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Archer almost swore he felt an icy chill in the spots where her fingers had been, a coldness left by the lack of Brielle.
She handed him the glass. “So… What ingredients do you have?”
Archer took a sip and then cradled the glass. “Don’t worry about it.”
“All right,” said Brielle, eyeing him suspiciously. She shut the dishwasher and then spun back around, her arms out and her eyes darting back and forth, as if figuring out what to do. “Oh, I…” She gestured behind Archer.
Right. Her cleaning supplies were behind him.
Not thinking straight in the face of those deep brown eyes, he set his glass down in his lap—not between his legs like he might usually, not on the counter or holding it in one hand—and backed up. As he turned the corner, the glass tumbled forward, splashing his lap and splintering as soon as it hit the ground.
“Oh my god,” said Brielle. “Are you okay?”
Archer looked at his lap and then back to Brielle again and back at his lap. He wanted to sink into his chair. “Fine. Just wet.”
“I’ll get that for you.” Now that he’d backed up enough, Brielle was able to slip by. “Careful,” she said, stepping around the shattered glass with her white socks. Her long leg stretched over one of his wheels so she could get a better grip on her cleaning bucket.
Archer hovered his hands behind her ass, feeling awkward but sure it was better to catch her there than let her fall onto his wet lap.
“Sorry,” she said over her shoulder, and the way she scrunched up her face was absolutely adorable. “Sorry,” she said again as she maneuvered back into the kitchen, the bucket way above Archer’s head. The barest bit of the pocket on the butt of her black plants brushed his fingertips as she did.
Archer clenched his wheels tightly. He suddenly, without delay, needed to get away from her.
“Um,” she said, staring down at him, “about yesterday—”
“Have to change,” he mumbled, backing up and heading down the hallway.
He shut the door to the bedroom behind him—never before feeling so frustrated that he had to wheel in, back up, and then turn around to get it closed without slamming it—and cradled his head in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees.
He was hard. With a woman just a few feet on the other side of that door.Becausethat woman was just a few feet on the other side of that door.
This wasn’t like when he’d accidentally gotten that way in therapy—that had started as a preteen and it had embarrassed him to no end—he knew that was normal and he’d gotten better at not letting it bother him when it happened. This was because hegenuinelywanted to be with thisspecificwoman. He’d never been with a woman outside of his wildest fantasies.
He had it bad.
And he was losing track of time just sitting there in his wet pants, in his wet chair, thinking about her again, because there came a knock on the door what felt like two seconds later.
“Mr. Ward?” said Brielle from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”
Snapped out of his daydreams, Archer laughed and wheeled over to his dresser. “I’m fine,” he called loudly. “And please—call me ‘Archer.’” He couldn’t believe she’dkisshim but still refer to him as a “mister.”
“‘Mr. Ward is my father.’”
Archer froze, a pair of new pants still in his hands. “What?”
Brielle’s nervous giggle echoed through the door. “Sorry. That’s just what people usually say when, um…” She took a sharp intake of breath. “So I cleaned up the glass?”
Archer tossed the pants onto his bed and grinned. “Are you telling me or are you asking me?”
“Now you sound like my high school English teacher.”
Archer grunted as he lifted himself to the side of his bed with the grab bars so he could change, then grunted again as he reached into his pocket to toss his phone onto the comforter.
“You okay?” he heard Brielle ask.
“Huh? What? Oh.” He chuckled. “Yup. Spend enough time with me and grunting becomes background noise.” He finished peeling his pants off, looked around for the towel he’d forgotten to grab before heading over, and shrugged, balling up the pants in his fist and using a dry part of them to pat his legs down. He tossed them across the room, landing a perfect shot in his hamper.
“Oh, okay,” said Brielle. “So I’ll… Um… Wipe down the counters and table and get to vacuuming out here.”
