And a few seconds turns into a minute. And another, until my cake is gone and I have nothing to occupy myself with. I turn to Archer, telling him—for real this time—that I need to get back to my office.
“Can I take you out to dinner?” he asks before I have a chance to get a word out.
“Like a date?” I blurt. Shit. I wish I had more cake to stuff in my mouth to keep me from talking. Though his answer could change everything.
“Do you want it to be a date?”
Damn you, Archer. Every time I think the ball is in his court, he throws it back at me.
“Depends on where you take me.”
He grins, and I hate that I want to impress him. “Considering I’ve never been here, you might not want me to be the one picking where we go. Unless you like pizza, because the one restaurant I’ve been to so far was good enough to go back to.”
“I do like pizza.”
“Well, then.” He stands and offers his hand. “Shall we? Or do you have to stay?”
“I should probably walk through and pretend to be social.” I finish my water and take his hand.
“You never answered me,” he says, his deep voice rattling everything inside me.
“About what?”
“Do you want it to be a date?”
I swallow hard, throat suddenly thick. This is the type of pressure I crack under, and it’s always because I put said pressure on myself. I get ahead of my own thoughts and end up saying something I regret. “What do you want?”
“You’re Dean’s kid sis. He’d give me shit if he found out I was in Chicago and didn’t check up on you.”
Archer is right. Dean would be pissed. Logan and Owen too. Even Weston…and my parents. Archer is basically part of the family, and it’s not like he’s being rude. So why is my blood starting to boil?
I look at him out of the corner of my eye, frustration building. God, I hate that I want him. I hate that I want him to see me as more than his friend’s little sister.
I just wish I could hate him.
“Yeah, he’d be pissed for sure.” I toss my empty plate in the trash and my cup and fork into the recycling and wait for Archer to do the same. Not saying a word, we walk to the party. With each beat that passes, I’m tempted to break my own rule of not drinking at work.
We’re pretty casual around here. Some may even accuse us of being too hipster or crunchy for a company that develops software. We have drinks and massages at the office, and anyone without children are welcome to bring their pets on ‘bring your child to work day.’ As long as work gets done, anything goes.
But since I got promoted, I’ve tried to uphold a certain standard and make sure I stay professional at work. I’m far from uptight and have often been caught dancing to the Disney Descendants soundtrack in my office. Yet I don’t like to drink at work because I’m the type of person who says she’ll have one shot of whiskey and then keep drinking until I’ve had five.
“Quinn!” Marissa, a co-worker and my best friend in Chicago, sets down her empty cup and opens her arms. “Yes! I was hoping you’d stop working and—who is this?”
“This is Archer. My brother’s friend,” I introduce. “Archer, this is Marissa. She works with me.” I shake my head. “Obviously. We’re at work.”
Archer smiles, eyes lingering on me a moment longer than I’d expect from someone who’s only here out of loyalty to their best friend.
“The Archer?” Marissa whisper-talks.
I flash her a you’re-talking-way-too-loud glare and give her the tiniest nod. She hooks her arm through mine.
“Do you have a drink? No, we need to fix that. I’ll bring her back in just a second,” she says to Archer and spins me around. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“I don’t know. Wait, actually I do. He’s in town for some doctor convention. Medical doctors, not Doctor Who doctors.”
We stop at the bar and Marissa gapes at me for a moment. “So what are you going to do about it?”
“About what?”
“Oh, come on, Quinn. You’ve had a giant crush on this guy for years, even if you’re not willing to admit it to yourself. I’ve known you since you started here, and every time you mention the name Archer Jones, you get all googly-eyed.”
“I do not.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. I don’t get googly-eyed when I talk about him. And for the record, I never talk about him.”
“Then how do I know about him?”
The bartender comes over and against my better judgment, I order a cranberry and vodka.
“He’s Dean’s best friend. I know I’ve talked about my brothers before.”
“You have, and I don’t know Logan’s best friend.”
“It’s Owen,” I counter. “Who I’ve talked about.”
Marissa responds with pursed lips. “Owen is your brother too. Weston—I don’t even know his wife’s name.”
“I wish I could forget it too,” I grumble, intense anger surging through me at the mere mention of my sister-in-law. No one has seen her in years, but the anger is still strong.
“That’s not the point here. The point is, you have the hots for this guy. And now he’s here.”
“He’s attractive,” I tell her. “Obviously.”
“Fuck yes. If you’re not interested, I’ll climb all over that. Do I have your blessing to strip him down and put my lips around his cock?”
My left eye twitches.
“See!” Marissa points a manicured nail at my face. “You want him!”
“Keep it down,” I say through gritted teeth, fighting the blood rushing to my cheeks. “I’m attracted to him. I always have been. I’d love to spend the night in his bed, but I’m pretty sure he only sees me as his friend’s sister. I’m probably like a sister to him too.”
“You need to show him you’re not. Go home, get changed into something that shows off your boobs, and make him realize you’re a sexy, successful, totally awesome single lady.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It is easy!” She grabs both our drinks and hands me mine. “Just be you, Quinn Dawson, boss lady extraordinaire. If he doesn’t like you, it’s his loss.”
