Tugging at the collar of hisIntrovertT-shirt, Virgil gave an indignant look and muttered, “I miss the seventies,” before taking a swig.
Archer patted his hand on the table. “I don’t.”
With curiosity dancing in his turquoise eyes, Virgil tilted his head. “How oldareyou? I bet I’ve got you beat.”
“That’s not something I’d brag about,” Archer replied. “I’m a hundred.”
“And nine,” Krys tacked on. “A hundred and nine.” He chuckled into his glass.
Virgil gave an impish grin. “I was born in 1834, so I win. My résumé is filled with years of sexual exploration in earthly delights. You kids are too uptight these days. What about you, lover boy? Want to help me discover a few continents? The clock is ticking.”
Krys tossed a quarter at his head. “Knock it off before I pin you to the floor.”
Virgil dodged the coin with a jaunty smile. “Is that a threat?” He howled with laughter. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
After a lengthy stare down, Krys gave Virgil the middle finger. It was pointless trying to understand the dynamics between men. Archer’s old buddies back home used to fight like brothers, prank each other, and do asinine shit. He missed them even though he also wished them dead for cutting him loose.
Virgil twisted around in his seat to scan the bar. “Well, let’s find someone that’ll change your minds. What about the blonde at the bar?”
Archer peered at the big-hipped woman straddling the stool. “Too loud. If I can hear her across the room, that’s too much noise in the world.”
Virgil gulped his beer and stood. “Not for me. I’m an equal opportunity lover.” He waggled his eyebrows at Krys. “Sure you don’t want to join?”
“Since when do you need a partner?” Archer gave him a skeptical appraisal. Virgil usually acted like they were all competing for sex.
On a dramatic sigh, Virgil hitched up his tattered jeans and arranged his package. “My odds will increase exponentially at getting laid if she thinks it’s a group event.” He locked eyes with Krys. “Women love a tag team, Mr. Leatherpants.”
“Jesus.” Archer shook his head. Taz was a nickname he’d given Virgil because of his wolf, but Virgil the man was just as crazy.
Virgil pulled breath freshener out of his pocket and sprayed it into his mouth. At least it wasn’t air freshener. He had a bad habit of not reading labels. “Someday I’ll try to understand your inhibitions, but today is not that day.” While strutting toward the back, Virgil gave his dark blond hair a flip.
Archer’s upbeat mood made a crash landing when he zeroed in on a woman sitting at the front.
His heart pounded so loud that he thought Krys could hear it over the music.
Holy shit. Is that her?
Archer blinked a few times to clear his vision. It was most definitely her—the girl from that night. The one he rode with when a Mage had attacked Mercy.
The one he fucked so good that he hadn’t been able to think about another woman since.
She inhabited his thoughts, and the sight of her made him stiffen as a memory zinged through his body like a jolt of electricity. She had told him she was leaving town, so he’d never thought he’d see her again.
Mercy returned to her table and set down two glasses—a water and a beer. Obviously this girl was sticking around for lunch. His attention lingered on the ankle-length skirt that shielded her legs, and it made his mouth water because he knewwhat lay beneath: supple skin, creamy thighs, and a delicious heat that melted his senses.
The woman twisted her feet on the footrest while Mercy spoke to her. Archer recollected how timid she was during the car ride, how easily embarrassed by basic questions or remarks.
He also remembered her sexual wildness and insatiable hunger for him.
Mercy hugged the woman and, after a brief discussion, walked off.
Still in disbelief, Archer leaned toward Krys. “See that girl? I know her. Intimately.”
Krys craned his head and frowned. “I didn’t know you liked redheads. Is she a real one?”
Archer shoved Krys’s head away.
Laughing, Krys said, “Is that a yes?” He playfully locked his arm around Archer’s neck. “Well? Tell me all about Strawberry Shortcake.”
