But what if I’m wrong and Hartman is right?
What if how Archer feels isn’t just him playing games?
Other than when we’ve been out recently, the man hardly even looks in my direction. We haven’t touched for any length of time since the park, and never when we’re not out in public. Up until this last week after he confronted me about my side of things, I’d been sticking around more, finding peace in just being in his home no matter how elusive he had been.
I shake my head to clear it of those thoughts. There’s absolutely nothing I can do about it right now.
All I can do is watch Davien and Archer as they have brunch on the patio of a popular restaurant downtown. No one seems to be paying them any mind, but I stick close just in case he needs me. Eventually, he’s going to tell me I’m no longer needed, and I hate the way that sits in my gut like a lead weight.
They spend hours chatting and laughing. I don’t know if Archer doesn’t know I’m here, just doesn’t care, or is purposefully trying to hurt me by not looking in my direction.
Having enough of watching them, I crank the SUV, roll up the window, and drive away.
Three hours and just as many beers later, I’m sitting on my couch when there’s a knock at the door. I ignore it at first because anyone who comes over unannounced these days has to be a psycho, but then the knock turns into pounding, making it impossible to hear the western on the television.
I stand, crossing the room to the door as I drain the last of my beer.
Archer barrels into my condo the second the door is open wide enough, waving his phone in my face.
I grab his hand, steadying it so I can read what’s on the screen.
“Trouble in Paradise? How Long before Archer Bremen Spins Out of Control?”
“You can’t blame me for what the tabloids print.”
“Did you see this?” he snaps, using a finger to make the article scroll.
I frown at the picture of Davien and Archer laughing like they don’t have a care in the world.
“I don’t have to see it on your phone. I witnessed it in person.”
He doesn’t flinch or say he didn’t know I was there, and it makes me wonder if he’s just as aware of my presence when I’m around as I am of him.
“This is the problem,” he hisses, scrolling a little more to a picture of me in my SUV.
I’m leaning close to the windshield, eyes narrow, mouth set in a hard scowl.
He turns the phone back toward himself before he starts to read.
“Is playboy Brooks Morgan done with fallen rock star Archer Bremen or was it a hoax all along?”
My heart starts to pound.
“And why the fuck do you look so goddamned jealous in this picture?”
He spins it back around and shoves it in my face, too close for me to even see it clearly.
“I’m not jealous. I was hungry.”
What a crock of shit.
“You just sat there for hours like a damn creep.”
“I’ve been hired to protect your image as much as your safety,” I remind him.
“This kind of shit doesn’t help my image.”
“I wasn’t invited to brunch,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Yesterday, there was a nice article about us, and I thought things would get better. Today, this shit happens. Are they just waiting for me to fall on my fucking face? Fuck, I just need to leave.”
I grab him before he can slide out of the open door, wrapping my arms around him. He’s got a wildness in his eyes that if he feeds into it, he will end up doing exactly what the tabloids are predicting.
“Relax,” I whisper in his ear.
His body is tight, filled with tension because he’s so upset. I can think of a couple of things that will help him calm down, but—
“Let’s go,” I say, opening the door and pulling him into the hallway.
Staying in there alone with him is much too dangerous.
I call the elevator.
“Kicking me out, and yet still escorting me downstairs? Kind of chivalrous and assholish all at the same time,” he mutters.
“I’m not kicking you out.”
The elevator dings its arrival, and we step on. We only move one floor down before the doors open again. The woman’s eyes go wide when she sees him, and it makes me pull him even closer.
Archer smacks my chest, pointing at her phone when she turns her back to us. The very same fucking article he was just freaking out about is on her screen. He looks seconds away from grabbing the thing out of her hand and stomping on it.
“Come here, baby,” I say, tugging him to my chest.
Without thinking of any repercussions, I drop my mouth to his.