‘Can you just be serious for a minute,’ I demand, ignoring the tempting visual because yes, as it turns out I do like seeing him do that.Hard and wet tipped. Those veins standing proud.Argh! Why is my mind so easily distracted by sex? And why is getting a straight answer from Archer like herding naughty kittens?
‘I am being serious. Tell me how you think you’ll get a better offer than this,’ he says with a flourish that wouldn’t look out of place on a game show.Tonight’s star prize is... Archer Powell!
‘Maybe I’ll enjoy the novelty of dating different men all the time. Who knows?’
‘It seems like you’ve forgotten the jolly time you had in the Spit and Sawdust already. How long before Bill comes back?’
‘It’s William. Or Barney.’ I shake my head. He really is too amused by this whole thing. ‘And he’ll be back in May.’
‘So, seven weeks? Say, three dates a week conservatively. Three multiplied by seven is twenty-one dates. Can you face doing what you did last night twenty more times?’
Despite my best attempts at remaining passive, I find myself grimacing. Twenty more nights getting ready while trying not to be sick. Twenty more times sitting alone somewhere while waiting and wondering. Oh, hell. Twenty more suitable date venues to find so as not to draw attention to myself.
Look, there’s that woman again. Didn’t she wear that dress last week? Wasn’t she with a different man? I wonder if he’ll stay more than five minutes this time?
Why did I think this was such a good idea again?
‘You’ve gone very pale, babe. I think I’m becoming more appealing by the minute. You know, like that’s even possible.’
‘Stop talking, please.’ Give my poor aching brain a little respite.
‘You don’t have to hide it from me, babe. I know the score.’
‘What are you talking about now?’ My tone is pure exasperation, my head fit to burst.
‘Your resistance. You’re just worried you might become a little too attached to me.’
And that’s pretty much how Archer Powell is elevated from the position of fake boyfriend to temporary stand in.
27
Archer
Your place or mine?
She deserved better than that—I deserved better than that. But like a bad habit that’s hard to kick, I’d relied on those same rhythms.
Your place or mine. It’s not quite promising forever and for always, is it? Or evenlet’s give this a shot. It doesn’t paint the same pictures, no matter what you think you might mean.
What you might hope she’ll see in your actions.
What you might hope she’ll see in your eyes.
Takes a crazy to know a crazy. I’d said that, too.
And I must be fucking mental for taking the coward’s way out, stopping myself at the last minute from telling her I’m crazy about her—crazy for her. What if I hadn’t stopped myself? What if I’d just had the balls to say the words? I wouldn’t have offered to date her as an experiment. As a stand-in for someone else.
If I had told the truth, would it be better or worse?
Better because at least I’d know if she was interested.
Worse if she’d said she wasn’t.
But at least I’d know, and I wouldn’t be sitting here, my gut twisted and heart aching at the thought of her with someone else. Someone wrong for her. Because how can anyone else but me be right for her when I want her this much?
And absolutely, the sex is great, and I know it can only get better for my wanting of her. But honestly, sex is more like a bonus at this point. The best thing about being with Heather is just that—the beingwithher. Being close to her funny mouth and her wonderful mind and her quirks. No one has ever intrigued me like she does.
How the fuck could I have put any of that into words?
