9. Archer

T he cold temperature does nothing to take away the burn of watching Daemon Forbes walk away from me once again. He fled the basement faster than I have ever seen him move, and I wasn’t the only one to notice. Alexander made some baseless joke that I had to fight my tongue to defend him against, and Jake’s girlfriend looked beyond concerned, yet it was the gentle touch on my arm from Hallie that rattled me most. She looked both embarrassed and worried by the whole situation, and I had to force the mouth that had just kissed her into one of my signature smiles, just to ensure she knew everything between us was okay.

Yet she isn’t the one I’m concerned about. No, my concern lies with the one who ran from me like his fucking ass was on fire. I mean, what the fuck is his problem? I’m not the one who came up with the stupid fucking dare, and why does he even care anyway? What got him so fucking pissed off?

So many questions that had me downing half of a bottle of liquor just to drown them out, and when Hallie said she was ready to leave, I jumped at the chance to walk her home. I wanted to leave that room and forget what had happened there, but now the silence is making everything worse. Hallie is quiet by my side, no doubt sensing my fucking internal breakdown. I’m not exactly hiding it, yet all I can do is lead the way back to her house.

I tell myself I’m quiet because I’m keeping an eye on our dark surroundings, given the late hour, but it’s fucking bullshit. The only thing running through my mind is my fucking teammate.

Once we reach the end of Hallie’s street, I feel her eyes on me again, before she gently asks, “Arch, is everything okay?”

Her question has me feeling like a piece of shit, because she probably thinks my fucking spiral is all about her, and I can’t even look at her as we walk toward her house, and I respond, “Yeah, Hals, everything is fine.”

A scoff leaves her before I have even finished that last word, and when I glance sideways, I meet her glare. “Fine?” she asks with a laugh. “Come on, Archer, even someone like me knows what that fucking word means,” she huffs, and I frown in wonder. Someone like her, what the fuck does that mean? Before I can answer she rushes out, “Are things going to be awkward between us now?” Her voice is lower now, more timid, and fuck I feel like a prick for making her think this is about her.

“Hallie, things are not awkward, it was just a kiss in a stupid game,” I sigh, wondering if that’s the correct approach. I’m not exactly used to talking things out with girls, my experience is beyond limited. “Is it too predictable to say it’s not you, it’s me?” I add, meeting her stare with my own, hoping she can see the truth in them, and thankfully she nods.

“You know we’re friends right? You can talk to me about anything,” she says, and the funny thing is, I know she is right.

We are friends, she is one of very few people I consider to be a true friend, and not just someone who wants to associate with me because of hockey, still I can’t find a way to explain what is going on inside of my head. I’m not even sure I know myself, and the alcohol running through my veins is doing nothing to help.

“I know, Hals, thank you,” I say solemnly, as I lead her to her front door, and I know she can tell that I’m not ready to say anything else. So instead she just nods, and turns to unlock her door.

Only once she slips through the door and turns on the light, do I turn and take one last check of our surroundings, before I make my way back down her path to the street.

“Archer?” she calls out to my back, and I turn towards her, tilting my head. “I’m sure all the other girls think you are great and everything, but please don’t kiss me ever again,” she pleads, and I can’t help but bark a laugh at the seriousness of her tone.

“Totally weird, right?” I ask, and she nods wildly, with a smile that’s infectious.

“Like kissing a sibling, or like an animal or something,” she responds with the slight curling of her lip.

“Okay,” I drag out, cutting her off before she ruins my ego completely. “Just get in the house and lock the door before all those other girls hear you,” I tell her with a smirk, and she rolls her eyes.

“Goodnight, Gray,” she sings, moving to close the door.

“Goodnight, Sanders,” I yell back with a shake of my head, before I turn on my heel and start my walk back to Hockey Row.

If I thought the silence was deafening before, then it’s nothing compared to now, and my throat burns for more alcohol. Yeah, that’s what I need, I just need to get back to the party and down a few more drinks until I black out completely. That will help erase these thoughts in my head.

Stumbling back to my house, I note it’s past midnight now, and though the number of people on the front lawn has dwindled, the house is still heaving. Well, with one notable exception of course, and I find my gaze dancing across the street to his house, finding it almost completely dark. Yet my eyes snag on a flicker of light coming from the far side of the house that’s just out of sight.

I am moving before I can even think of another thought, crossing the street and slipping down the side of the house as quietly as I can. My heart is thundering in my chest as the light gets brighter and brighter, and when I reach the garden, I see him. Daemon is sitting in a chair by a small fire pit, a bottle of liquor in his hand, and his eyes on the sky. If he heard me approach he doesn’t show it, no, his focus is only on the stars, and I can’t help but take him in.

Beneath the blanket of darkness and the flicker of fire, he looks like he was molded by God himself, and with that damn skull painted on half of his face, he looks like he was sent to ruin the world. Like metal to his damn magnetic force, I am once again pulled into his orbit. My feet move until they reach the empty chair at his side, and when I drop into it, he sighs heavily, closing his eyes without even looking at me, like it might make me disappear.

