Inspire by Cora Carmack Read Free Book Online Page A

doesn’t look like he believes me, and I don’t blame him. In fact, it’s probably easier if I just let him think that I am. Less explaining for me to do in the long run.
    “Why Atlas?” I ask on impulse.
    “Hmm?”
    “Your tattoo. Atlas.”
    He frowns, and from his expression I gather he’s surprised I recognize the image.
    “The myth interested me.”
    “Just interest?” The tattoo takes up nearly his entire forearm. “Must be a lot of interest to have it permanently etched on your skin.”
    He shrugs. “I can identify with him.”
    “His punishment? Have you done something deserving of punishment, Wilder?”
    Oh gods, I’m flirting. Why am I flirting? What is wrong with me?
    He laughs and shakes his head. “I just always thought it was interesting that out of all the Titans that betrayed the gods, he was chosen to bear the weight of the Earth.”
    “That’s a misconception, actually. It’s not the Earth that Atlas holds, but the celestial spheres. The heavens. He keeps them from colliding with the Earth. And the others didn’t exactly get away with it. I would rather Atlas’s punishment than spend eternity being tortured in Tartarus.”
    He lifts an eyebrow. “You like mythology?”
    I smile. “Loathe it, actually.”
    “Okay then. There went all my plans for small talk.” He throws me a wink before turning back to the road, and somehow … miraculously … I find myself smiling.
    Then I immediately feel awful. I shouldn’t be here with him. Not after what I’ve done tonight … not ever.
    Exiting the interstate, he turns under the highway heading into a residential part of North Austin. I’d guess we’re between three and five miles from campus, which might not be a completely unreasonable walk if it came to that.
    After a few turns, he pulls up in front of a simple duplex. It’s boxy and gray and not anything special, but I’m suddenly overwhelmed with curiosity for what I might find inside. He pops open his door and turns off the car.
    “Hold on a sec.”
    His door slams shut, and I watch him jog around the front of the hood. He pulls my door open and then his eyes dart down to the floorboard.
    “How are your feet?”
    I swallow and shrug. “They’re fine.”
    He gives me that already familiar expression of doubt, and I laugh. “Why do you bother asking me questions if you’re not going to believe what I say?”
    “Because maybe one time you’ll slip up and tell me the truth.”
    “My feet are fine, and I’m not drunk.” I slide out of the car to prove my statement, but I know it’s a mistake the second my sore feet hit concrete. I try to hide my wince, but it’s not exactly something one controls with conscious thought, so instead my face ends up doing this weird twitch thing, and he gives me a knowing smile that makes me want to punch him. Or kiss him.
    Maybe a little of both.
    I keep my chin up and take a few steps past him, enough to push the door closed behind me. I turn, intending to head for his door with whatever dignity I can manage to scrape up. I take two hobbling steps before he’s at my side, sweeping me up into his arms.
    Dignity is long gone when I squeak and try to hold onto him with one arm while desperately yanking on the hem of my dress with the other.
    “No one’s around but me,” he murmurs. The side of my breast is smashed up against his chest, and the vibrations when he speaks move through me, distracting me from my panic. “And I promise not to look.”
    I don’t even answer him. I haven’t the slightest clue what to say.
    Me . At a loss for words. I’ve spent centuries learning how to speak to men, how to capture their interest, how to maneuver in their world, and now I’m undone by this dichotomy of a man and his not quite smile.
    “Hold on to me,” he says, and I wrap both my arms around his neck in answer. He drops the hand at my back to search for his keys, and I tighten my arms around him, drawing myself closer to his chest. I catch my