Freya’s posture stiffens as she stares across the table, her gaze dancing back and forth between us. I see the way she hesitates to cling to this hope that what we’re offering could be real.
“Very funny,” she jokes.
“I’m not kidding,” he argues. “Let us give you the money you need.”
“You don’t even know me,” she says, looking into his eyes with confusion.
“Sure I do. I know you can fucking cook because I tasted it myself. I watched you tend to Julian when he was having a panic attack in the elevator, even after he was such a dick to you, so I know you’re a compassionate person.”
The memory of her voice in that moment comes crashing to the front of my mind. And I don’t even care that he called me a dick because he’s right. She had every reason to hate me, and yet when I needed someone to calm my erratic breathing and keep me grounded, she was there. She didn’t hesitate.
Archer continues. “I watched you lug in that giant bag full of food, which means you’re a hard worker and fucking determined when you need to be.”
Freya’s hand is still under mine, and it must be the whiskey that has me caressing her knuckles with my thumb. But seeing the way this conversation makes her feel uneasy has me wanting to calm her…the way she did for me.
“You’re really serious, aren’t you?” she asks with moisture building in her eyes.
“I’m really fucking serious,” he replies.
She turns her gaze to me. “And what about you?”
My mouth is set in a flat line as I struggle to find the words. I’m not as talkative as Archer. Not nearly as convincing. The most I can manage is a nod.
“Yeah, of course,” I murmur.
She lets out a small scoff, rolling her eyes as she lifts her drink and gulps half of it down in one go. There’s a bitterness in her expression. Not as if she’s mad at us for offering but maybe mad at the fact that she now has to choose to take it. Freya has pride, and I actually really like that about her. But it’s that pride that could stand in her way.
I don’t blame her for wanting to earn this money herself.
“I’ll think about it,” she says with a drunk smile over the rim of her glass.
“You better,” Archer demands with a stern look. It quicklymelts into a grin as he reaches across the table and strokes Freya’s cheek.
As he leans back in his chair, he sprawls, letting his knees spread. When he does, his right leg lands against my own. Tensing, I glance over at him, wondering if he thinks contact like this is friendly or casual or if he realizes that his overwhelming sex appeal has other people’s blood pressure spiking.
He seems unaffected by the way our legs are touching…and he doesn’t bother moving it away. With her hand touching my hand and his leg touching my leg, I can’t help but notice that things between the three of us have definitely taken a turn.
Rule #11: Make your intentions clear.
Archer
The restaurant has cleared out, and I have lost count ofhow many drinks I’ve had. But I’m not sure it’s the beer I feel drunk on or the way Freya’s eyes shine under the warm glow of the overhead lighting. Or how Julian’s leg against mine feels like an anchor, holding me in place.
There’s something happening in this friendly little dinner of ours, and I don’t hate it. In fact…I don’t want to leave. I’m not even sure what time it is or how long we’ve been sitting here, but I could die in this spot, and I’d die a happy man.
Running my finger along the rim of my glass, a smile stretches across my lips.
“You know…” I start. It’s the alcohol giving me the courage to tell this story, but I just feel comfortable enough now with them. “My best friend thinks we should have fucked.”
Freya nearly spits her drink all over me, and Julian breaks out in laughter that sounds like sex, joy, and evil all rolled into one.
“Is that so?” Freya asks, wiping her chin with her napkin.
“In the elevator?” Julian says.
With a wicked smirk, I nod. “Yeah. And it got me thinking…if it had just been two of us…maybe we would have.”
Freya tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and it makes my cock twitch in my pants. And I swear I feel Julian pressing back subtly on my leg.
