03 | lightning strikes
t h r e e w e e k s l a t e r
As it turns out, someone with a name like Atlas was harder than I thought to track down.
Awkwardly searching for personal information on someone on the internet made me all kinds of uncomfortable (Google searches included less than eloquent phrases like Atlas, white hair and Atlas, Monte Carlo), but I felt more uncomfortable hoarding a $15,000 watch from a guy I had a one night stand with. Eventually, the minimal things I finally found about him only seemed to suck me in more, and my curiosity outweighed my better sense.
Atlas fucking Vaughn - Wales born, Monaco raised, ace driver for the Porsche Tempest Formula 1 team - and by all accounts, an elusive shadow of a man. He kept his social media wildly impersonal (and didn't allow private messages to be sent to him by people he didn't follow, which was a resounding 35 accounts compared to his 10 million followers), didn't do interviews or appearances outside of what he was contractually obligated to (and even then, he'd seemed to master the one-word answer), and was the son of legendary Mercedes driver Taren Vaughn, who died in a crash in Singapore in 2008. Goosebumps prickled up my arms as I skimmed that article, and I shut my search down after that.
That was all I could conjure up from my brief, awkward Google browsing anyway, and nothing more aside from Atlas's brooding team driver mugshot. That streak of white hair was artfully slicked back away from his face, and there was a coldness to his eyes as the image of him stared back at me on my laptop screen - almost nothing like the man I spent the night with.
I carried that watch everywhere with me, partially because I was worried letting it out of my sight would cause it to mysteriously vanish, and partially hoping maybe the universe was done playing tricks on me and would give me a gift, miraculously putting Atlas and I at the same place at the same time, even though we seemed worlds and galaxies apart - literally and figuratively. As the weeks passed and my headspace shifted back into competition gear, I pushed him out of my thoughts. But occasionally when my mind was quiet on colder nights, I thought about that feverish night in Monaco with him. As time went on, I had accepted the fact that I'd probably never see him again.
I couldn't afford a distraction like a relationship - I wasn't sure I even wanted one to begin with - but something about the way his skin felt on mine threw the more carnal instincts of my mind into overdrive, and I didn't have the option to get tangled up in someone while trying to reclaim my place in professional surfing.
"It's like a shit show here," I grumbled as I clutched my surfboard tighter to my body. Throngs of people gathered on the edge of the beach where a slew of makeshift tents were set up. I'd secured 3rd place that afternoon, but it was only on a technicality when another girl in my heat took a wave when I had priority positioning and got docked points, pushing me up into 3rd. I should have been happy regardless, but it didn't change the fact that I was still 6th in the overall world championship rankings. My coach and trainer Malia always told me I had tunnel vision, and I was only ever focused on the exit, not understanding there were things along the way to see as well. If you asked me, that was bullshit, because all that mattered was getting out of the tunnel in the first place.
"Yeah, well this is what happens when big names start sponsoring the competitions," Malia replied, flicking a lock of black hair over her shoulder. "I guess it's good for the sport in general, but really fucking annoying for us when 1,000 extra people show up to see whatever popular asshole athletes they've suckered into this event to overshadow the surfers."
The wet hair that clung to my back began to dry in the hot afternoon sun, and my skin prickled and itched under my lycra rash guard. The worst of the crowd was around the actual stand for RedCon, a big-time vitamin and protein supplement brand and the event's main sponsor. Even though most of our competitions and events weren't broadcast live on major networks, there were cameras and reporters dotted among the crowd and in the actual tent, no doubt for whoever these guys were.
"I'm just going to run up and finalize a couple of housekeeping things for your placement," Malia said, her tone all business, as usual. Malia had been like an older sister figure to me for years - the kind of older sister that would have a tantrum if you took clothes from her closet, but would dry your tears over a bad breakup. She paused and let out a breath, her lips curling into the smallest smile and her voice softening. "You did good today, Sav. Take a break for crying out loud!"
She slipped on her Ray Bans and gave me a curt nod before walking back towards the hotel resort grounds.
