Page 34 of The Sounds of Her
“This is good stuff,” I remark after taking another sip of the tequila.
“Probably cost about a grand a bottle. Keep chugging.”
My eyes widen. I enjoy the finer things in life and Adam has already paid for all of this, but I’ve been drinking this stuff like its water.
“I’m kidding,” Archer laughs as he takes another swallow of his drink.
His is straight, mine has ice and a slice of lime. I’m on my second glass and have a pleasant buzz going on. It’s doing nothing to help me forget or make me tired. Two things I’d been hoping for.
Archer is sprawled on one of the pale blue couches, an elbow resting on the arm, the other cradling his glass against his thigh. The condensation from the cool glass has dripped down, leaving a wet patch on the grey fabric, and my eyes keep going to it.
His legs are spread wide, the way guys do, and his bare feet have sand on them. I don’t know if he’s had time to soak up the sun already. His legs are tan with a dusting of fair hair over them. He has manly legs.
Woah, weird thought. I draw my eyes from his legs. Doesn’t help though, I’m immediately drawn to his chest and flat stomach. He is wearing a tight white t-shirt that shows off his arms.
God dammit, stop. I’m not here to ogle the rockstars.
“You gonna tell me what’s got you so wound up?”
“Hello, seventeen hours of travelling,” I tell him, fighting to keep the flush off my face, I’ll blame it on the alcohol.
He isn’t buying my excuse. He sips more of his drink, eyeing me over the top of the glass. There is an amused yet curious look in his eyes.
“You seriously gonna go with it’s the travelling,” Archer interrupts my thoughts. “Pulling that face,” he lifts his forefinger off the glass and points it at me.
“Do you really want to hear all about my problems, Archer?”
“You invited me in here. Do you want to tell me, Brooke?”
Do I? Is Archer the right person to talk about this with? I’m good at compartmentalizing my shit, but this is big. It’s trying to burst through my skin, the word vomit flowing up my throat. I bite my tongue. It’s too fucking awful to admit.
I finish my drink. Archer leans forward and picks up the bottle, lifting it in question.
Fuck it. I hold out the glass and he pours until it’s half full. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Not my style,” he shrugs.
“No, you’re beating them off with a stick, right?” I laugh. It’s brittle though, my mind wandering to unwelcome thoughts of the woman at the nightclub. I left that night not knowing if he took things further with whoever she was.
Archer Harris doesn’t have to do anything to get a woman in his bed. Fuck my eyes for slanting in the bed's direction.
“Yeah, that’s my life,” he mutters. When I look up, whatever I see cross his face, disappears, and he grins. “Come on, are you telling me Brooke Hannon can’t get any man she wants?”
I lower my eyes to the glass in my hand, twisting it so the liquid swirls inside, all the ice is gone, the lime is sad and limp at the bottom.
“Too busy. Besides, I’ve been assisting a partner at my firm on divorce cases. You wouldn’t believe how high the rates of divorce are, makes me wonder why anyone bothers.”
“That’s depressing.” He finishes his drink and sets the glass down next to the bottle.
I hum. “Doesn’t instil me with confidence where relationships are concerned.”
“So you don’t want to get married?”
“I don’t know, can’t see it,” I say, my hand clenching around the glass. And not to a man my parents handpicked for me, like it’s the eighteenth century or some shit.
“What about this wedding?”
“Adam and Jenna,” I lean forward and pick up the bottle, topping off his glass again. Archer doesn’t stop me, but he doesn’t pick up the glass either. “Are unicorns. They’ll be together even after they’re dead.”