And of course he does.
He must think he’s died and gone to heaven, I grumble to myself as my heels clop against the scuffed wooden floorboards. Someone who listened to his very poorcraic, bought his drinks,andwho he thinks is going home with him. I wonder how many times this has worked for him. And he looked so normal, too.
At the bar, the lone female is serving a customer. Oh, now she’s leaning over the bar top, tugging a lock of his hair with a grin. Yep, totally flirting. But still, I feel there might be a sense of solidarity in bringing my problem date to her attention rather than one of the two men working the bar alongside her.
So I wait, angling my body slightly her way. It’s early for a Saturday and it doesn’t take too long before she’s in front of me.
‘Is someone taking care of you, darling?’ To complete the badassery, she has a totally sexy accent. Eastern European, maybe? She’s hot, even if you aren’t into girls.
‘Yes, I’d like a homegirl, please. With ice,’ I add heavily.
‘Oh, man,’ she mutters under her breath as she grabs a glass from under the counter. ‘It’s thatskurwielyou’re with, yes?’
‘I don’t know what one of those is, but I can tell you it’s the man at the table one away from the door. Clean cut and quite ordinary looking?’
‘That’s the one. He’s also a motherfucker, which isskurwielin Polish.’
‘He did say you’d met.’
‘Tinder.’ She spits the one word by way of explanation. ‘He’s no good, but we will help you.’
‘Another one of these, when you’ve got a minute, Zuze.’
‘Wait your turn. Can you not see I am busy?’ It might sound like a reprimand, but it’s delivered with good humour, not to mention a little flirtatiously. Maybe the kind of flirtation you expect from a large Russian lady ready to give you a thorough scrubbing in a banya. With scolding and a good slap. And why wouldn’t she be flirting with the man who owns that voice?
I know that voice. I remember it well. It’s teasing and taunts. It’s demands that I come hard—come now. I turn and take in the sight of Archer Powell roughing his hands through his thick hair, an action that pulls his T-shirt sleeves taut over his biceps. It’s an unconscious motion of a man who looks pretty tired. He’s eyes are ringed with dark circles, his cheeks covered in a rasp of dark stubble.
‘Hello, Archer.’
‘Heather!’ His expression morphs through a myriad of expressions finally settling into something that looks a little like he’s pleased to see me. ‘How are you?’
‘She’s been better,’ Zuze answers for me, drawing his attention. ‘You remember that prick I went on the Tinder date with? Well, she’s here with him.’
‘And here I thought I had your heart.’ The sudden grit in his tone feels like a brush with punishment.
‘Really?’ I ask softly. ‘You want to start that in here?’
‘Okay. I think I leave you two to it,’ Zuze says, though before she moves down the bar, she waves a finger in Archer’s direction. ‘But don’t leave her alone. Not with him around. He’s dangerous.’
‘Is he now,’ Archer murmurs, his eyes on Jeremy. Dangerous? Dangerously boring, maybe. ‘Wait here for a minute, will you, babe?’
‘Stop calling me babe—where are you going? Archer?’
Disregarding my questions, he strides confidently over to Jeremy, dropping himself into the chair I’d recently vacated. Though I can’t see the other man’s expression, I can see Archer’s and he looks quite relaxed. His posture is open, his expression even... until he sits forward quite suddenly, his whole demeanour changing. If you’d asked me five minutes ago what role Archer would play in a movie, I’d have said he’d be cast as the boy next door because the boy next door in Hollywood is always ridiculously handsome, all smiles and affability. Except for now, when it has suddenly become evident he has a dark side. Fierce and frightening, he looks more likely to play a mafioso with those dark looks. And as his eyes slide back to the bar and he looks at me, my knees almost give way and my internal organs almost burst.
Okay, maybe my ovaries.
Serious Archer Powell brings more than just the sexy.
A moment later, his eyes turn back to the man in front of him. He seems to say just one more thing before Jeremy is up out of his seat and walking to the exit without once acknowledging me. And then Archer’s in front of me, those brilliant eyes of his staring down.
‘Are you okay?’
Tiny shivers of anticipation run down my spine at his tone. I don’t answer, giving myself just a moment or two to revel in the sound. In his care. I’ve thought a lot about him while he’s been gone, and some of those things haven’t made a lot of sense. But amongst the chaos and the confusion, one thing I know to be true. Something about me changed the night I slept with him.
‘Babe? Say something.’ His hand cups my face, his eyes darting behind me, shaking his head at whatever question is being asked.
‘What did you say to him?’
