Page 77 of Beautiful Thing

We’ve been down that road before, only this time, I’m going to be embarrassed on the big screen. People will be showingreplays of this moment for years to come, laughing at yet another Kiss Cam disaster.

I bury my face against Archer’s shoulder. Anxiety is threatening to end me, and I wish I could hide. This man is seconds away from rejecting me in front of a sold-out crowd. I refuse to even think about all the people who are watching the game at home on TV.

The whole world is about to discover how unlovable I truly am…

Just before I melt into the floor, I feel Archer’s strong knuckles brush against my jaw. He lifts my face up to his and stares into my eyes. I stare back, transfixed.

I see a man who would never hurt me. I see a man who would move heaven and earth to protect me.

“Fuck it…” he mumbles absentmindedly as his lips lower to mine.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

It’s just a feather’s touch at first. And then, his lips press fully against my lips.

There’s no hesitation on his part. There’s no indecision. There’s no uncertainty. Just his full, confident lips crushing mine.

He’s…kissing me.

Archer Brighton is kissing me.

The arena shrinks. Suddenly, it’s only me and him.

The kiss lingers for a blissful moment but I know I’ve got to break it. For Archer’s sake. He has rules and boundaries. I respect that.

Yet when I try to pull back, he groans in protest. His large, rough palm wraps around the back of my neck, holding me in place a moment longer.

I whimper against his mouth. I’m on fire, blood burning in my veins, living out a real life fantasy. His palm slowly glides up the back of my neck and my fingers fist into his shirt. I kiss him back and I’m struggling against the urge to crawl into his lap.

Eventually, the room creeps back into my awareness and our kiss comes to an end. By then, the camera crew has long moved on and the crowd is cheering for the next couple currently being broadcast on the screen.

I’m still in a daze as I ease out of Archer’s hold. My eyes flutter open and I find him staring at me. A drunken grin begins to stretch across my face, but then it freezes as reality hits me.

Archer just broke his number one rule. For me. To keep me from being embarrassed.

The Brighton family is still hooting and cheering, hollering over how romantic our very public moment was. Karli is the loudest of them all. Of course she is. Meanwhile, Mrs. Brighton looks so happy I’m afraid she might pass out.

But I can’t celebrate alongside them. Because Archer is giving me a very serious, very intense, very unreadable look. I can’t decipher what it means.

What Idoknow is, he only kissed me to save me from embarrassment. He broke his no-kissing rule for me, and given how strict he is about his convictions, I’m assuming that he’s going to resent me for that now.

So, instead of getting lost in an eternal replay of how good his mouth felt against mine, I’m feeling sick with guilt. I pushed Archer into doing something he’s uncomfortable with.I feel so damn guilty about that.

What a mess.

I’m lost in my head the rest of the game, not really paying attention to what’s going on on the ice.

It’s near the end of regulation when a gasp rings out around the arena and everyone in our section is on their feet. One of the Saints players just took a nasty hit.

I crane my neck to see better across the rink. In the tangle of bodies on the ice, I can’t make out what’s going on down there. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Is it Ronan? Please tell me it’s not—”

Archer’s hand finds the small of my back, offering me reassurance. “Ronan’s good. It wasn’t him.” The big man stares out at the ice. “See, he’s right there. On his feet.”

He’s right. Luckily, it’s not Ronan.

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