Page 59 of The Puck Chase

Why is everyone in my family fucking crazy?

Heading to my room, I make quick work of showering, before throwing myself down on my bed and replaying every second of last night in my head. It was progress for sure, but how do I get from where we are now, to somewhere like where Nova and Maddie are at? Especially when Daemon is the most closed off person I have ever fucking met. I need him to give me more than just his fucking body, otherwise we will never fucking work.

But how do I get him to open up to me, without all the walls he has built around himself falling apart completely?

Sweat trickles down my back as I push myself to remain still, my arms holding up my entire body weight in a handstand, as I keep myself perfectly balanced. After Archer left my room this morning, he left a void in his wake, one that I wasn’t prepared for. A vacuum of loneliness that only someone like him could achieve, especially after spending only one night in my bed. A void that had me sketching for most of the day, until I eventually gave up and came to the gym to work out.

I was hoping the distraction would relax my mind, and allow me to sort through these strange new feelings, but I still feel just as messed up now as when he arrived last night. I’ve purposely never allowed myself to be in this position before, and now that I am, I don’t know what the fuck to do about it. I want him, Iknow that, and I’m not afraid to admit it, but wanting him and having him are two completely different things. I can want him and keep him at arm's length, I can want him and not reveal my darkest secrets, and I can want him but keep his light intact. But tohavehim? To have him would mean giving a part of myself to him, and even if I could, I’m not sure I really know how.

Slowly bringing one of my arms from the floor and holding it out straight, I force myself to keep my balance in a one-handed handstand, pushing myself even further than I normally would, and even when my body begins to shake, there is only one thing on my mind. How the fuck am I going to keep Archer from running for the hills when he discovers my past? And should I even bother trying?

It’s dark outside by the time I finish my workout, and forgoing the showers at the gym, I run home, ready to just shower, eat, and pretend I’m not wondering why Archer hasn’t texted me all day. Yet when I reach my room, I find it already occupied by the bane of my existence himself. Archer is laying on my bed, on what I can only presume he has deemed his side, and when I shut the door behind me, his eyes flick up to meet mine.

“Finally, I’ve been here almost an hour, Forbes,” he complains, as if I’m late, when I wasn’t even expecting him in the first place, and I can’t help but give him a bemused smile.

“Returning my breaking and entering?” I ask, tossing my phone and keys onto the dresser near the door, before moving further into my room, and he only returns my smile, shaking his head.

“No, Hallie let me in, but I can go back out and climb through the window, if that’s what you’re into?” He muses, slipping his hand into mine when I reach him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

My skin marvels at the simple touch. One I’ve avoided so well for years, one that has me wanting to snatch my hand away fromhim and not torture myself with it, but then he tips his head back and looks at me, and there it is. That fucking carefree smile that makes my knees go fucking weak, and has had me on that damn leash of his for three fucking years.

“I think we’ve established that the only thing I’m into, is you,” I mumble, only making his smile wider, and I’m so completely enthralled by him that I don’t notice the liquor bottles atop my nightstand, until he pushes up off my bed and claims my mouth in a rough kiss.

“Well, considering where you had your tongue last night, I’d say it’s definitely established,” he grunts against my mouth, before pulling away all too quickly. “Now take a seat, we’re going to play a little game.” He nods his head towards my desk chair, which he has positioned opposite my bed, as he grabs one of the liquor bottles and hands it to me.

Taking it, as he reaches for the other, I frown slightly, as I move toward the chair and ask, “Don’t tell me it’s another game of truth or dare? I mean, I know it’s your favorite, but don’t you think we’ve played enough?”

Archer chuckles as he sits himself at the end of my bed, taking the first sip of his own bottle, watching me closely. “As much as I’d enjoy another game of truth or dare with you, Forbes, this one is actually truth or drink,” he says, still watching me, waiting for my reaction.

“Truth or drink?” I repeat in question, looking between him and the bottle in my hand, and he nods slowly.

