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But that’s not to say I’m completely blinded by my desire or that I’m just going to jump into bed with him the first chance I get. I’m not. Things are just a bit... foggier when Archer is around, less clear.
“You smell good,” he purrs in my ear, nipping at the soft lobe.
“People are watching,” I tell him, a slight shake to my voice that has nothing to do with the audience.
“Let them watch.” He spins me so abruptly that some of my beer sloshes over the rim of the cup, splattering onto the ground.
I don’t have time to think about that, though, because moments later, Archer’s lips are on mine and the rest of the world seems to fade into oblivion.
If Conner had ever tried to kiss me in public, I would have turned away, but Archer... Well, I think we’ve already established what this man is capable of doing to me.
I couldn’t pull away if I wanted to. Not when he drags my lip between his teeth. Not when he swirls his tongue expertly along mine, like he’s been kissing me my whole life. And not even when he presses me into the back of the couch, forcing me to feel the hardness of his erection.
“Get a room!” The voice is so familiar that it pulls me from my Archer-induced haze and back to the real world. The world where I’ve just let Archer Copeland swallow my face in front of more people than I could possibly count.
My cheeks heat crimson as I break the kiss, my eyes locking on Enzo’s grin seconds later. My gaze darts to the left and sure enough, at his side, wearing an even bigger smile, is Alina.
“There you are!” I’m quick to duck out from Archer’s arm in time to give her a quick hug. “Holy hell, was everyone just watching us?” I whisper in her ear before pulling back.
“Yep.” She pops her lips on a laugh. “Don’t worry, it’s fine,” she mouths, turning toward Archer. “Well, you got my girl here. Color me impressed.”
“I aim to please.” His eyes are on me as he says it, making my skin heat even further. “Hey, Ty, give me and Rory the next game.” He taps one of his teammates on the shoulder, who grunts out a quick reply, his focus on trying not to die.
“You two are playing?” Enzo seems surprised. He’s not alone in that. My best friend looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“He’s not really giving me much of a choice,” I interject.
“Well, if you’re playing, I’m playing.” Alina grins.
“I’m in.” Enzo drops his arm over her shoulder.
“This should be fun,” I murmur to myself, but Archer hears me so clearly it’s as if I yelled it. “We’re going to all be dead in minutes,” I explain, referring to the game.
“We’ll see.” He winks, turning to watch the remainder of the game, which is over quicker than I want it to be.
Tyler and the three other guys whose names I do not know, give their seats up to Archer and Enzo with zero complaint, but none of them leave, two dropping on the floor while the others move to the far side of the couch, clearly hoping for the game back as soon as we’re done. Having them watch us only adds to my anxiety, which is creeping higher and higher the more people crowd around the back of the couch.
I should have known Archer would draw in an audience. Hell, all he has to do is walk into a room and people flock to him. Of course, they want to watch him in action, even if that action is playing two girls at a dumb video game.
Drinking about two-thirds of my beer in one long pull, I hand my cup to Archer, who sets it next to his on the large glass coffee table in front of us.
I try to focus on the game, on trying to figure out which buttons to push and how to move—which is surprisingly easier than I expected—but I can’t pretend not to be distracted by the increasing number of voices I hear behind me.
“Behind you,” someone yells and I quickly duck out of the line of fire. Well, my character ducks. Using the joystick to spin, I take the shooter out and two others as I move across the landscape.
“On your right, Enz,” someone else yells, but it’s too late, and seconds later he takes a shot to the head.
This goes on for what feels like hours but is really less than probably thirty minutes, people yelling for us to move this way or that, cheering us on from all corners of the room. It’s strange because I’ve never been on the receiving end of so much positive attention. I gotta say, I don’t totally hate it.
And weirdly, I’m way better at this game than I ever thought possible, earning more kills than all three of the other players combined. In fact, I do so well that two of the guys from the previous game ask me to play with them when our game is finished.
I decline, of course, but I won’t deny that it feels good to be wanted in any capacity. Usually people see right through me—which yes, is my own doing—so to say that I’m unaccustomed to this feeling would be the understatement of the year.
“Arch, your girl is fucking fire, man,” another guy says as Archer pulls me to my feet.
“Yes, she is,” he agrees, hitting me with a smile that fills my stomach with nervous flutters before leaning down to grab our beers from the table.
I don’t know which has me more shaken—him calling me fire or referring to me as Archer’s girl. Or the fact that Archer accepted it so freely like he was proud of this fact. But that can’t be right, can it? I mean, he’s Archer Copeland and I’m... well, me.
