by Nina Lane
“Including your parents?”
“They still called me Kseniya at home. But at school and in public, they called me Kelsey.”
I felt him watching me, probing for all the things I wasn’t saying.
“It sounds like your parents succeeded in giving you everything they’d wanted,” he said.
I nodded. “When they moved to America, they couldn’t afford a house in a good school district, but they were determined that I’d have the best education they could manage.
“So my father found a job as a janitor at a highly ranked school in an upper-class neighborhood outside Chicago. He was a strong-willed man, incredibly tenacious. He convinced the principal to sponsor him for residency and petitioned to let me attend the school, even though we didn’t live in the district. A few months later, my mother began working at the school’s lunch counter. And I started kindergarten there.”
“That’s when you wanted to change your name?” Archer asked.
I nodded, disliking the echo of old shame. “The other kids lived in big houses. Had parents who were doctors or corporate bigwigs. I was the girl who lived in a tiny apartment in a rough neighborhood. My parents had funny accents. My father was the school janitor and my mother was the lunch lady. I knew early on I’d be an easy target if I didn’t do something first.”
“So what did you do?”
“I became kind of a daredevil,” I said. “Known for taking risks. I knew it’d be a way to get attention, even admiration. I was the kid who climbed the highest tree, walked on a roofline, jumped into a lake from the highest rock. And when I outgrew that, I became the rebel girl with a bad attitude.
“I was always a good student. Academics were easy for me, and I even skipped a grade. But I made everything else difficult. I got into fights. I made sure all the other kids were scared of me so they wouldn’t give me crap. I started dying my hair in fifth grade. Wore ripped clothes, makeup, lots of black… so-called tough-chick stuff.”
I looked out the window, seeing my face reflected against the dark glass. I remembered that girl, the one who wanted to be so adventurous, who didn’t care what people thought of her, who wasn’t scared of anything. Sometimes I even missed her.
“What did your parents think of all that?” Archer asked.
“It upset them,” I admitted. “My father and I fought about it all the time. He wanted me to be a good, respectable girl. I knew my behavior pushed his buttons, which was probably part of the reason I acted out. My mother always tried to keep the peace between us. When I was offered several scholarships into college, my father eased up for a while.”
“Until… ?” Archer asked.
I shook my head. I’d already told him far more than I’d ever intended.
I pushed my plate away. I wanted to ask Archer questions too, to find out more about him, to figure out why he was so different from Dean.
I shoved my curiosity back down. Knowledge created intimacy, and intimacy with a man like Archer West was dangerous.
I stood and picked up my plate. “Are you done?”
When he nodded, I brought our plates to the kitchen. We took our mugs into the living room and sat on the sofa. Archer stretched out opposite me, his long legs crossed at the ankle and his eyes closed.
Surely there was a way to know him without knowing him…
“What’s your favorite band?” I asked impulsively.
“Stones. The Foo Fighters. You?”
“The Backstreet Boys.”
He opened his eyes to look at me. I grinned. He shook his head.
“Liar,” he murmured.
“I know you are, but what am I?”
We both laughed. A warm, rich pleasure filled me. I realized I’d laughed with him more in the past few days than I usually did in an entire week.
“Favorite food?” I asked.
“Pizza,” he replied. “You?”
“Anything sweet.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I slanted him a glance. “Why are you surprised?”
“I thought you’d like something spicy like salsa or curry.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re incredibly hot.” He slid his gaze down my body.
I tried to conceal my embarrassed pleasure with a slight cough. “So, um, favorite book?”
“The Dark Knight Returns.”
“Isn’t that a movie?”
“It’s one of the best vintage comics of the ’80s. Frank Miller’s finest. Batman comes out of retirement for one last vigilante crusade.”
“You’re a comic book aficionado?”
“Not so much.” Archer shrugged. “I liked them when I was a kid. Dean and I used to draw our own comics sometimes.” He took a swallow of hot cocoa. “What’s your favorite movie?”
“Hmm. Aliens, probably.”
“Not Twister?”
“Twister? No.”
“Really?” Archer looked at me askance. “That movie is epic. Remember the flying cows? How can a tornado specialist not love Twister?”
“Because said tornado specialist is intelligent.”
Archer groaned and thumped his chest. “You’re killing me, Professor March. Flying cows.”
“Udderly ridiculous.”
He chuckled. I winked at him.
We talked for the next hour, exchanging favorite colors, TV shows, sports, cities, and seasons. Then we agreed to watch a movie, and though I was aware Archer had well exceeded his allotted “hour,” I didn’t want him to leave. We found a good car-racing action flick, both of us remaining firmly on either side of the sofa for the duration of the movie.
It was nice. Too nice. Tame and warm and… comfortable. I wasn’t supposed to be comfortable with dangerous Archer West. Who, as it turned out, was proving to be not dangerous at all.
As if that weren’t strange enough, the situation slipped into downright cozy when I woke up with my head pillowed against his strong thigh.
I blinked, trying to push aside the haze of sleep and focus. His thigh was warm under my cheek, and there was a gentle weight on my hair that I slowly realized was Archer’s hand.
