Page 79 of Making the Cut

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I’d gotten it nearly done when I’d rushed into my room and finished getting ready, though I wouldn’t have been opposed if Archer got here early and saw me in just a robe either. The last time that happened, I’d had the best shower sex of my life.

Truth be told, we hadn’t done much of that in the last week, but I chalked it up to him being exhausted. I don’t blame him.

Which was why I was making this elaborate—for me—meal and hoping that I could entice him a little with food and wine and maybe some bedroom time. After we finally established what we were.

That had been about an hour ago when I’d finished getting ready and the food was ready.

I called and got no answer.

I was mad because I knew his phone was glued to his hip at all times of the day, so him not answering for me when he was working when he answered for work when he was with me, was a final push of a button I didn’t know I had.

I was pissed.

Here I was in a nice dress, wearing heels for fuck’s sake, and had a hot meal on the stove and he couldn’t even bother to call, or text, or… anything.

I put the lid on the food, kick off my heels and grab the already open and airing bottle of wine and head to my little balcony porch, the one where I would normally watch Archer run from when he would run. Come to think of it, he wasn’t running much anymore, either.

He put work first, which was great and more people should, but he put it first one hundred percent of the time. Was that really the life he wanted? To work, work, work and never make time for other things?

I’m not even thinking about me in that scenario—though I would love it if he would stop bailing on dates—but he used to run and work out with Warren. He’d go to Enzo’s restaurant or be there for him when he was trying new recipes. He hasn’t joined a game night in three weeks.

It was… not him.

The clock pushes nine, then half past when he finally opens the door. I can see him from my spot on the balcony and watch him shuffle in, his head hanging low, phone in hand. I roll my eyes, half-drunk on wine and frustrated at that stupid freaking phone.

“Viv!” He calls out, not looking up yet. I sit back and wait for him to take it all in.

I’m feeling feisty, so let him see all the hard work I put in and feel bad about it.

But… he never looks up. He strolls right past the set table with the candles glowing and the present I’d picked up for him on a whim—a new watch, which was very ironic now—and heads into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge and guzzling half.

He walks out of the kitchen and down the hall to my room. “Baby.” I hear him call out and my insides melt a little.

How long did I wait for Archer Moore to call me baby? I daydreamed about it in high school, now it was happening, and… yeah, it still got to me.

Finally, he comes out of the hallway and looks around. His shoulders slump and he sighs. “Fuck.” I think I heard him say.

Fuck indeed.

“I’m out here,” I finally tell him, but I can hear the sadness in my tone.

He comes over and steps out onto the balcony, and I take a look at him. He looks so freaking tired that the fight drains out of me.

“Are you okay?” I ask first, knowing a number of things could have happened to him tonight, keeping him away.

“Yeah.” He swallows and then kneels in front of me unexpectedly. “Viv, fuck, I don’t even know what to say.”

“I don’t think sorry works anymore,” I say, surprising us both. But… I’m tired. I thought that this was it, that he was it… but now I’m not so sure.

“I…” He hangs his head, and I ask, “Where were you tonight?”

When he looks back at me, his eyes are full of sorrow. “I tried to text you, but I just saw it wasn’t delivered. I went out for a drink with Henry Blake. He showed up unexpectedly, and I didn’t know how to say no.”

I shrug and say a little sarcastically. “How about you just… say no?”

“He’s my boss, Viv.”

“Yes, he is.” I nod. “And if Cyrus or even Lillian said, hey, let’s grab a drink, I would respond with, sorry, another time, I have plans with my—” I cut myself off and laugh. “Well, I guess I get your point because I don’t even know what I’d call you.”


Tags: J.S. Wood Romance