I dropped my bag and my board, sitting myself down in the warm sand and picking up a cracked shell, its edges rounded and smoothed from probably years of being tossed around in the ocean. I liked to think the ocean had the same effect on me, but sometimes I think it had the opposite. The ocean made me hard and rigid, and although I allowed myself to move with the waves, I did not allow myself to be damaged by them...or anything else, for that matter.
The crowd noise swelled from the tent. I rose to my feet to see if I could just catch a glimpse of what the commotion was, but a distinct, accented voice coming through the microphone cut through the air, and my heart nearly burst in my chest.
"Yeah, I mean we're confident in the rest of the season, the car feels really good..."
Forgetting my board was still strapped to my ankle, I nearly tripped as I tried to amble closer to the crowd. Thankful for my slightly taller-than-average height, I stood on my toes behind a group of younger kids to catch a glimpse at the makeshift stage beneath the tent.
"Well, always a pleasure to have you both, and we wish you luck," a man in a button-down shirt said into a microphone. When he moved aside, at first all I saw was a shorter guy in aviators, with tan skin and a mop of dark hair that bounced around with the energy of a kid in a candy store. The moment I exhaled a breath I didn't even know I was holding, he stepped into my view, in all his chiseled, extraordinary glory.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Porsche Formula 1 drivers Jaye Lim and Atlas Vaughn."
His name echoed in my head. Atlas. It was like being pulled into the undertow, and I was drowning in waves of shock and awe.
He wore a backwards black hat and dark-tinted aviators, his lips turned down into a frown as he tried to wiggle away from people marveling and grabbing at him like some exotic zoo animal. Halfway through signing a kid's hat, he glanced up, and suddenly it seemed like the whole world lit up when he saw me, his mouth twisting up into that brilliant half-smile that had been imprinted in my memory since the day we met. The Atlas I remembered. The Atlas I knew in my bones.
It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, and neither of us could look away. He slid his aviators down the bridge of his nose, like he was really trying to make sure it was me and not a trick of the light. I was suddenly very aware of how ridiculous I must have looked just gawking at him, with my knotted mess of salty hair still dripping wet in my rash guard and my bikini bottoms.
With my heart in my throat, I panicked and stumbled away, kicking up sand as I turned and made a bee-line for the edge of the beach. Even though I was sore and I knew Malia would kill me for not icing my knee, I laid out my board and jumped back into the water. A rush of cool ocean hit me, and it slowed my ricocheting nerves. Waves welcomed me in, the same way a warm blanket welcomed you home. My home.
I dipped under another wave and came to the surface, sweeping wet hair back away from my face. I looked back at the beach, where the throng of people still crowded around the RedCon tent were mere blips on the expanse of white sand. I blew out a breath, realizing I couldn't even get near him if I wanted to. A wall of people surrounded him, throwing hats and shirts and god knows what else at him to sign. My entire body warmed in the afternoon sun as I paddled further out and sat on my board, still trying to make sense of the whole thing.
I decided to just do what I did best - lose myself on the waves. The only indicator that time was in fact passing was the sun dipping below the horizon. With aching arms, I slowly began to paddle myself back towards the shore, where most of the crowd seemed to have dispersed. My mind and my body felt heavy as I dragged myself back onto the beach. My bag was still where I left it, and I dropped to my knees in the sand as I fumbled around for my hoodie and shorts. I checked my phone, where I had a missed call from Malia and two texts from Gemma. I left my messages unread as I shrugged my backpack on and made my way back up the palm tree-shaded path towards the resort with my board tucked under my arm. Sand dusted the faded pavement like stars on a clear night, but my head was clouded with thoughts. I'd asked the universe for a gift, and she delivered. But now that the opportunity presented itself to me, in absolutely larger-than-life fashion...it seemed even more unreachable. He was unreachable.
I let my exhaustion come over me as I continued along the path when someone called out my name, and it sent a resurgence of energy through me, like I'd be shot full of lightning.
"Savannah? Savannah, wait!"
I spun around on my heel, and my stomach flipped as I finally got a chance to look at him head-on, away from the glare and the crowds and the noise. It was just him and I, alone on a palm tree-lined pathway. Most people you met at a nightclub and had a one night stand with gave you a harsh reality check in the morning when they didn't look nearly as good as they did the night before. But Atlas? He gave new meaning to the phrase golden hour as the sun hit him in all the right places.