“You know I think they could drag me down to the furthest pits of hell, and you would still find a way to appear by my side,” he drawls on an exhaled breath, sounding more intoxicated than he did before, as he brings the bottle to his lips and drinks deeply, before he adds in a whisper, “I wonder if you’re punishment for all my failures.”

To my surprise he holds out the bottle towards me, and when I take it and bring it to my own mouth, his eyes finally meet mine. He watches as I take a deep pull from it, my lips now where his just were, and that feeling I can’t decipher is back again. What the fuck is happening to me?

I take a few deep swills, downing more that he probably meant to offer, before I hand him back the bottle and clear my throat. “And when we are in the fiery pits of hell together, are we going to be friends, or will you still be claiming to hate me to the Devil himself?”

His green eyes are sparkling in the firelight, as he replies, “I do hate you.” His words no longer hold the same conviction they once did, and it thrills me.

“Is that why you always run from me? Because you hate me so much?” I dare to ask, and his eyes darken, but not with anger, no, it’s something else entirely.

“I don’t run from you, I just don’t care to be in your presence,” he snaps back, finishing the bottle of liquor in his hand and then tossing it into the flames. “Speaking of not being in your presence,” he adds, rising to his feet and turning to leave without another word, like he can’t wait to get away from me.

I watch him for a couple of seconds, as he begins to make his way back down the side of the house the way I came, and before I can second guess it, I am on my feet and following him. We slip into the dark, narrow walkway that is separated from next door by a fence, and as if my hands have a mind of their own, I am reaching out and grabbing him, pushing him backwards, and slamming him against the house. I don’t miss the flicker of surprise that dances across his eyes, yet he doesn’t push me away.

“There you go, running again,” I breathe, fisting the leather jacket he is wearing, and the surprise turns to rage.

“What is your fucking problem?” he spits, looking angrier than I have ever seen him, yet still I feel him push into the hold I have on him, and my heart starts to thunder in my chest. “Can’t you just accept that not everyone fucking likes you?”

Oh, is that how he wants to play this? Like he doesn’t fucking like me? I can’t help but laugh, pushing him even harder into the wall of his house, and relishing in the way I can feel his own heart beating rapidly against my right hand. His words mean nothing to me right now, not when I can see the same look in his eyes that I am sure is reflected in mine.

“You were watching me tonight,” I say carefully, but his face is now nothing but a blank mask of fury. “Just like you were the other week, and just like you were that night you pretend to forget. You know, the one where you tasted my cum?” I add, leaning in even closer, inhaling the traces of whiskey left behind on his tongue.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grits out, his breath fanning against my lips, and my hand slides up of its own accord, testing how far he will let me go. How long will he let me touch him?

My fingers trail up his collarbone, the fabric of his shirt still between us, and I can feel the bump of his silver chain beneath my palm. I push it even further and dust my fingers along the edge of his darkened jaw. He doesn’t move, not a muscle, but there is no longer fury in his eyes, just wonder. My eyes eat up the intricate design he no doubt painted on his skin himself, and all it does is make my heart beat faster.

“Hmm, these lips spill such wicked lies,” I whisper, the alcohol fueling me in a way it never has before. It’s making me feel brave, it’s making me feel something I have been wondering, but too afraid to admit, as my thumb ghosts along his bottom lip. “I wonder how sweet they taste,” I add boldly, surprising even myself, and I watch as his eyes darken.

“I’m sure yours still taste like her,” he murmurs, an edge to his voice that I haven’t heard since the night we met, and it sends a jolt of desire down my spine.

I am so fucked.

“Jealous?” I taunt, my fingers still exploring the line of his jaw, and he scoffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous, she doesn’t interest me.” His words are sharp, and my eyes flick down to his lips as my tongue trails along my own.

“Oh, I know. In fact, I have another theory,” I tell him, a theory I think applies to both of us, and I am just the perfect amount of drunk to put it to the test.

“Is that right?” he asks, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, but his eyes seem to dance in delight, as I nod.

“Yes, because even if you pretend to forget the night we met, I remember every second,” I tell him truthfully, pushing my body against his. “Which means I remember you stumbling across me and that girl in your room. I remember you watching us. I remember how much you liked it, and I remember that you fucked her so hard that she had no choice but to choke on my cock in the most delicious way, yet your eyes were on mine, not hers. Why is that?”

It’s only now, at my recollection of that night, that I realize my cock is hard. I’m hard for him , because of this interaction, because of his proximity, but that’s not what has me spiraling. It’s not me being hard for another guy for the first time in my life, no, what has me spiraling is that he’s hard too. His erection digs into mine, and nothing has ever fucking delighted me more. It’s long and thick, and I wonder if it’s weeping at the contact like my own. I wonder if it’s as desperate for my touch, as I am for his.

“Truth or dare, Forbes?” I force out on bated breath, and I know he knows what answer I want, what answer I need, yet still he makes me wait.

His stare searches my own, looking for what, I’m not sure, but whatever he finds, has him uttering one single word.

“Dare.”