Page 127 of A Little Complicated

“Is Archer here?”

He hesitates, his brows tugging down in the center. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“Thanks.” I slip between him and the doorframe, but he grabs my wrist, and I lurch to a halt.

“Listen, about what Tatum said—”

“Not now,” I whisper, staring at his hand. The way it encompasses my entire wrist. The way his dark, even-toned skin contrasts with my pale, freckled complexion. The way his callouses tickle my sensitive flesh and the way his simple touch sends goosebumps racing along every single inch of me. I feel like I’m fraying. Every touch. Every look. I can’t take it.

“Ophelia,” he rasps.

My gaze snaps to his from beneath the brim of my hat. “Like I said last night, Mav. One fucked-up relationship at a time, okay?”

I start to shrug out of his hold, but his grasp tightens even more. It isn’t painful. It’s insistent.

“Don’t,” he breathes out.

“I’m not going to lie to him.”

“Let me tell him.”

“It isn’t your responsibility to clean up my mess.”

“It’sourmess, Ophelia.”

I shake my head. “There is noour. No us. Tatum’s right. You’ve made it very clear, remember?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Is it?” I challenge. “I thought I was okay with the little morsels. Thought I could pretend I didn’t care about my future. But after realizing the fallout from even casually hooking up with you is going to cause, I’ve decided I’m not okay with it anymore. It isn’t fair to Archer. It isn’t fair to me or our families. You either love me, or you don’t. You either commit to me, or you don’t. That’s it. And until you can figure it out, I’m… I’m done.” I pull away from him, and by some miracle, Maverick’s grasp loosens this time, and he lets me go. But I can still feel his eyes on me as I walk down the hall toward Archer’s room.

The heat. The regret. The desire.

When I reach Archer’s closed door, I let out a slow, controlled breath and lift my hand, tapping my knuckles against it.

The floor creaks on the opposite side before Archer appears. His mouth pulls into a smile, and it kills me.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” he asks. “I was worried about you.”

Concern creases his eyes and only fans my guilt, so I look at the ground instead. “I’m fine,” I murmur. It couldn’t be further from the truth. “Thank you for the crackers.”

“Always.”

I wipe my sweaty palms on my jean-clad thighs and tuck my hands into the crooks of my elbows.

I don’t want to do this.

“You sure you’re okay?” he prods.

Shame eats at me, but I force my gaze to his. “Any chance we can talk for a minute?”

He nods and opens his bedroom door the rest of the way. “Yeah, sure. Come on in.”

Arms folded, I step over the threshold and wait for Archer to close the door behind me. My hands are still shaking as I pray for the strength to get through this when all I want to do is run and hide and pretend last night never happened. Or maybe I want the last few months, in general, to disappear. So I can go back to my prom night and tell Archer no. He can’t take me to prom. He can’t treat me right. He can’t waste his time on me when his brother still owns my heart.

I should’ve stayed home. I should’ve climbed into bed and watched a corny rom-com or a gory horror movie. I should’ve done so many things. But instead, every single decision I made led me here. To Archer’s room. Feeling like I’m the most terrible person in the world.

“What’s going on?” he asks, watching me from the edge of the room as I stare out his bedroom window. I’m not sure how much time has passed, how long I’ve been lost in my own head, but his words are tense. Tight. Like he can feel the same shift in the air I can, and fuck, it hurts.

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