“She loves us, Julian,” he mumbles quietly so that even if she’s still awake in the next room, I’m certain she couldn’t hear. Something about him pointing that out makes me tense.
“I know she does,” I say.
He runs his fingers through his hair, wetting the brown curls. Then he grabs the shampoo on the shelf and squirts some in his hand. After lathering up his own hair, he spins me around so I’m facing away from him and begins sudsing up mine.
“What are you trying to say, Archer?” I ask when I feel him evading the point.
His hands still before moving to my chest and pulling me tight against him. With his mouth near my ear, he softly whispers, “I think I love you both too.”
My lips tug a smile across my cheeks. He resumes washing my hair, and I lean back as I quietly reply, “You think?”
His chuckle echoes in the small tiled shower stall. “I don’t hear you saying it,” he argues.
“Because I don’tthinkI love you,” I say as he starts rinsing the water from my hair. His hands are gentle, his fingers running through the strands. When the soap is clear, I turn around to face him. “I know I do.”
For just a second, he appears to love this sentiment. The smile and warmth on his face are apparent. Then they just…fade away.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t feel like the kind of guy who belongs in relationships with people like you.”
“People like me?” I ask.
“You and Freya.”
“What are you talking about, Archer?”
He huffs in exasperation. “I’m not a Hallmark card, roses on Valentine’s Day, romantic relationship guy, Jules. I like fucked-up shit. I fight in alleyways and drink too much, and the ways I want to express my devotion to you probably aren’t the same as the ways you would want to express your devotion to me.”
My eyes narrow as I stare at him. I get where he’s coming from, but sometimes I fear Archer has such low self-esteem that he thinks it makes him unworthy of love.
“I like fucked-up shit too, Arch.”
He shakes his head with a scoff. “Not like me.”
“You’d be surprised,” I say, touching his chin and guiding his face back toward me. “Be open with me, Archer. Tell me what you want. If you’re afraid of scaring Freya, I get it, but you won’t scare me.”
He nods, but I can tell he’s not really buying it. Instead, he reaches for the soap, and I press his hand away, not wanting to lose his attention.
“Tell me what you want, Archer. Let me prove to you that I’m yours.”
He bites his bottom lip but doesn’t relent. Instead, he gives a sarcastic chuckle and divulges no secrets.
“Please,” I persist.
When his eyes meet mine, I think for a moment that he’s finally about to open up, but he keeps his mouth closed and looks away.
Suddenly, I realize that I might already know what it is Archer wants and is too afraid to ask for. And while it’s not genuinely something I fantasize about, more than anything, I want him to know I’m someone safe he can open up to. Someone who won’t think his kinks and desires are too fucked up or sick.
I love him.
I’ll do anything for him.
So while he reaches for the soap again, I take a deep breath and slowly lower to my knees. He watches me with his brows knit together.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Proving it to you. Go ahead, Archer.”
