My cheeks burn bright red at his question, and I’m certain he knows the answer before I say a word.
“You were taking pictures, weren’t you? You missed the step because you were lost in your phone and not living in the moment.” He pairs his annoyed tone with an eye roll.
“Can you get off my ass about my job?”
“You told me you’re a bartender,” he says.
“Iam. It pays the bills. Sort of. Some months. I started my blog just for fun when I was in college, and it sort of took on a life of its own until I realized it’s what I love. Like playing baseball is what you love. Right?”
“Right.” He sighs.
“So whyaren’tyou playing baseball right now?” I ask softly.
He folds his hands in his lap and stares down at them. “You didn’t look it up? It’s all over the news.”
“I don’t watch the news, and my feed is pretty curated to what I do,” I admit. “I heard you were suspended, but I don’t know why.”
He nods, his eyes still on his hands, and he draws in a deep breath. “I was suspended forty games. I was detained for questioning in conjunction with an illegal underground gambling operation run by my father. He had me sign some paperwork, told me it was for taxes. I didn’t pay much attention. It was all legal gibberish anyway. Turns out he was putting that underground ring in my name.”
“My God, Archer. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” My chest tightens with sympathy.
He still doesn’t look up at me. “Yeah. It’s on me. I should’ve read it. I should’ve known better than to trust him, but he played on my sensitivity.”
“How?”
“He used my dying mother to get me to sign the papers. Said some bullshit about wanting a reconciliationbefore she passed. It’s all so fucked up, and the media has been up my ass since it all went down late last year.”
I have the sudden urge to move across the seats and hold him in my arms. His head is sort of hanging, and it’s clear he’s hurt over all this. No wonder he came to Paradise to escape all that.
And then he runs into me, someone he sees as a person who would capitalize on his celebrity status without blinking an eye regardless of whether that’s true, at the very same time he’s trying to run away from the media. I guess I’m sort of starting to get why he hates what I do so much.
But I’m different. I’m not in the media the way he thinks.
“So where’s your dad now?” I ask.
He glances over at me, and I see the pain in his eyes. I see why he didn’t want to look directly at me—he wants to hide it. To hide himself. But I can’t help wanting him to see how his worth and value aren’t tied to what his father did, that he’ll pay the price and put this behind him.
“He was indicted and arrested. He’s out on bail until the trial, which should start in June. Probably not long after the time I get back on the field.” He turns his gaze out his window. “And I broke off a long-term relationship to keep her from getting hit in the crossfire only for her to turn around and marry one of my brothers a few months later.”
The tightness in my chest turns to an ache for him. Fuck my ankle, this man needs a goddamn hug. I shift myself and swing over to the seat beside him. I sling my arm over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through. For what it’s worth, and not that you care anyway, but I want you to know that I wouldn’t exploit you. I’m not like them.”
He presses his lips together but doesn’t say another word, and I wish I knew what to say to diffuse this, tomake him feel better. To provide some measure of comfort. I glance up and see Ricardo walking away from the bus, and I take my chance.
I swing my leg over his so I’m straddling him, and he looks surprised as his eyes shift up to mine. I shift my hips so my pussy rubs over his lap, and he groans a little. I turn his hat around on his head so it’s backward, and I take off my own straw hat and toss it onto the seat beside us.
I take his jaw between my palms. “I’m serious, Archer. Whatever you think of me…that’s not who I am. I’m sorry for what you’re going through. I’m sorry you think I’m only out to use you. I’m not. I wish I could find a way to get you to believe that.” I lean forward and shoot my shot by pressing my lips to his. It’s gentle at first, and he’s not kissing back, but I feel him fighting it. I keep my lips there, and after a few beats that feel awkwardly long, his hands come up to wrap around me.
I shift my hips again, only this time to feel his cock as it starts to spring to life.
His mouth opens, and he kisses me that same way he did the first night. It’s full of passion and sensuality as he sets a slow, languid pace. I could kiss him forever, but we don’t have forever.
We only have a month. And now, less than an hour until others return to the bus.
The ache pressing between my legs is nearly unbearable, and I start to gyrate against him in earnest, a rough spot on his shorts rubbing through the material of my dress and my panties against my clit with each shift of my hips.
He moves his hands to get the bottom of my dress out of the way, and then he reaches under my dress, slips my panties to the side, and shoves a finger into me.
