Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Oh, they wanted to buy them. But they’re shit out of luck. Some things aren’t for sale.” He lifts a shoulder. “They’ll get over it.”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“I don’t know yet.” His gaze finds mine and holds it for a long moment before looking away.
I nod, then take another breath. “I got a call from Alyssa. Before I got on the plane. It was nice of you to point her in my direction. The opportunities she mentioned sound… incredible. Beyond my wildest dreams, actually.”
Archer nods in acknowledgment.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say after a moment. “That you and Alyssa haven’t been together since—”
“Since I met you?” he asks, cutting his gaze over to me once more.
I swallow, nod.
“Because I knew you’d start asking questions. And that you weren’t ready for the answers.”
“I’m ready for them now,” I whisper.
Archer takes a sip of whiskey, seeming conflicted, as though fighting some internal battle. His gaze searches my face before he seems to decide whatever he needs to decide and sets his drink on the table. He reaches into his pocket, fishing around until he comes up with a little scrap of paper.
“What’s this?” I say, setting my drink aside as well and accepting the paper.
“My birthday.”
I give him a knowing look. “You mean the one that’s definitely not in April?”
He gives a quick crooked smile, not looking the least bit contrite. Then his expression turns serious as he nods down at the paper. “Open it.”
I look down at the scrap, but don’t unfold it. “Why would you lie about your birthday?”
Archer exhales. “You were right the other night. Willow did hurt me. It hurt that whatever she felt for me wasn’t strong enough to combat whatever plans she thought the universe had for us. So I decided I wasn’t ever going to put myself in that position again.”
He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “And then you came barging onto my roof, and… everything changed. But you were so damn hopeful that Christian’s and your charts would align, and I realized… I was just the practice round. And I figured if I wasn’t going to be a contender, I’d at least bow out on my own terms. That if we weren’t a match based on a fake birthday it would sting less.”
I make a sound of dismay. “Archer—”
“No, don’t apologize,” he says, holding up a hand. “You’ve been perfectly clear about your goal for this year. I may not get the whole star-chart thing, but I respected it was something you needed to do.
“And I told myself,” he continues slowly, watching me, “that all I had to do was wait. Wait until you realized…” He runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “Until you realized it didn’t matter what our charts said. Until you chose me… for me.”
I suck in a breath, my heart breaking at the raw vulnerability on his face, though there’s something I’m still not understanding. I lift the paper. “Then why give me your real birthday now? Why not just wait until I was done with the horoscope thing?”
His eyes lock on to the paper. “Because I realized I wanted a chance before you made that decision on Stanford, even if it was only a sliver of one. A chance that our charts form a heart or whatever.”
I smile. “Not really how it works.” My thumb flicks over the paper, still not opening it. “And if we’re not an astrological match?”
He steps closer, his eyes blazing as he lifts a hand to my face, thumb rubbing tenderly over my cheek. Expression pleading. “Would it matter? Miranda?”
It’s a moment.
It’s the moment.
In response, I lift the paper between us and slowly, deliberately tear it into tiny, unreadable little pieces.
He lets out breath that sounds almost like a gasp, and even as I hold scraps of his irrelevant birthday, Archer’s hands slide into my hair, tilting my face back, as his mouth closes over mine in a hungry kiss. I release the last bits of paper, and with a groan of my own, grasp his shirt, pulling him closer and kissing him with months’ worth of what I now, finally, can identify.
Love.
Archer presses a thumb along my jaw, adjusting the kiss so his tongue can slip between my lips, brushing against mine in a teasing, heated promise, and I let out a low moan.
He ends the kiss slowly, reluctantly, though his gaze doesn’t leave my mouth quite yet, as he stares at my swollen lips greedily. For the first time, I’m not loath for our time on the roof to end. But I don’t think I’ll mind going back inside tonight. Not if Archer comes with me.
“You know,” I murmur as my fingers explore his scratchy jaw. “I’m pretty sure Lillian moved the Buzzes up here on purpose. So we’d meet.”