"Hi," I finally breathed out, feeling my heart lift in my chest.
"Hi," he echoed, letting out a chuckle.
A silence came over us, and as a warm breeze whistled through the trees, I realized how alone we were.
"So..." I sighed out. "I'd ask what you're doing here at a surfing competition in the middle of Australia, but the walking billboard you're wearing says enough." I gestured to his tight black t-shirt, emblazoned with a large gold and red Porsche crest over his heart (as if it wasn't identifiable enough), along with a RedCon logo from the tents on his left sleeve, the Rolex logo from his watch, and several others I didn't recognize.
"Comes with the territory." He grinned.
His energy was infectious, and I couldn't stop the smile from tugging at my lips as I gripped the straps of my backpack and rocked back and forth on my flip flops. "So...the great Atlas Vaughn huh? That's you?"
I didn't truly know how great he was, but crowds of people didn't gather like that for mediocrity.
"In the flesh." He casually shrugged, then nodded to my surfboard. "How'd you do?"
I winced and looked down at my flip-flops. "Third place is about all I can muster up these days." I threw in a chuckle, desperate to veil the bitterness in my voice.
Atlas pinched his lips together into a frown. "You know, in my profession, third place still gets you a trophy and a champagne shower. Could be worse."
"Right..." I felt the need to run my tongue along my bottom lip. "Speaking of your profession...why didn't you just say something that night? About who you really were?"
He let out a sigh. "Well, sometimes it is nice to just have a night where you're treated like a normal person. The media and I don't really get on, and people...have their opinions of me."
I returned his smile and shrugged, wringing the rest of the saltwater out of my hair. "Fair enough. Although I had to do some serious Googling to find you, and you're damn near impossible to contact."
A coy smirk worked its way across his face. It looked like he hadn't shaved in a while, and bits of scruff clung to his jawline. "You were trying to find me? Guess I made quite an impression."
I couldn't help but let out another chuckle. "Something like that. So did your watch, apparently, since it ended up in my dress after I left."
He whipped his sunglasses off, his icy blue eyes darkening in the diminishing sunlight. "You have my Submariner? And here I am, kicking my own ass for thinking I'd lost it."
I let out a heavy sigh. "My friend found it all wrapped up in my dress when we were packing and I...I swear I didn't steal it or anything..." I paused and let out a groan. "It doesn't matter now. I'm assuming you want it back."
He chuckled and jammed his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans. Every effortless movement he made brought me back to that night, and I thought about the way his lips branded my skin as he smiled again.
"Yeah uh..." he cleared his throat. "Sure. That would be great."
I gave him a coy smirk. "Well, I'm sure you have a pen on you from all those autographs you were signing."
He rolled his eyes, slipping one out of his pocket and pressing it into my hand, but as he pulled away I grabbed his wrist. I scribbled my room number onto his palm.
"It's the DeLuca, right up the path there." I nodded up in the direction of the hotel. "I'm assuming you're staying there as well since it's the only hotel resort in the immediate area. Come by whenever, I'll be around."
An amused smirk tugged at his lips as he looked down at his freshly-inked hand, starting to step backwards down the path towards the beach. "Then I guess I'll see you...whenever."
Thankfully I had enough time to shower and change before the inevitable knock at my door came a few hours later. I threw on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, checking my wild mane of hair in the mirror by the door one last time before slowly opening it.
Atlas was a storm that I was horribly, relentlessly unprepared for. I was just giving him his goddamn watch back, but as he smiled at me when I stepped aside to let him into the room, I finally understood the position I was in. I was standing in the middle of an open field, waiting for lightning to strike.
"Here." I handed the watch back to him, our fingers lingering as they touched ever so slightly. He clasped the watch back on his wrist.
"Well..." he sighed. "Thanks for taking care of it."
