Page 20 of Comeback
I finally get a good look at the tattoo on his left arm. It’s all black ink work, objects drawn amidst a floral scene. Gorgeous. Just like the rest of his body.
We’re frozen. Neither of us seems to know how to get out of this situation gracefully. Is there a way?
“I can’t decide if this is more or less embarrassing than if you were Brogan,” I say, breathlessly but suddenly wide awake.
I step backward and look up slightly into his face. His hair sticks up like he ran the towel through it and his lashes are wet and darker, making his hazel eyes look brighter.
His expression is pinched, studying me carefully. “I know you said something, but I didn’t catch it.”
My gaze travels to the side of his face. His hair usually covers most of the hearing aids he wears on both ears, but with his hair messy, I can see he doesn’t have them in now.
“Nothing,”I say, and sign the word and add,“Sorry.”
He waits like he’s unsure if I’ll say more, then nods and steps around me.
Archer Holland is everywhere, and my nervous system is struggling to process every little interaction with him.
His music shaking the walls. His scent filling the bathroom. And now the image of him shirtless burning into my brain.
By the time I get out of the shower, I am significantly less frazzled. I get dressed and head out to the kitchen. Brogan sits at one of the stools next to London. She’s showing him something on the laptop and he has one arm on her back, rubbing small circles as she talks.
Archer looks up from the stove. We make eye contact, and I feel my cheeks flush. I need to get a freaking grip. I touched his pecs not his penis.
That said—his pecs were pretty incredible.
“Good morning,” I say, then drop my gaze and head over to the coffee pot.
“Morning.” Brogan looks up from London’s laptop. She does as well, giving me the same greeting.
“Is this coffee up for grabs?” I point to the half-empty carafe.
Brogan and London both look to Archer.
Brogan makes the sign for coffee.
“Help yourself,” Archer says to me. He’s wearing his hearing aids now. I can just see the one on the right through his dry, messy hair.
I pour myself a small cup, back to feeling awkward until Brogan leans his elbows on the counter and smiles at me. “Why are you all dressed up?”
“I’m meeting a realtor to look at some possible spaces for my studio.”
My brother’s smile widens. “That’s so cool. What ages are you thinking about teaching?”
“I’ve taught everything from mommy and me classes to adult tap lessons. I think I want my studio to focus on younger dancers, though. A fun, noncompetitive environment. There are already a bunch of studios here that have successful competitive dance teams so I’m not sure there’s a market for that and it’s a lot of pressure.”
“I’ll bet,” London says. “I watched every episode ofDance Moms. I’d never survive. Some adult classes would be fun though. I did jazz and ballet for a very short time. I remember enjoying it, even though I was basically a safety hazard with how uncoordinated I am.”
Brogan chuckles and kisses her temple.
My brain is overflowing with ideas, and I add adult classes as another one to ponder.
“Anything I can do to help?” Brogan asks. “I don’t have to be at the stadium until after noon. Do you want me to come with you to look at the spaces?”
“That’s so nice,” I say. “But my friend Olivia is going to come with me.”
The flash of disappointment that crosses his face makes me feel bad for not asking him. I honestly didn’t think that was something that he would be interested in, but I’m learning with Brogan, there’s really nothing that doesn’t interest him and he’s trying hard to be in my life.
“Next time,” I say, and his easy smile returns.
