Page 62 of Shades of Silver City

He crosses the living room and opens the sliding glass door, letting Scathe dart through the house and out into the yard to chase after some birds.

“Are you gonna take that tag off?” I ask Archer once we’re alone, nodding toward the sofa.

“I’ve been meaning to. I just…” He shrugs a shoulder, his face reddening.

“Did you just move in or something?”

“No.” He frowns, mindlessly rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve been here a few years.”

“Then where’s all your stuff?”

He glances at his sofa, then back to me, shrugging. “I have plenty of stuff.”

I snort.

“I have a house, clothes, my bike, and Scathe,” he says. “It’s all I need.”

Yet he’s apparently rich as hell and lives in Sweetcreek. It doesn’t add up, but I’m not here to interrogate my new boss.

I cough, rubbing my still aching throat. He frowns, his eyes tracking the movement.

“So what’d we come here for?” I ask.

He scratches his chin, and my eyes are drawn to his thick fingers and the ink that lines them.

“You need a place to stay.” He waves a hand around the open space. “Welcome.”

My heart drops. “Here? With you?” I laugh incredulously. “You don’t even have furniture.” I’m not counting the couch.

“It’s a two-bedroom, two-bath, with plenty of space…”

“Hell no.”

He studies me for a beat, the heat of his golden eyes burning into me. “You are incredibly stubborn.” Then he bursts out laughing, running a hand over his face and stepping closer to me. “I’m trying to offer a solution here.” He stretches out his arms, giving a dramatic shrug, as if he’s at a loss. “It’ll make it easier on us both.”

I eye the open space again, considering how peaceful it’d be to live here—away from Reed, Stace, and Alisha and their incessant partying. And it would put distance between me and the Scouts; they frequent the city center, where the majority of the crime is, not Sweetcreek.

“I need you to answer something first,” I say, trekking over to his sofa and perching on the armrest. He watches me like a hawk.

“Sure. Anything.”

“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“Fine. Anything I’m comfortable answering,” he amends.

“Were you raised here? In Sweetcreek?”

He presses his lips together, contemplating his answer for a beat. “No,” he says softly. “I was born and raised in the PD.” My eyebrows fly up. I’m surprised—not at his answer but at the fact he’s giving it to me so freely and honestly. He rubs his jaw and glances away. “Right by that alley we popped out of today.”

It inspires me to know Archer grew up like me but managed to claw his way out of the worst part of the city to build a better life for himself. We hold each other’s gazes for a moment. A sense of kinship, a mutual understanding, blooms in the space between us.

“Fine,” I say, slapping my thighs. “I’ll live with you since you’re so desperate for a roommate. What’s the catch?”

He inclines his chin. “Catch?”

“Yeah. I can’t afford rent on a place like this, not even with the salary you’ll have me on.”

“No catch.”

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