“Turned my crank?”
I smirk. “Sorry. These older phrases just slip out sometimes.”
He smiles at me and grabs one of his tacos again. “My grandma used to use that phrase.”
“She did?”
He nods, a fond smile on his lips. “She also used to say, ‘son of a biscuit-eating bulldog!’ When she was mad but refused to curse in front of me.”
I laugh along with him and force my gaze to his eyes, not allowing them to linger on his lips and how perfectly shaped they are or wonder how they would feel pressed against mine for more than a chaste kiss. “Didn’t like cursing, huh?”
“Oh no, she did. She just never wanted to do that in front of me. She was sure it would rub off, and I’d be cursing like a sailor.”
I raise my brow. “She knew what school we went to, right?”
“I’m pretty sure she ignored what influences I was around. She thought of you and Enzo as my only friends and knew your mother wouldn’t allow you two to step out of line, therefore keeping me in check.” He chuckles and I take a minute to think about this, recalling Archer being quite popular in high school.
“You had tons of friends in school.”
He shrugs. “None that really mattered. I only hung out with Enzo outside of school.” He gives me a pointed look and I return my gaze to my plate, scooping up a forkful of rice. “And you, when you gave me the time of day.”
I don’t look up at him, just continue to shovel food into my mouth.
“Viv.” His voice cuts right to me, and I sigh, letting my eyes go back to his. “Why did you cut me out?”
“I didn’t.” I shrug, deflecting.
“Yes, you did. Right after that shithead Marcus made fun of you, you stopped talking to me.” Try as I might, I can’t ignore the hurt in his voice.
“That’s not true,” I deny, weaving my way through this conversation. I knew it would happen one way or another but I had hoped to avoid it for as long as possible.
“Okay, fine. At your mom’s house, yeah, you would say hi. But whenever I would try to talk about books or movies or invite you out with Enzo and me, you would decline.”
I sigh and give him a look. “Archie, you were only friends with me because I was Enzo’s little sister.”
A deep scowl darkens his features and I sit back in my chair. Guilt curdling in my stomach. “That’s not fucking true, and you know it.”
“Archer—”
“If anything, I was friends with Enzo because I wanted to be friends with you.”
His words completely stun me, and I gape at him. “What?”
“You heard me.” The normal shy, reserved look I expect from him is long gone, in its place is a determined and matter-of-fact-looking Archer who’s about to lay down the law.
I pretend it doesn’t affect me.
“In high school, you were the only one in my world that understood my love for books, for finding an escape from the social norms. Yes, I hung out with Enzo, because he’s a good person. He’s always been nice to me. But I wanted to be friends with you—Iwasfriends with you, at least until you hung me out to dry.”
“Archer.” My voice is soft and I feel tears prick the back of my eyes. “I had no idea.”
“Well, now you do,” he retorts and sighs, resting his arms on the table, our food long forgotten. “You did see how I jumped at an opportunity to spend time with you again, didn’t you?” I nod, and he continues. “I want my best friend back. I’m tired of tiptoeing around you and wondering if I’m crossing some imaginary line that you drew.”
I swallow and blink, feeling a tear slide down my cheek. He tracks it with his eyes and sighs softly.
“I’m not trying to upset you.”
“You’re not,” I reply, wiping my tears away. Before we can say anymore, the waitress comes with the check.