“I saw that goal you scored,” he tells me. “Oh, and how’s your knee?” “My knee?” I look down at my knees, which, to my knowledge, Atlas has never seen before. I always have my pants on when he is around. “Fine, thank you. How are your knees?” He huffs an impatient breath and fights against the smile I know wants to come out. I don’t even mind if he’s smiling at my expense. I just like to see it on his face.