Good. Everything about it felt good.
Morning sunlight glowed through the windows. An infomercial was on TV. Though I didn’t want to move, I fumbled for the remote and turned off the TV. Archer shifted against me.
Embarrassment hit me. I sat up quickly, not looking at him as I shoved up from the sofa. I grabbed my glasses, which had somehow ended up on the coffee table, and put them on before turning to face him.
He was scrubbing his hands over his jaw, looking rumpled and mildly surprised. He rubbed his eyes before lowering his hands. Our gazes met.
“Hi,” I said weakly.
“Hi.” He pushed to the edge of the sofa. “I don’t remember falling asleep.”
“Neither do I.” I gestured to the hall bathroom. “There should be an extra toothbrush in the drawer. I’m just going to go change.”
I hurried into the other bathroom to brush my teeth and hair. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had to deal with a morning after, even though technically this didn’t qualify.
Or did it? Deciding to try and act as normal as possible, I went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee and clean up the dirty dishes from the previous night. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Archer’s broad frame fill the kitchen doorway.
“I’m making coffee,” I said unnecessarily, gesturing to the full pot.
“Great.” He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb in that lazy way of his. His jaw was stubbly, his black hair ruffled and slightly damp, his shirt wrinkled. He looked edible, like a messy, decadent chocolate cake that I wanted to dive into headfirst.
“I guess we already had breakfast last night,” I remarked.
“Yeah. And we slept together before we had sex. We even kissed before we knew each other’s names. Seems we’re doing everything backward.”
Which was not the way I did things. Ever. Or at l
east… until Archer.
I poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him. I was pouring myself a cup when the doorbell rang. I went to answer it, easing past Archer in the doorway.
He moved only slightly, his gaze holding mine as our bodies brushed together. Heat zinged through my veins instantly at the light contact, the sensation of his muscular chest against my breasts.
“Tease,” I whispered.
“Takes one to know one.”
I shook my head at him, trying not to smile as I went to answer the door. I pulled the door open. Shock hit me at the sight of Dean standing on the front porch.
CHAPTER TEN
KELSEY
“HEY.” DEAN WAS WEARING TRACK PANTS and a running jacket, his hands shoved into the pockets. He glanced at my clothes. “I thought you were going running with me this morning.”
“Oh.” I could hardly form a thought, let alone a sentence. “Sorry, I… uh, I guess I forgot.”
He glanced at his watch. “I’m early. I’ll wait for you to change.”
“No, I don’t think I—”
Dean’s gaze shifted past me. Warily, I turned. Archer still stood in the kitchen doorway, except now he was facing us.
Tension seized the air. My stomach knotted. I looked at Dean. I saw every single assessment clicking together in his brain. Archer was wearing his trousers and shirt from the previous night. He’d clearly just woken up. He was holding a cup of coffee. I was standing there looking like I’d just rolled out of bed…
I held up a hand. “Dean, I can explain.”
“You’re not the one who has to explain,” he said.
Archer frowned, his expression darkening. “I don’t have to explain anything to you, man.”
I stepped closer to the middle of the doorway. “Dean, it’s okay.”
He shifted his gaze from Archer to me. More than anger, I saw the concern in his eyes. And I felt Archer’s defenses locking into place like steel gates.
“I had her home by curfew, big brother,” he said, lowering his head to swallow some coffee. “Next time, you want to give me a monitoring bracelet? I’ve worn one before.”
Dean’s mouth tightened. Hostility sparked between them. It was my worst fear coming to life, and Archer and I hadn’t even done anything. Much.
I put my hand on Dean’s chest and shoved. The push caught him off guard, forcing him back. I stepped onto the porch and slammed the door behind me.
“Don’t,” I said. “We’re not in college anymore. I’m a grown woman. I know what I’m doing.”
I didn’t, actually, at least not where Archer was concerned. But I had to figure it out by myself. Not because Dean was launching into guardian angel mode.
“Archer’s had a lot of trouble, Kelsey,” he warned.
“I know.”
“Doesn’t that matter?” Dean paced to the porch railing, his shoulders tense. “Look, I take plenty of blame for his life getting messed up, but at some point, you have to man up and get your shit together. He never has. I doubt he ever will.”
“Wow. Nice show of brotherly support.”
Dean sighed, pulling a hand through his hair. “He’s had chances. Plenty of them. He mooched money off our mother for years. Never had a steady job, as far as I can tell. He’s here because he wants his inheritance money, but he has to actually work to earn it. He’s never lifted a finger to try.”
“It sounds like he is now, if he’s working on the house with you.”
Dean shook his head. “I know him, Kelsey. I know what he—”
“No,” I interrupted, and suddenly I’d never felt so certain of anything since the second I’d encountered Archer West.
“You don’t know him, Dean. You don’t. What you’ve done is just assume he’s been a fuck-up all these years. When was the last time you had a real conversation with him? When was the last time you gave him a chance?”
“I’m giving him one now.”
“Not if you think he’s incapable of change, you’re not.”
