Page 23 of Archer
“Me being a virgin?”
“Yeah, that,” he said. “There’s… there’s nothing wrong with you. At all. Seriously, power to you for saying you want to wait, that’s… uncommon, yes, but it’s great.”
“Great?” I raised my brow skeptically.
“Yeah, you know, not many girls show that much… um…” He was really bad at explaining himself. “I’m not sure what the word is, but you know what you want, and you don’t settle for less. Whoever you end up deciding is worth giving it up is going to be a really lucky guy.”
“Oh,” I said, pausing with my coffee at my lips for a second before sipping it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, finally splashing some milk into his mug. “So… are we good, then?”
I pondered for a minute wondering what that meant exactly. Before getting drunk for the first time in his living room, we were never “good”. But before the virginity topic came up, we were having a fun time. It wouldn’t be the worst thing, being in good company while being trapped there regardless. “I think so.”
“Good. I’m glad.” Genuine relief shone through his face before he glanced at the door. He appeared to be in deep thought for a minute before turning back to me. “Hey, I’ve uh… I’ve been kind of leaving during the day to give you your space, but I’ve gotta be honest, I’m hungover as shit.”
I laughed, throwing my face into my hands. “Me too. This is horrible.”
“Mind if I just hang out here today? I’m drained and could use a day of lying on the couch, watching TV.”
“Wait,” I said, realizing his comment. “You’ve been leaving all day to leave me alone? Weren’t you out working?”
“Well, yeah, sometimes,” he said. “But it’s not like bikers work a nine to five job. Half the time I’d be out riding, praying to God I’d see someone getting up to trouble, and the other half I’ve been hanging out at our clubhouse, driving Evelyn insane because I keep talking about how bored I am.”
“Really?” My eyes widened and I pulled my hand to my chest, touched by him making such an inconvenient gesture. “Oh my god, yeah, stay here. Hang out, watch TV. It’s your house.” Then, I looked away from his blue eyes as I said, “Thank you. I didn’t expect that from you. You really didn’t need to.”
“Yeah, well, don’t think I’m too much of a hero,” he said. “You were screaming at me most of the time, so it wasn’t that comfortable being here.”
I giggled as I stood up from the stool and stretched my arms above my head, yawning loudly. “I’m tired. And my head hurts. I’m going to nap.” As I walked past him and down the hallway, I said, “Enjoy watching TV.”
Behind me I heard him say, “Have a good nap.”
Ensuring the door was closed behind me this time, I crawled into the large bed and pulled the large, soft, black blanket around my neck. For the first time since I was at Archer’s, I felt comfortable.
Chapter Thirteen
Archer
A few hours later, after a long, much-needed shower, I was sprawled out on the couch, watching a James Bond movie with a bowl of popcorn in front of me. No matter how hard I tried to be captivated by that film’s Bond Girl prancing around in her bikini, my mind kept wandering back to Rose, legs spread open, on her bed, touching herself.
While in the shower, it took everything I had not to jack off to the mental photograph. All day, I’d been fighting off my morning wood, and now that the guilt was wearing off, it was much harder to distract myself. Still, it felt wrong to get off to her, knowing how upset and embarrassed she was by it. I’d just have to find some woman once the hangover wore off to get my mind off of her.
Until then, Denise Richards in a tiny string bikini, doing dramatic hair flips, would have to do the trick. Somehow, Rose’s eyes captivated me even more than the superstar’s did, and I resigned to the fact that I’d be sexually frustrated all day.
Suddenly, Rose’s bedroom door opened.Goddammit.Peeking over the couch, I watched her walk into the bathroom, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was even messier than before, resembling a woodsy nest of some sort in the back. Sometime after we talked, she changed into a plain white tank top that was more revealing than anything she wore before, except it was thankfully covered by the same baggy unzipped black sweater. There was no way I could handle her walking around without that sweater on after that morning. Soon, I heard the bathroom door close and I sighed with relief.
Surely, she was just making a quick bathroom break before returning to her nap. It was her first hangover after all; she was a rookie.
Gunshots on the TV caught my attention again, and I grabbed another handful of popcorn. Chewing on the puffy, salty treat I hadn’t indulged in for months, I relaxed back into the sofa. When the bathroom door creaked open, I tried not to worry, convinced I’d hear her bedroom door close again in seconds.
“Ugh, how long do hangovers last?”
Fuck.
“Uh, sleep is the best cure,” I said. “I’d recommend just… going back to bed.”
“I can’t sleep anymore,” she said. “Mind if I have some more coffee?”
“Mmm,” I said as I pulled my eyes away from the boring Denise Richards to glance over the sofa to watch her long, ivory legs glide toward the coffee pot. “Help yourself.” Trying to find entertainment in the movie again, I forced my gaze back to the action sequence. With Rose in the same room as me, I felt my heart race, the same frustration creeping up that I felt in the shower.
