Page 9 of Shots Fired

She eyes me carefully before continuing. “You know that my parents broke up a while back, and it sucks. Even when you’re older and you know it’s the right thing, it still hurts. Big time.”

When Darcy was sixteen, her parents—Felicity and Elliott—divorced. From what Jack told me, it was way overdue.

Similar to Felicity and Elliott, my parents—Julia and Karl—should’ve split years before they actually did. My younger sister, Emma, didn’t want it to happen, but I was okay with it—and that’s where I differ from my sister. I’m relieved that when I next travel home to Philly, it won’t be to a constant war. My parents are good people, and they deserve to find peace. Especially my mom.

I take a couple of steps toward her until I’m only a few feet away. I should probably throw on a shirt, but I’m past caring. “It wasn’t anything to do with my parents, Darce.”

She pins her bottom lip between her teeth. Part of me hopes she’ll push me further and ask what was really up, but the second she skirts around my attraction to her, I’ll be powerless to prevent my mouth from confessing how I feel—or my lips from kissing her.

As if sensing the tension, Darcy slaps a palm against the countertop and slides off the stool. She picks up her coffee—which must be barely warm at this point—and smiles sweetly at me, tossing her tote over one shoulder.

Don’t leave.

I move quickly until I’m standing opposite her, and she looks up, big pools of blue inviting me to dive right in.

“What do you think of the coffee?” she asks, raising the cup a little.

I shake my head, not expecting that question. This girl is off the wall, and I love it. Darcy Thompson stokes the crazy within me.

“It’s … nice. Why?”

She giggles softly. The same sound I’ve imagined her making on a night out as I hold her hand and show her everything New York has to offer, free from the risk of being seen.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just from Rise Up—Jack and Kendra’s favorite café a few blocks away from here.” She reaches up on her tiptoes, a mischievous pink flushing her cheeks.

This girl is like a doll; every part of her body and face is perfectly proportioned—something you have to see to believe it isn’t manufactured.

“Although I still think the coffee I used to get from this little café back in Oxford is better. I’m not sure this is made from Arabica beans, possibly Robusta beans.”

“Is that so, Miss Thompson?” I jest. “Do you consider yourself a coffee connoisseur?”

Another bubble of laughter leaves her chest, and now I’m thinking about how I could draw similar sounds from her in my bed, right after we finished our date night.

“Nope. I just enjoy proving my brother wrong.”

It would be so easy. All I need to do is reach out and take her hand in mine before I ask her to spend the day with me. I could pass it off as friends enjoying time together because I know that’s how she sees me.

“Do you like defying your older brother?”

The flirtation in my voice is unmistakable, but she doesn’t react to it, and I fight with my frustration.

Surely, she knows I’m into her.

She falls back onto her heels, still smiling brightly. “I’m not sure I like your question, Archer. It insinuates I’ve, at some point, let Jack call the shots over me, and that’s never been the case. Do I let him think he’s in charge sometimes? Of course. But I’m always in control and nearly always right.

I can’t help but grin. Jesus, she’s something else. Confidence oozes from her, but not in the cocky way. Darcy’s self-assured and comfortable with it.

“That’s good to hear,” I say, knowing I need to change up the direction of our conversation—and fast. “I’d say your brother is clueless when it comes to a lot of things.”

A crimson flush deepens her cheeks further, almost like she can read my thoughts. Maybe she can since they’re so loud that I feel like I’m screaming them.

Regardless, she doesn’t falter under the crushing tension as I continue to build it between us.

“Enjoy the rest of your coffee, Archer.” She delivers her final line and spins around, making for my hallway.

I’m after her like a dog in fucking heat. “Thanks again for returning my card,” I blurt out, just as I hear the ringtone I set for Sawyer filter from my bedroom.

He’s probably calling to find out what the fuck happened last night.

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