Silence fell. Dean crossed his arms, still frowning. I took a deep breath. The sky was starting to lighten to a pale gray. I backed toward the door.
“You don’t know him, Dean, but you know me. You know I don’t have any illusions or expectations. You know how strong my defenses are. And you know better than anyone how much I hate making mistakes.”
He didn’t respond.
“I’m not going to make one now.” I put my hand on the doorknob. “And I can’t change what you think about your brother. But I know you won’t ruin fifteen years of friendship by not trusting me.”
“It’s not you I don’t trust,” he said. “Just be careful. And you come to me if anything happens, okay?”
“No, I won’t. I’m an adult. I’m not that college girl who was so messed up she couldn’t think straight. I’ve been thinking clearly for years now. Any decision I make is mine. Now go run it off. I’ll call you later.”
I wasn’t at all sure he’d go, but he started down the front steps, his body still tense.
“Hey,” I called.
He turned. For a second, I couldn’t speak. I had to be straight with him. I approached him, mustering up the courage to tell him the truth even though I was having a hard time admitting it to myself.
“I’ve always been attracted to men like him,” I said. “But I learned a long time ago how to protect myself. And I wouldn’t start anything with him if I didn’t know I could handle it.”
Dean shook his head, slanting his gaze to the door again.
“It’s not like you and Liv,” I continued. “There’s no hearts and flowers here. No happy ending.”
“Then why, Kelsey?” Dean spread his hands out in frustration. “What’s the point?”
To feel alive. Exhilarated. To stand in the middle of the storm, breathless, your heart beating hard and your blood streaming hot.
I knew Archer would understand that. I knew we both wanted it.
Dean and I looked at each other for a long minute before he appeared to realize I wasn’t going to answer that question. I couldn’t.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he finally said.
“I won’t.” I tapped my chest. “Armor of steel, right?”
A faint resignation appeared in his eyes that made my stomach twist. Dean was never resigned, and I didn’t like that he was with me.
At the same time, I would hold my ground because everything I’d told him was the truth. And I would keep my promise to Archer by not using Dean as an excuse. This was about me, not him.
“You’re my best friend, Dean,” I said, disliking the anxiety constricting my chest. “You and Liv. If anything… I mean, if it would cause problems between us—”
“Kelsey.” Some of the tension eased from his shoulders as he closed his hands around my upper arms. “Archer and I have been estranged for years. I’ve never known how to fix our relationship. But if you think for one second I would ever let him come between you and me, no matter what happens, then I’m telling the university to fire you because you’re a complete bonehead.”
I smiled. The tightness around my heart eased.
“Okay?” Dean said.
“Okay.”
“I’m going to hug you now.”
“Okay.”
He enveloped me in a bear hug, then moved away and pointed to the door. “But you tell him if he hurts you, I’m going medieval on his ass.”
“I don’t think he needs me to tell him that.”
Dean nodded then headed down the street. I went back into the house, my nerves tensing again. Archer no longer stood in the doorway.
I found him sitting at the breakfast nook, coffee mug in hand. He was looking out the window at the garden, but he turned when I entered. I saw his defenses locking into place. Mine were still up.
“How much of that did you hear?” I asked.
“None of it. I want to hear it from you, not him.”
I let out my breath, rubbing my damp palms ov
er my thighs. He eyed me warily. I joined him at the table, sliding into the seat across from him.
“So how is it your brother is Dudley Do-Right and you’re Mad Max?” I asked.
He smiled faintly, but his expression darkened. I sensed it wasn’t so much the question that caused his unease, but the answer.
“Dean never told you?” he asked.
“About what?”
“He and I have different biological fathers.”
“Oh.”
“My mother had an affair.” He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “She got pregnant with me, but stayed married to Richard West. Dean and Paige’s father. He was up for a seat on the California Supreme Court. They needed her family’s money. Didn’t need a bunch of gossip. My paternity was a big secret. I might never have found out the truth if Dean hadn’t told me.”
“Dean told you?”
He nodded. “When I was nine. He was thirteen. I broke his video game console on purpose. We got into a fight, and he told me our father wasn’t my father.”
I tried to get my brain around that revelation. I couldn’t imagine Dean doing such a thing. “What happened then?”
“Everything got fucked up after that. But we kept the secret. No one knew.”
“Did you ever find out about your biological father?” I asked.
“My mother told me about him when I was nineteen. He was an old high school boyfriend she hooked up with. The affair lasted six months. She never saw him again.”
“Did you ever try and find him?”
“Once, when I was in my early twenties. He worked some office job in Sacramento. I never bothered contacting him. Didn’t see the point. My mother always told me Richard West was the man who raised me, fed me, et cetera, which made him my father. I finally figured out she was right.”
“But you weren’t close to him.”
“No. And when I figured out it was easier to be a troublemaker than to compete with Dean…” He shrugged.
I understood it, the pull toward rebellion. I’d rebelled for a whole host of very different reasons—to armor myself against other kids, to prove my independence from my parents, even sometimes just to clash with my father. And then I’d been hit hard by the realization of how badly such behavior could hurt other people.