Page 62 of A Million To Fall

There’s always been something about her that makes me feel inadequate. She’s proud and confident. A true bombshell. Jonathan and Pacey are definitely looking.

She lifts her champagne flute. “And there’s more of this if anyone’s feeling festive.”

Jake climbs out of the hot tub. “Thanks, Mom,” he says, offering Cameron his hand.

The hot water makes me feel light-headed, so I step out, too, looking around for a towel.

I catch movement just beyond the patio lights. Someone steps through the sliding glass door.

Instinctively, I look up and find Boston. My stomach flips.

He moves like he’s expecting someone to tell him to leave, shoulders tight, eyes scanning the patio. He must have come straight from AJ’s because he’s still wearing that cream-colored shirt all waiters wear. Nothing special in the grand scheme of things, but on him? Dangerous. There’s no softness on him, no luxury.

The guys might be fit, too, in that gym-bro, protein-shake sort of way, but it’s also obvious that they’re not above skipping leg day in favor of an all-you-can-eat buffet at the Italian restaurant. Boston, on the other hand, is all lean, honed muscle, every line cut from use and hard work.

He finds me, eyes hooking into mine, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of everything, including the fact that I’m standing here dripping wet with barely anything left to the imagination. His gaze drags down my body, slow and deliberate, from my flushed face, to the curve of my collarbone, to the wet fabric clinging to my breasts and hips.

His throat works as he swallows, and I see it—that tight, telling bob of his Adam’s apple. My breath catches at the flicker in his expression—something hungry. And God help me, I feel it too. That heat crawling up my body, tightening low in my stomach.

It only lasts a second before he seemingly remembers that we’re not alone. Far from. He resets his face into something more neutral.

“Hey, guys,” he says, as if his eyes didn’t just burn across my skin.

“Hi, Boss,” I manage.

Archer wraps a towel around me. “What’s he doing here?”

Jake turns, totally unfazed. “I invited him over.”

“Sorry for being late,” Boston says without acknowledging Archer’s comment. Then he walks straight toward me.

He stops just short of Archer, glances at him once, and pulls me into a hug before I can even process what’s happening.

“Happy birthday, Stormy.”

I freeze, all too aware that Archer’s right here. But then my arms lift anyway, wrapping around him.

God, it feels good. Soft, yet solid. Warm. Safe.

And then it’s over.

Boston pulls back gently, eyes fixed to mine, before he turns away to greet the others.

Archer’s hand closes around mine possessively. And a little painful.

twenty-three

Boston

We’ve been sprawled out in the living room for the last half hour. I’m lounging on the couch next to Jake while Pacey and Jonathan argue over some hook-up app matches, passing Jonathan’s phone back and forth. Pacey keeps swiping left on girls he says look “too vanilla,” and each time Jonathan insists otherwise.

“No way,” Pacey groans, recoiling. “Tell me you did not sleep with this chick.”

“Oh, I did,” Jonathan smirks. “And bro, she was wild.”

Pacey’s eyes widen. “No shit?”

“No shit. Backdoor stuff and everything,” Jonathan says, taking a swig from a plastic flask of Screwball.