“We ask each other questions and we answer honestly. If you don’t want to answer, then you drink,” he gestures towards the bottle in my hand, as an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. A feeling he must sense instantly, because the next thing I know he is on his knees at my feet, looking up at me. “Whatever this thing is between us, Daemon, it isn’t going away,not for me anyway,” he starts, slipping his hand back into mine, and fuck, nobody has ever looked at me the way he is right now.

“Not for me either,” I interrupt softly, squeezing his hand, and he smiles again.

“Then we’re in this. I’m yours, and you’re mine, whatever that means, so we have to be open and honest with one another, but I only want to know what you’re willing to tell me, so if you need to drink, then drink, but either way, I’m still not going anywhere.” Every word from his mouth has the back of my eyes stinging, because behind that cocky attitude, and that damned fucking smile, is a heart of gold, and he’s handing it to me on a fucking platter. All I can do is nod, and he returns it, slipping back onto the edge of my bed, as he adds, “You first.”

Uncapping the bottle, I take a quick sip, as I think about what to ask him, before I settle on something that has been bugging me. “Why did you stealThe Great Gatsbyfrom my bookshelf?” I question, and he instantly smirks, and with the way his hands fiddle with his bottle, I almost think he won’t answer.

“You left me alone in your room, and I wanted to snoop,” he starts, my heart beginning to beat faster at his admission. “I knew your sketchbooks would be off limits, as tempting as they were,” he winks, his respect for my privacy meaning more than he could ever know. “But then I saw the multiple copies ofGatsbyon your shelf, including the battered one you keep beside your bed, and I was intrigued. I’d never read it before, and I wanted to see why you like it so much,” he shrugs, like it’s no big deal, like stealing my favorite book, just to see why I like it, as if it is a casual thing to do, but it’s not.

Whatever this thing is between us, it isn’t casual, and I’m pretty sure that's why he’s insisted on this game. We’ve spent three years dancing around this connection, this attraction, and now we’ve both revealed our cards. It’s clear that we’re both all in, whether we want to be or not.

“Your turn,” I force out, clearing my throat, and mentally trying to prepare myself for whatever he is about to ask.

“Hallie says you like to cook a lot, why?” He probes, and as deep as questions go, it’s not that personal, but to me, the answer is, still I don’t drink.

“My mom loved to be in the kitchen,” I say slowly, thinking back over the few memories I have of her. “She loved to cook, and she would sing and dance around the room like a crazy person, because she knew Jasper and I loved it, and it’s the only time I can remember her truly being carefree and happy,” I tell him, knowing he is hanging on to my every word, and no doubt hearing the pain in them. “I cook a lot now, because it calms my mind when things are getting to be too much, because I enjoy it, and because it helps me feel closer to her.”

Archer stares at me until I stop talking, before he gently asks, “Is your mom still alive?” I shake my head no, before taking a quick sip of the whiskey, and that must signal something to him, because he quickly adds, “Your turn again.”

My mind is still reeling from the idea of this game, but still I dare to ask, “This thing between us, do you think it’s casual?” It’s clear my question surprises him, because his eyes widen at my words, but I need to know where he stands with all of this, especially when he is forcing me into a game like this one.

Archer clears his throat and sighs, “No, I don’t.” Three words and I feel like my heart might fucking explode out of my chest. “I think that all I’ve ever known is casual, and that I’m a fucking idiot for taking three years to work out why I was so obsessed with wanting to get your attention all the time.” His response has a smile creeping onto my face, but I take another sip from the bottle in my hand, as I nod towards him to take his turn.

“Your father,“ Archer starts, watching me carefully, before he adds, “He’s in prison.” His words come out as a statement, and I grunt, knowing he’s probably heard a whole boatload of rumorswhen it comes to my father, and he isn’t going to avoid the inevitable for much longer.

“Was there a question in there?” I grit back like a dick, using the only defense mechanism I know, and he pauses, as if thinking about his words carefully.

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