Page 104 of Three Reckless Words

Was his ex really that awful?

Not that he’d be alone in the terrible exes department. Holden Corban could probably give her a run for the money any day, but if she’s such a monster, why is he even keeping her around? Yes, I know there’s all sorts of legalities with trying to separate a boy from his mother, but still…

I don’t know the nitty gritty details, I guess.

My parents should’ve gotten divorced years ago, but they stayed together for money and image. I can’t remember the lasttime they showed each other any affection that wasn’t staged for a photo op.

“I’ll think about it,” Archer says after a moment. “But I should talk to your mother first, okay?”

“Okay.” Colt beams and runs off while Archer stares at his plate, lost in stormy thoughts—and from the look on his face, none of them are good.

It’s late.

Almost midnight, according to my phone, and the house is dead quiet except for the distant thump and laughter of Colt and Evans still gaming. Briana left a few hours ago, saved from any new drama erupting with two teenage boys on a summer night.

Understandable, since I think they both have a crush on her.

I pad across the almost-silent landing, my robe wrapped tight and my hair tied in a messy bun, ready for bed. It’s almost automatic where I’m going.

Same for where I finally come to a stop.

Really, I shouldn’t be here, standing in front of Archer’s bedroom door for the second time today.

The sensible thing to do would be to walk away.

Just go back to bed in the softest robe ever and sleep.

He loaned me one he had left over from a spare box in storage, surplus robes for men and women from their properties, all embroidered with the Higher Ends logo.

I wish it made me saner than I feel.

I wish it stopped me.

But the heavenly robe can’t control my hand when it moves.

I knock.

Gently at first. Then with more force when he doesn’t respond.

I wait, heart beating in my throat, but there’s nothing. No response to suggest he isn’t asleep.

Honestly, that’s fine.

I’m the clueless idiot disturbing him.

I should know better, considering the disaster of the past kisses, yet here I am, rocking up to his bedroom door like Iwantsomething to happen tonight.

My toes are probably white from being scrunched inward by now.

I count ten seconds before I turn, ready to race back to my room like the startled mouse I am and lick my metaphorical wounds. But just as I turn my back, I hear the door click.

“Winnie?”

I swivel around. My jaw drops when I see him.

Effing magnificent.

That’s the only way to describe Archer Rory in his tight green army tee and athletic shorts that leave little—yet still too much—to the imagination. My eyes flick to the bulge underneath the valley of his abs for the slightest second.

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