"To be fair, it was kind of my fault." I had to back away from him so the heat between our bodies didn't cause me to spontaneously combust. I rummaged through my duffle bag at the foot of my bed, brushing my hand over his black Nike sweatshirt. "I didn't know how else to get ahold of you, and the chances that we'd ever be in the same place at the same time again..." I sighed and shook my head. "When I realized who you were - or what you were, I guess - I kind of also figured someone like you would just forget about that night and move on with your life."
I thought I'd forget about that night too, like a dress I'd stashed in the back of my closet with the tags still attached, but I was slowly learning that Atlas was anything but forgettable. For every step I tried to take back, he stepped closer, and every time he smiled down at me, my nerves buzzed and ricocheted like I'd swallowed a bee's nest.
"It's okay," he shrugged. "But just so you know...I don't think I'll ever forget that night."
He was just like I remembered him, but nothing like people seemed to think he was. Warmth tore through me as I lowered my head with a smile. I pulled his sweatshirt out and tossed it to him. He effortlessly snatched it from the air, slinging it over his shoulder. Inhuman reflexes strike again.
"Figured you'd want that back, too," I said with a grin.
"You didn't have to," he replied. "I gave it to you intending to let you keep it. Looked better on you anyway."
We shared a half-chuckle, and he moved closer again, but this time I didn't step back. I couldn't tear my gaze away from his, but I felt his hand brush against the sliver of exposed skin between the bottom of my tank top and the waistband of my yoga pants. All the memories from our night in Monaco came rushing back, and I could practically taste his skin on the tip of my tongue.
A sharp knock at the door brought our almost moment to a screeching halt. A low groan escaped his lips, and I exhaled a breath.
"Did you eat?" I blurted out. "I...I ordered room service, but I think I ordered way too much food."
He bit down on his bottom lip. "I could eat, yeah."
Warning signs blared in my head, and I knew the danger of the situation I was getting myself into. Of course, that didn't mean I couldn't hang out with him...and listen to him talk...and think about kissing him. After all, lightning never struck the same place twice.
We sat on the plush carpeted floor of my hotel room, sharing an obscene amount of waffle fries and cheap red wine from the bar cart in my room, arguing about ketchup and mustard. At some point, his sneakers came off, and at some point, I threw a sweater on, and at some point, I realized we'd been talking for hours as if we'd known each other for years.
"Anyway, tell me something else about you I can't find on Wikipedia," I said as I popped another fry in my mouth. "Besides the fact that you have exceptionally questionable taste in condiments."
"I can't help it that you can't handle hot sauce," he shrugged, being sure to dunk a fry in a puddle of Valentina on the plate before slowly and methodically putting it to his tongue. Heat flared in my cheeks as he swallowed, keeping his gaze on me. "Alright, I got one."
He reached down and pulled the sock off of his left foot, revealing a tattoo on his sole that said MADE IN WALES in bold ink.
"Is that a real tattoo?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
"It better fucking be for all the pain it put me in," he laughed, putting his sock back on. "I lost a stupid bet with my engineer a few weeks ago after the race in Monaco. It's uh...it's weird I know, but it's kind of private, actually, so if you could not tell anyone..."
I held my hand up and shook my head. "Don't worry, I'll probably forget you told me by next week."
Liar, liar, Savannah on fire.
We held each other's gaze for a moment, our cheeks tinged pink from the wine. I had to sit on my hands to stop myself from reaching up and gently touching his face. I wanted to relive that night in Monaco over and over and over again, and I think he did too.
"Alright, my turn," he said, clearing his throat as he finally tore his eyes away from mine. "Tell me something about you that I can't find on Google."
"Well, you really can't find anything on me except my competition stats," I answered plainly as I bit down on another fry. And my injury, but he didn't need to know that. "I don't have anything as cool as a secret foot tattoo, but I named my dog Sam after Samwise Gamgee from Lord of the Rings. I watch that movie when I'm in a bad mood, and it always makes me feel better."
Atlas shook his head. "Never seen 'em."
I scoffed in disbelief, and before I could process the ramifications of what I was about to say, I blurted out, "We'll have to change that."
"I suppose we will," he smirked.
I loved wine, but it was a metaphorical wrecking ball. Wine brought down walls. Walls between your brain and your mouth. Walls between you and a person you knew you shouldn't get too close to.
