40. Lottie
Chapter 40
Lottie
B y the time I climb into Archer’s car, I can still feel Crew’s words clinging to me like sweat after a set—hot, lingering, hard to shake. And it’s messing with my head.
Archer glances over at me, hand tight around the steering wheel. Oscar’s in the backseat, quiet, but I can feel his eyes on me in the rearview.
“You okay? Looked intense,” Archer says, glancing at me.
I nod, even though I’m not. “Said he was clean, and he looked like he was…”
“He said he was going to go cold turkey when I punched him in the face,” Archer murmurs.
I sign to Oscar, and he snorts . “Good.”
“What else did he say?” he asks.
“That he wants me, but that he’s not asking me to choose.”
Oscar leans forward between the seats, his hands moving more slowly this time. A small thread of worry shining in his eyes. “And what do you want?”
“I thought I buried that part of me, but then he was on his knees, begging me, and saying my name like it was a prayer only he knew, and it felt like I was thirteen again, and I hate that he’s gotten to me like this,” I groan. “Hell, I don’t even deserve both of you.”
Archer swerves the car into a mostly empty parking lot. Turning the ignition off and unclipping his seatbelt. He faces me, and his jaw is tight, then he grips my chin between his fingers. “You deserve whatever your heart desires, Lottie. You deserve to be loved… adored… desired. Be honest, do you want him?”
I look at him, then at Oscar out of the corner of my eye, both of them watching me in that steady way they always do when I’m spiraling. “I don’t know…”
“Then don’t… figure it out, but keep talking to us. He’s sober, and honestly? He’s the one we care about the least. If it were the other two, the answer would be hell no, but there’s something sort of sad about Crew.” Oscar signs, chuckling. “We just want you to be happy, Siren.”
“What he said,” Archer chuckles, but it’s deep and throaty. “Now give me a kiss.”
I lean in toward him, his hand still warm against my chin, and as I do, his eyes darken.
It’s just a kiss.
One that I’ve been craving all day.
When my lips meet his, there’s a spark, a heat that curls in my stomach. He deepens it almost immediately, one hand sliding to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, urging me to give him more.
I melt into him and lose myself in the kiss.
When we finally break away, both of us breathing heavier than before. I let out a shaky laugh as Oscar signs, “Damn.”
Archer’s grin is wicked and full of things sinful. “That’s a good girl. Now kiss your other boyfriend.”
I look to Oscar, who’s watching with that mischievous glint in his eyes. My chest tightens, but I can feel the playful energy from him, the kind that always exists between us.
Archer tilts my chin, guiding me toward Oscar, his touch gentle but insistent.
It’s almost too easy to give in.
“Don’t make me beg, Siren.”
I laugh again, breathless, wondering how I ever got lucky enough for these two men to love me, and lean toward him.
The kiss is lighter, more playful than the one with Archer, but it sends a different kind of fire through me. His lips are soft but demanding in their own way, and his hands settle on either side of my face as if grounding me.
When we pull away, Oscar’s eyes crinkle at the sides. “That’s our good girl.”
Archer chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through me. “Imagine how good she’d be between us.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s a thrill running through me that I didn’t expect. They both have a way of making me feel wanted, needed. But right now, I don’t know if I can keep sorting through all the chaos in my heart.
“You think you deserve us now?” Archer asks, his voice dropping an octave, full of that same deep warmth that makes my insides flutter.
I shrug, smirking at him. “Dunno. Might need a little more convincing.”
“Brat.”
“Little minx.”
* * *
By the time we’re home, I’m ready for the girls’ night I have planned with Angel and Zara. Desperate for some reality that doesn’t involve something with a penis.
I toss my phone on the bed and start pulling clothes out of my closet, trying to shake off the emotional fog I can feel shrouding me.
Tonight’s not about any of them.
Not about the past, or the present.
It’s about unwinding with the two girls who somehow became the only real friends I’ve had in years.
Angel arrives, digging through my clothes like they’ve personally insulted her, and Zara lounges on my bed in a pink silk dress that shows off all her curves.
“If you wear black again, I swear to God—” Angel groans. “Why do you own so many jeans?”
“They’re comfy,” I mumble, holding up a top that looks like every other one I own.
“Yeah, well, you’re not going on stage tonight. You don’t have to look like a brooding goddess. Pick something that says, ‘I’m out with hot girls and we’re dangerous.’”
“How specific,” Zara deadpans.
Angel winks. “It’s a gift.”
“Please tell me we’re getting trashy drinks with umbrellas,” Zara groans dramatically.
Angel holds up a pair of crop tops. “Only if Lottie stops trying to dress like she’s mourning.”
My smile drops at the mention of the word “mourning,” the sting of Roman’s words still fresh in my mind. I glance at the mirror, applying mascara, trying to push all the emotions away.
But I can feel it—the weight of the past week pressing down on me.
I can’t shake the feeling that everything is spiraling and I can’t control any of it.
Unfortunately, I’ve spent enough time with both of these girls that we can speak with just a look.
Zara looks at me, her eyes kind. “Rough week?”
