“Same old story, right?” I heave a sigh. “Overlooked by men. Undermined by the people in charge.” I glance at her bedroom door and lower my voice. “Forced to sleep with the floor manager when you want the guy who owns the place.”
“I do not want Julio!” Her cheeks turn pinker. She’s pretty when she lies. She flaps one hand in front of her face to change the subject. “Anyway, this isn’t about me. I need details. Put on your clothes.”
“I just gave you details,” I tell her as she twists the doorknob on her bedroom door and calls Webber’s name. “Plus, Archer and I are a little busy.”
“Uh-uh.” She wags a finger at me. “This is important. I need to hear every detail of what happened today, and then we are going to sue that rat bastard for harassment. We’ll take your job back, Tal, don’t worry.”
“I don’t think I want my job back.” It’s a conclusion I’ve been coming to slowly over the course of today. The idea of seeing either of those men—let alone begging for my menial position back—fills me with dread.
“Well, you at least deserve compensation for having to deal with their crap.”
Her bedroom door pops open, and there stands Webber in all his plain, khakied glory. He glances at me, eyebrows winging upward before taking in Calista. His blue polo shirt with the restaurant’s logo embroidered over his heart is untucked and hanging over the front of his pants. Yeah, our boy was hoping for a lot more than he’s going to get tonight.
“Sorry, Webber. We’re going to have to postpone.” Calista’s voice is soft and oddly enough, she sounds sincere. I’m genuinely surprised she’s asking him to leave. She rarely (ever?) brings guys home, and Webber is the first since we’ve moved into this apartment. She could wait until morning to find out the scoop on my day. She doesn’t have to send blond-haired, medium-framed Webber packing. Unless the point of bringing him home was a big F-you to Julio.
Intriguing.
“Is everything okay?” Webber’s gaze flits to me, his expression looking very not-okay. I’m grateful I had the foresight to hide my lower half behind the door. Archer’s shirt sits high on my legs, and I’d rather not flash Webber my bare thighs since we’re not remotely acquainted.
“Yes,” I say at the same time Calista says, “No.”
She glares at me and then addresses Webber once again. “My sister had some trouble at work and she needs me. Raincheck?”
He exhales, his shoulders slumping. He doesn’t bother hiding his vast disappointment when he leans close to her and mutters, “I thought we were going to—”
“Another time,” she chirps, dragging him by the arm out of her bedroom. In my head, I make up another story about how he’s been pining for my sister who only has eyes for Julio. Webber finally girded his loins and asked her out, believing until this second he’d won her over. Now she’s kicking him out before they get to the good stuff.
Love unrequited. What a tragedy.
Calista walks with Webber, who is tucking in his shirt as he shuffles across the living room. Archer, shirtless, muscled, and carrying a black carry-on-sized suitcase, opens the front door and dips his head to Webber, a silent hello. Or maybe condolences. It’s hard to say in this case. He sidles by Calista and leaves them to their awkward goodbyes and then pushes his way into my bedroom.
“She’s making him leave,” I explain needlessly as I close the door.
He drops his suitcase on the bed and unzips the outside pockets, doing a quick search for you-know-what. “She can do better.”
He flips open the top next, checking a netted section, and then pulls out a brown leather toiletries bag. He unearths a beard trimmer, deodorant, and a few other personal items before he strikes gold. Literally. Scissored between two fingers is a shiny gold foil packet.
“One more shot tonight, Wildflower.”
I take the condom, breaking the news as gently as I can. “She’s making him go because she wants the lowdown on what happened today. She’s not going to leave us alone until I talk to her.”
A swift knock comes next, followed by my sister’s raised voice. “Don’t get naked yet. I need answers! You too, Archer Owen. Put on your clothes and strut your fine ass out here.”
I groan and regard the ceiling as Archer repacks his toiletries. He cups my waist and leans down, covering my lips with a soft kiss. I repeat my sister’s sentiment to Webber, only when I say it to Archer, I mean it.
“Raincheck?” I offer him the condom.
“Tuck that into your nightstand. After you satisfy your sister with answers, I’ll take care of satisfying you.”
The next morning,my eyes flutter open at the usual time. 7:25 a.m. The morning sunrise is filtering in through the partially open blinds. I never closed them. After we joined my sister at the kitchen table for an interrogation that would have impressed the KGB, we went to bed. Lis, to her room sans Webber, who she’d kicked out for reasons I couldn’t make her admit, and Archer and I to my bedroom. He talked me into one final round of sex, which didn’t require any talking, and by the time I collapsed under the weight of my second (or was it third?) orgasm that round, I passed out cold.
Lying on my right side, hands in prayer pose under my right cheek, I watch him sleep. He’s facing me, his long, dark eyelashes shadowing his cheeks. His mouth is at rest, neither smiling nor pulled into a taut line.
He has a handsome face, with the tiniest, shallow scar high on his right cheekbone. I never noticed it before, and maybe it’s because the sunshine is hitting it just the right way that I notice it now. His breathing is deep and peaceful, one arm wedged beneath the pillow under his head, the other resting on the bed. I admire his long, strong fingers. The way his skin is tanned like mine, but a different tone than my own. Unable to stop myself, I touch his forearm, stroking the dark hair there. He’s nothing short of yummy while fast asleep on my pale blue floral bedding.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he’s a deep sleeper and not an early riser. One would assume a guy who opens the hottest nightclubs in the Midwest and on the East Coast wouldn’t be a member of the five-a.m. club. Or maybe he’s normally driven to rise at an early hour but yesterday’s activities—and I don’t only mean the sex—tuckered him out. I have the idea he needed a release as badly as I did.
After dating Brandon, who treated me like a new piece of furniture in his condominium, being needed is foreign and not as unpleasant as I would have guessed. Dangerous thoughts to have the morning after the best sex I’ve ever had.