“I love you, you know that, right?” I bring my straw to my lips and suck down a mouthful of watered-down cranberry juice and way too much vodka.
“You can prove it by taking that hunk of a surgeon back to your place tonight.”
“I’m not making any promises, but he did say he wanted to take me to dinner.”
“Give him a good dessert.” She wiggles her eyebrows and leads me away from the bar.
I suck down another mouthful of my gross drink before tossing it and find Archer standing near a window looking out at the city below.
My heart stops in my chest for a brief moment when I look him over.
“Ready to get out of here?” I ask, not recognizing the woman talking. I don’t say things like this. I don’t go to dinner with a guy I’m wildly attracted to hoping for a one-night stand.
I’m a romantic.
I like tender moments.
Feeling what can only be described as magic.
“Yeah.” Archer’s smile melts my panties right off. “Where do you want to go?”
“Home first,” I say, then panic he thinks I’m insinuating something I’m not. “I’d like to change, and I need to feed my cat.”
Feed my cat? This isn’t the way to show him I’m a sexy, single lady.
“You have a cat?”
“Not just one. Three and a half.”
We start to walk away from the party. “How do you have half a cat?”
“He’s not really mine. I have three cats and am fostering another and I said I wasn’t going to keep him, but I think I might.”
“Oh, that’s nice of you. I miss having pets.”
“I grew up with them. You know that.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I remember. Though I’m a little surprised you w
ent with cats instead of dogs.”
I laugh. “I do love dogs. I’m not home enough to have one. And my mom has enough to give me a dog-fix when I need it. And if you promise not to tell her, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
“You can trust me. I already know about the Batmobile, after all.”
Smiling, I lean in. “I’m more of a cat person than a dog person.”
“You’re risking getting disowned.”
I make a face. “What can I say? I live on the edge.” I make a detour into my office to grab my purse and computer. Archer offers to carry the laptop for me, and I let him take it, even though it’s not heavy at all. The gesture is nice, and not something I see too often anymore.
“Do you drive from your house to work? Or is it as big of a pain to drive around Chicago as they make it seem in the movies?” he asks when we get in the elevators to leave.
“It can be a pain. And I do sometimes. I have a spot in a garage nearby, and a spot at my loft so at least I’m not looking for a place to park. But it can be a headache, so unless it’s really cold, I usually walk. I’m not that far and consider it my work out for the day.”
“Good point. The winters here are brutal, aren’t they?”
“They’re awful and make me question my sanity. It’s not that much worse than at home, though, but being closer to the lake does amplify things.”
We make it a block in silence, but this time the noise of the city is loud enough to drown out the awkwardness. And then we stop at a crosswalk.
“I don’t know if I should say this or not,” Archer starts.
I hike my designer purse up on my shoulder, heart lurching. “Say what?”
“Your secretaries are bitches.”
“Oh, well, I know.”
“You do?” He’s taken aback.
“Yeah. But why do you think so?”
“They casually insulted their boss. I didn’t know it was you or I would have said something.”
I shrug. “Thanks, but no need. They do that from time to time.”
“You’re okay with them talking about you like that?”
“I wouldn’t say I’m okay with it, more so I just don’t care. Rene is vapid and shallow. Charlene is a gold-digger. I knew that when I hired them. But I needed someone to answer the phones and greet people when they walk in, not a humanitarian. And you know what they’re good at? Answering the phones and greeting people when they walk in. It might not be what you want to hear, but I’ve been dealing with girls like that my whole life, and compared to some of them, Rene is harmless.”
“I had no idea. I’m…I’m sorry, Quinn.”
“It’s water under the bridge now. I learned to embrace being the computer nerd years ago. Yeah, girls like Rene threw their fair amount of stones. But you know what I did with those stones? I used them to build a foundation, and not to sound cliché, but look at me now.”
The light changes and I step forward to move with the crowd. Archer stays rooted to the spot, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“Archer?” I say softly as I turn around, and he snaps back, shaking himself. He takes my arm, pulling me into him at the last second to avoid being hit by someone on a bike. I stumble just like I did the last time he pulled me close, with my hands landing on his chest and my eyes going right to his.
This time, there’s no denying the spark that passes between us.
10
Quinn
“So, this is my home,” I say, stepping into the loft. I pull my purse off my shoulder and take my laptop from Archer, setting them on the bench next to my door. I traded my heels for comfortable walking shoes before leaving the office, and kick those off, using my foot to push them under the bench.
Archer takes his shoes off as well and moves close behind me, looking around. A fat orange cat trots over, meowing when he sees us.
“This is Neville.” I pick him up and he instantly starts purring. “The half-cat.”
Smiling, Archer holds out his hand for Neville to sniff. Deciding Archer isn’t a threat, Neville rubs his face on Archer’s fingers. “I can see why you don’t want to give him up.”
