Atlas Wolfe
Let's be real here; I wanted her to ride me, not ride with her.
I scoffed internally. I didn’t think Keith could get even more annoying, but I guess I was wrong.
If he thinks I’ll torture myself by being in the same car with Suri Nightingale for the whole thirty minutes drive to the academy, then he must not know me at all.
“You’re driving me for training,” I told, or more like demanded, of Wes.
He turns to me with a glass of champagne in his hand and does a ‘hmmm’ sound like he’s thinking about it before turning back to face me and saying, “No deal.”
I tsk at him, offended. “I wasn’t asking.”
Wes drank the alcohol in one go. “What’s in it for me?”
“I won’t make your life a living hell,” I deadpanned, thinking of the amount of times I made Wes scream pissed during