"Can I be honest with you?" He shifted against the foot of the bed.
"Please don't tell me you're secretly a lizard man or something," I replied with a lazy flick of my wrist.
He laughed and shook his head. "What does that even mean?"
"I don't know," I shook my head, echoing his laughter. "Just something my best friend and I have said. That all men are descendants of sticky lizard people."
"Savannah Allen, you're really something else."
"Is that a good or a bad thing?" I pinched my eyebrows together.
"I haven't decided yet." He took another drink, and the pink in his cheeks deepened. I couldn't tell if it was just from the alcohol, or something more amorous.
"Anyway..." he sighed. "I didn't actually need my watch back. Rolex is one of our main sponsors, and I have to wear the watch after each race, like some product placement shit. When I told the rep I lost the watch, they just gave me a new one."
"So..." I drawled, feeling the wine coat my words. "You came here then because...?"
"To see you, I guess," he let out a breath, and his expression turned to stone. "Sounds fucking dumb when I say it out loud, don't it?"
His words pumped through my body and straight to my heart, and it nearly put me in tachycardia.
"No," I frantically shook my head. "No not at all, it's just...why?"
Atlas closed his eyes and leaned back against the bed, pulling at the collar of his shirt. I watched his chest rise and fall with every breath, captivated by even the smallest of movements that he made. "Curiosity, I guess," he finally said. "You left that morning and...it just kept me wondering. You're even more difficult to find."
Alcohol overtook us both, and we slipped into a comfortable silence. I rested my head on his shoulder, our bodies melting into each other like chocolate in the hot sun. I wasn't sure how long we sat there, my eyes fluttering in and out of a half-sleep state, but it felt like we had stopped time. Eventually he stirred beside me.
"I should probably go," he mumbled into the top of my head. "Before Jaye files a missing persons report."
"Your teammate?"
"Yeah. Overly excited rookie, won't let me out of his sight. I'm sure I'll get the third degree when he finds out I've been gone but...worth it." He rose to his feet and offered me his hand. After a moment of hesitation, I took it, and all the blood rushed to my head, sending me stumbling into his chest.
"You alright?"
"Great," I nodded. "Yeah, great."
I walked with him to the door, which suddenly felt like miles away. We lingered in silence, and I couldn't bring myself to look up at him.
"I guess...I'll see you when I see you?" I shrugged.
He let out a sharp breath. "Yeah...I guess so."
He pressed the Nike sweatshirt back into my hands, letting his fingers brush mine as he pulled away. One last half-smile graced his lips before he slipped out the door, closing it behind him. I leaned against the door and found myself exhaling a sigh of relief. If I went down the rabbit hole we almost did, I didn't know if I would come back out. A one night stand was easy to walk away from, but when it became more than that, and when you began to learn the dips and ridges on someone else's body, and the places their freckles created little constellations, their strings ensnared you. I could hold on to his sweatshirt, and that was more than enough for me.
A sharp knock on the door pulled me out of my thoughts. I could feel my heart beating in my ears as I slowly opened the door, and in a flash Atlas was back in my room, his lips claiming mine like a starving animal. He kicked the door closed behind him, and I grabbed onto his shirt to steady myself. We stumbled over to the bed and clawed at each other's clothes, refusing to break our embrace as our tongues danced in each other's mouths.
"Sorry, I...I think I forgot something." He breathed his words into my mouth, slowly lowering me back onto the bed and brushing his hands down my stomach. He then replaced his fingers with his lips, dotting kisses down the front of my body, his tongue teasing on the fringes of everywhere that would push me over the edge.
"It's alright." My lungs struggled as I spoke, fireworks booming in my chest where my heart should be. "I forgive you."
I felt him smile against the inside of my bare thigh, pulling me in closer to him and unraveling me from the inside out.
Lightning never struck the same place twice, but I realized that night that Atlas wasn't lightning, or even a storm. He was a fire, and I was fanning the flames, destined to be consumed by it.
take my chances, new romances, eyes roll on the avenue
left on read, daylight moving backwards
'cause you're off again
new romance / beach house
atlas vaughn supremacy. that's all, that's the authors note.
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