“He’s a lover. I wasn’t sure how the other cats would react to him, but they get along fine. The other three are all females and boss this fat guy around.” I walk inside, letting Neville jump out of my arms. “They’re all from the same litter. Someone a few floors down found them in the alley and as soon as I saw them, I couldn’t resist.”
A little voice in my head is yelling at me to stop talking about cats.
“They’re easy to take care of and keep me company.”
Why can’t I stop talking?
“And I don’t have to worry about them throughout the day.”
Neville runs into the kitchen and starts meowing, signaling the others to come join him.
“I always feed them when I get home.”
A dark gray and black tabby winds around my ankles, almost tripping me.
“Bellatrix,” I say, bending over to pick her up. She darts forward, jumping onto the large island counter. The living space in the loft is open, with the living room, kitchen, and dining area all melding together. The entire building was renovated not all that long ago, given a crisp, modern appearance that’s a little bit too contemporary for my liking. My decor is mostly bohemian, and the clash of styles works in a weird way.
It’s home, and I love it.
All too aware of Archer’s eyes on me, I get a can of cat food from the pantry and dish it up, feeling very much like a crazy cat lady as I carry the bowls from the counter to the floor, trying not to trip over the four loudly meowing cats snaking around my feet.
When I turn back around, Archer is standing next to the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, looking out at the city below. He took off his suit jacket and button-up shirt, leaving just his undershirt on. I run my eyes over him, taking in every inch of his tall body. The white fabric of his undershirt is stretched tight over his muscular arms. It’s untucked, hanging unevenly over his belt. I can’t help but notice the nice curve of his ass and the bulge from his cock behind his dress pants.
My lips part and I remember how it felt, just for that short moment, pressed against me as we stood in the kitchen as the storm raged around us. Through his pants, I could tell his cock was big.
His touch was deliberate, meant to get under my skin, but he knew what he was doing. My nerves tingle as I think about it and some of that annoyance comes back. Good. I need to hold onto it, or my resolve will crumble.
Archer runs a hand through his hair, messing it up, and angles his body toward mine. I shift my gaze from his crotch to his face at the last second, but it might have been too late.
“I’m going to get changed. You can watch TV or whatever.” I whirl around and take off so fast I walk right into the counter. Trying to internalize my pain, I press my hand over my hip where it hit the corner and hurry into my room.
I shut my door and lean against it, hand flying to my chest like that will slow my pounding heart. Get it together. Pushing off the door, I pull the hair tie from my ponytail and go into the bathroom, giving myself a hard look-over.
I wear makeup to work most days, nothing crazy, just a little bit of foundation and mascara to make me look put together. I grab my makeup bag and hesitate, not wanting to look like I tried too hard.
This isn’t a date.
Deciding to do my makeup after I agonize about it some more, I plug in my curling iron and quickly run my brush through my hair. While it heats up, I strip out of my clothes and trade my comfy t-shirt bra for an uncomfortable pushup, topping it with a low-cut shirt and tight black pants.
I curl my hair in record time and go with light eyeliner and red lipstick. Just enough to make it look like I tried, but not that I’m trying too hard.
I think?
Maybe?
I roll my eyes at myself and unplug the curling iron. Grabbing a pair of heels, I go back into the l
iving room and find Archer lying on the couch. Neville is curled up on his chest, and Archer’s eyes are shut.
“Archer?” I say quietly. His breathing is slow and rhythmic. He did say he was running on hardly any sleep. Frodo’s voice gets my attention; Archer had turned on Lord of the Rings. Smiling, I pull the blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over Archer.
“Morning, sunshine.”
Archer sits up, blinking. “Shit. I fell asleep.” He stretches his arms up over his head, and the hem of his shirt goes up an inch or so, showing off his fit abdomen. My eyes go right to the little trail of hair leading to his big cock. “How long was I out?”
“The movie isn’t over yet, so not that long.”
“You should have woken me up.”
“Nah.” I wave my hand in the air. “It was much more fun to draw all over your face in Sharpie while you were sleeping.”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly. “You wouldn’t.”
I lean in. “Oh, I would. But I didn’t. Not this time. You looked a little too helpless. I knew you were tired.”
“I’d say I’m surprised I fell asleep, but I’m not.”
“That’s why I didn’t want to wake you up. I haven’t worked a hundred-hour week at the office, but I’ve pulled some long nights and know how awful it is when you’re running on no sleep.”
“I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s good for you. We can order takeout and you can go back to sleep if you want.”
“And stay the night here?”
“Don’t get any ideas, Dr. Jones. Your ass will be sleeping on the couch again.”
“The couch? This place is too big to only have one bedroom.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean you can sleep in it.”
He rolls his neck. “You’d really make me sleep on the couch over a comfortable bed?”
“No, I wouldn’t. But I don’t have another comfy bed. The second bedroom is set up—”
“For the cats?” His perfect lips curve into a smartass smirk.
“As a home office.” I cross my arms, wondering if I’d be able to slip the cat-tree into the closet before he walks past. I twirl a curl around my finger. “Want me to order Chinese?”
Dawson Family Boxset (Books 1-3) Page 8