known each other since we were fourteen. You’re straight, Atlas. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with you that you would even suggest that.”

“Technically, you suggested it.”

“I was just… I…”

Fuck, he’s right.

Again.

He’s got that fucking smirk on his face. He’s living for this.

Why am I letting him get to me? If he wants to play this game, I can play it just as hard—not that my straight stepbro is going to suck my dick; that’s never going to happen, and nothing Atlas could ever say would convince me otherwise, but…

“So if I get an A, you’ll suck my dick?” The words sound ridiculous as they escape my lips, so why isn’t he flinching? “That’s how confident you are that I can’t get an A?”

“Totally.”

Does he really think it’s impossible for me to figure out Thermo? Fuck if that doesn’t just make me want to take him up on it that much more. But I hate that he’s probably right.

Another thought crosses my mind: if I do ace my next test and he doesn’t follow through with this bullshit bet…oh, that will be glorious. Neither of us has ever backed down after we lost a bet. We’ve followed through regardless of the consequences, determined to show we weren’t afraid of a challenge, if only so the other would have to follow through when they lost a bet.

If I ace this test, when he chickens out—and I do mean when—I’ll be free to give him hell for that for the rest of his goddamn life.

“You’re really sticking by this?” I ask, giving him one more chance to back down and accept that, ballsy as he may be, this is beyond reasonable, even for my reckless Atlas.

He takes a moment, as if thinking it over—which turns out to be just for show since he says, “Yeah. I’ll stand by that.”

I snicker. As much as I’ve fought him on this, I have to admit it’s doing the very thing he expected because as discouraged as I was by that first test, I’ve never felt more determined. Like the night we challenged the Eagles.

“We have a bet?” Atlas asks, extending his hand.

I take it for a shake. “You’re on. Should we write it up?”

He playfully displays his ass. “On which cheek?”

“Real funny, A.”

“Are you using my nickname or just starting visualizations so that you can improve that score?”

I roll my eyes, but I’m grinning like an idiot. This is the fucking effect he has on me. One minute I want to pummel Atlas McCallister for being so ridiculous, and the next I realize he knows me well enough to get my ass into gear.

I’ll show him.