My dress is laid out on the bed, so I pick it up and walk to my bathroom. I leave the door cracked a bit so that I can talk to him while I change. “Where’s Josh?”

“You remember Brad from that poker night?”

“I do, actually.”

“His son, Theo, is at my house with Josh. They go to school together.”

“How’s he liking school?”

I can’t see Atlas, but he’s closer to the bathroom when he says, “Fine, I guess.” It sounds like he’s right next to the door. I slip the dress over my head and open the door farther. I chose a merlot-colored fitted dress with spaghetti straps. It has a matching shawl, but it’s still hanging in the closet.

Atlas looks me over when I appear in the doorway. His eyes journey up the length of me, but I don’t give him time to compliment me.

“Can you zip me up?” I give him my back and lift my hair, but I can feel him hesitate. Or maybe he’s soaking in the moment.

A couple of seconds later, I feel his fingers press against my back as he raises the zipper. It sends chills rolling over my skin. When he’s finished, I drop my hair and turn and face him. “I need to put on makeup.” I start to back into the bathroom, but Atlas grips my waist.

“Come here,” he says, pulling me until I smush against him. He admires my face for a couple of seconds, smiling appreciatively. Seductively. Like he’s about to kiss me. “Thank you for inviting me.”

I return the smile. “Thank you for coming. I know you’ve had a busy week.”

Atlas’s eyes look tired. The usual glimmer has dulled a little, like he’s been stressed and could use a night of relaxation. I can’t help but touch his cheek when I say, “We can Uber there if you want. You seem like you could use a drink.”

Atlas touches my hand that’s cupping his cheek. He tilts his face so that he can kiss the inside of my palm. Then he pulls my hand away and threads his fingers through it. He opens his mouth to say something else, but I see it the second his eyes get a glimpse of my tattoo.

Atlas has never seen the heart tattoo on my shoulder—the one I got because he always used to kiss me there. He touches it softly with his fingers, tracing the shape of it. His eyes flicker up to mine. “When did you get this?”

My voice catches, and I’m forced to clear my throat. “In college.” I’ve thought about this moment a lot—what he would say if he ever saw it, how it would make him feel.

He quietly regards me and then looks at the tattoo again. He’s so close, I can feel his breath trickling across my collarbone. “Why’d you get it?”

I got it for so many reasons, but I choose to say the most obvious one. “Because. I missed you.”