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“I’m not going for Archer. I’m going for you.”
“Uh-huh.” She grabs her toiletries bag. “Keep telling yourself that.” It’s the last thing she says before she disappears back into the hallway.
Looking down at Archer’s jacket, I can’t resist the urge to lift it to my nose and take a deep inhale. It smells divine. Like a man’s natural musk mixed with the best smelling cologne I’m pretty sure I’ve ever smelled.
Of course he smells incredible. I mean, he already looks it. Why wouldn’t he? I’m just not sure if the thought annoys me as much as it once would.
Maybe Alina’s right. Maybe I am warming up to him.
But that can’t be right.
I hate Archer.
He’s pompous and arrogant. Thinks he’s better than everyone.
I hate everything he stands for.
So then why, as I sit here, breathing in the scent of his jacket still draped over my shoulders, is hatred the absolute last thing I feel?
In fact, as much as I search for the feeling that once consumed me at the mere thought of Archer, I can’t find even a trace of it in sight.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I know that I am in very big trouble.
“You’re quiet today.”
I look up from my sketch to find Archer looking at me. Though I’m pretty sure he’s always looking at me. Likely because he likes making me nervous. And today, well, he’s doing a damn good job of it. Mainly because I can’t seem to summon my usual irritation and anger whenever he’s in the same room.
“Just trying to focus. We don’t have much time left and there’s still so much to do.” It’s not completely untrue, just not entirely true either.
“How did your date go on Sunday?” He ignores my comment about needing to focus and dives right in.
“It wasn’t a date,” I grumble, turning my gaze back to the task at hand.
“Did he drink?” His question has my eyes darting back to him in an instant.
“Why didn’t you tell me you spoke to him? When I insulted you for not being a good teammate, you never said anything. Why?”
“Sometimes it’s easier to let people think whatever they want rather than constantly trying to prove them wrong.” He tips a shoulder in a casual shrug. “So he told you what’s going on then?”
“No.” I shake my head softly. “But he did say that whatever you said to him really resonated and from what I can tell, it has. He’s three days sober now from what I hear. So thank you.”
“You care about him.” It’s not a question.
“Truthfully, I don’t actually know him that well. But yes, I guess you could say that. I mean, I care about what happens to him.”
“So you don’t have feelings for him then?”
“I thought I made that much clear on Sunday,” I say instead of giving a real answer.
“Just making sure.” He grins, causing his left dimple to pop.
I wish I could say it didn’t make my stomach flutter uncontrollably, but I think we’ve established at this point that I’m not a very good liar.
“Why do you care anyway?” I wish I could keep myself from asking, but it slips out just the same.
“Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t stepping on any toes when I asked you out.”
Remember the fluttering? Yeah, well, that shit just turned into a full-blown freaking hurricane, turning my organs inside out.