Without thinking, I spill it all—the hurt from Roman’s words about my dad, the guilt, the confusion. The way Crew showed up, streaked cherry red, but sober and pleading, promising me things I never dreamt he would. I try to keep it together, but the words come out in a rush, and the lump in my throat only makes it harder.
Angel’s eyes soften, and Zara just listens, nodding.
“And now I don’t know what to do,” I finish, “I’m stuck in this mess and I don’t know how to get out. Top it all off, I have a shit load of guilt when it comes to Archer and Oscar. They’re amazing and I should be happy with just them, but Crew…”
There’s a long silence, then Zara shifts on the bed, her voice firm. “You don’t have to figure everything out tonight. Just… take a deep breath and let’s get drunk. All of this can be tomorrow Lottie’s problem… or the day after. It all depends on how drunk we get you.”
Angel gives me a quick hug. “Whatever happens, we’ve got your back. Always. And if you need us to hide a body, we can do that, too. I have contacts.”
I chuckle through the tears that I’m doing my best to hold back. “Of course you do. How about some cocktails and a dance?”
“You got it, babe,” Angel grins.
“We’re your girls. We’ve got you but I swear if you don’t make us a group chat so we can be kept up to date daily I’ll kick your ass.”
Angel nods. “That’s another tomorrow’s Lottie’s problem. Tonight, we drink.”
I manage a smile. “Tonight we drink.”
Angel throws an arm around my shoulders, dragging me toward the closet again. “That’s the spirit. Now come on, if we’re going to that bar Zara likes, you need to look like you want to be there.”
Zara snorts. “You mean not covered in glitter and body oil?”
“Exactly,” Angel says. “But sexy. Always sexy. We want to give Archer and Oscar a heart attack.”
The three of us laugh, and for a moment, the weight lifts.
No drama.
Just the girl I strip beside, and the one who shares my obsession with shark migration.
* * *
The bar is dim, the kind of place where the music is just loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Angel and Zara are already at a booth, and Archer and Oscar stand behind me.
“We’ll be at the bar if you need us,” Archer says.
“And just wave a hand if you girls need more drinks. Let us spoil you…” Oscar gives me a deadpan look as I go to protest.
I sigh, signing. “Thank you, but we can buy our own drinks.”
“Oh, I’m not the one paying. That’s on boyfriend number two’s card,” Oscar gestures, then points over his shoulder to Archer with a wink. “Now go to your friends.”
I do as I’m told and slide into the booth beside them.
Angel raises an eyebrow. “You good?”
I nod. “Yeah. Just… processing. Oscar says drinks are on Archer, by the way.”
Zara hoots, waving her hand to the guys at the bar, bouncing in her seat. “Drinks, sir! Please !”
Sure enough, five minutes later, three trashy cocktails with umbrellas are placed in front of us.
I’m nursing my third cocktail when the door to the bar swings open, and I see them.
They walk in like they own the place, heads turning as they pass... maybe it has more to do with the fact that two out of three are stained bright red.
All three are dressed in black jeans and a shirt, Crew wearing a leather jacket over his.
They settle into a booth a few tables away. Roman and Elijah are talking, oblivious to me spiralling, but Crew—he’s looking around, his gaze landing on me for just a second before he looks away.
I don’t know why, but my heart skips a beat.
Crew goes to the bar, returning with two bottles of beer and a can of soda.
Then, the bartender walks over with a cocktail—a bright red drink with a little umbrella. He sets it down in front of me without a word.
I glance up, confused. “This isn’t mine.”
The bartender nods towards the booth. “From the guy who looks like a tomato wearing a leather jacket.”
I look over, catching Crew’s eye. He gives me a blinding smile.
I stare at the drink, half wondering if he’s tampered with it like he did my brownie, but then he’s there, a sad look in his eye.
Crew leans down, taking a long drag from the straw. “It’s safe. I’m sorry, I didn’t think, but I promise I’ll never do anything like that again. Enjoy your night, Lottie.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m left watching him slide back into the booth with Roman and Elijah.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to feel.
Angel leans in. “What’s that about?”
“He’s trying to make amends.”
Zara watches me closely. “Are you going to talk to him?”
I shake my head. “Not tonight. A tomorrow’s Lottie’s problem, remember?”
A phone rings, somehow louder than the music. We all turn to see where it’s coming from, and I see Elijah stand from the booth, speaking in low tones, his face hardening.
Crew leans back in his seat, watching him. “Wife problems?”
I don’t think he means to say it loud enough for me to hear, but I do. I glance at Elijah’s hand, and I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.
A ring.
On his left ring finger.
A wedding band.
My stomach drops.
I don’t know why it hits me like this. Maybe it’s the way he looked at me when I locked him in that room. Maybe it’s the fact he’s here, with his friends, away from her, pretending like nothing’s changed and telling me empty words.
I take a sip of the cocktail, the sweetness doing nothing to settle the storm brewing inside me.
Angel and Zara both watch me, wearing matching worried expressions. “You good?”
I nod because Elijah isn’t my problem.
I promised him forgetfulness, and that’s what he’ll get.
I force a smile. “Let’s just enjoy ourselves tonight, yeah?”
They nod, and for a moment, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I can.