Chapter One
Late August, ten months later
ARCHER
One more inch, and I swear to God, I’ll cut it off.
His hand, I mean. The one that’s attached to a disrespectful, dark-haired prick as it hovers just above my girl’s perfectly round ass.
She isn’t your girl, Archer.
Yet.
The dude’s hand drops another millimeter, but Darcy doesn’t react. Instead, she continues her conversation with him at the bar.
Go home and jerk off in the shower to thoughts of her. That’s the safe and sensible option. It’s what you’ve been doing since she moved here six months ago.
“Would you like a side order of wings to go with your stare session, or are you good?” Grinning, Darcy’s new sister-in-law, Kendra, leans closer to me.
“Ha-fucking-ha,” I drawl, trying to tear my eyes away from Darcy and the prick.
“You’re still staring,” Kendra sings at me under her breath.
“I fucking know I am,” I sing back.
“And what are you two whispering about?” Jack pulls Kendra into his body, setting a quick kiss on top of his wife’s head.
She waves a casual hand in front of her, not giving anything away and doing me a solid in the process. My obsession is getting more obvious by the second, and it’s only a matter of time before I’m no longer able to pass off my infatuation as a ruse to wind up my center.
“Oh, nothing. I was just asking your goalie if he planned on drinking that beer in front of him or reading it a bedtime story.”
I twist my full pint glass around on the coaster. Apparently, every time I’m out with Darcy, I can never finish a beer. “Preseason starts soon, and I’m thinking, this time, I’ll cut the alcohol out early.”
Kendra’s hand shoots out, resting on my arm. “Okay, who are you, and what have you done with party-boy Archer?”
I deadpan and look at Jack, our team’s new assistant captain. Compared to my seventh, this will be his third season with the New York Blades. I’m twenty-seven. I should be pulling up trees in the NHL like him. Instead, I’m still chasing the shutout record I set fucking years ago.
And that isn’t all my best friend’s surpassed me on. Recently marrying the girl he pined after for years, he now gets to call her his for the rest of time. He’s living his life at a casual seventy miles per hour, chewing up the freeway at a steady pace. Whereas I’m barely off the ramp.
“How was Oxford after the wedding?” I change course, knowing they both recently got back from the UK.
Kendra sighs, tipping her head up to look at her husband. “A honeymoon from heaven. All the tea and cakes a girl could ask for.”
I quirk a brow, remembering the impressive afternoon tea they put on for each guest. I nailed cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches like my life depended on it. What can I say? They were a useful distraction from staring at Kendra’s maid of honor.
Which I’m back to doing right now.
Jack follows my line of vision, eyes landing on Darcy.
He takes a pull of his beer and sets his glass back down on a headshake.
“Don’t get me wrong; having Darce here with me is awesome.
We’ve spent way too much time living thousands of miles away.
That said, I don’t think I’ll ever be used to watching her get hit on. ”
I scrub a hand across my jaw, tension building in my shoulders. “I wouldn’t say she’s being hit on.”
She’s definitely getting hit on. It’s been like this every night out since Darcy moved to New York . It’s like the guys in this city have some kind of unspoken agreement to hit on the hot blonde from England, just to screw with my head.
Jack scoffs. “Are you for real? That dude isn’t checking out the quality of my sister’s denim jeans.”
I chance another quick glance toward the bar. The dude’s hand has crept lower, and I look away again, inhaling a deep breath as I try—and fail—to temper my unjustified rage.
“Looks friendly to me,” I grit out.
“I guess to a playboy, ass groping would be considered normal behavior.” Jack laughs.
Even though I know he meant nothing by that statement—along with the truth that sits behind it—it still stings. He’s not wrong; I’ve palmed more asses than I can count. Sure, some I went on to take home later that night, but others were purely out of harmless flirtation.
Archer Moore: Boundary overstepper extraordinaire.
“Out of curiosity, where would you categorize kissing on the getting-hit-on scale?” Kendra nods her head back at Darcy.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look .
I look.
Yep, he’s kissing her.
The metal legs on my chair cut through the moderately loud music, turning a few heads, as I rise to my feet, gaze still locked on Darcy while the prick works to deepen the kiss.
“I—ugh—I need the restroom,” I push out, ignoring Kendra’s question and snatching up my cell. “I’ll be right back.”
“You okay, buddy?” Jack asks, frowning at my forced smile.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I think that meal we had at the restaurant earlier is doing things to me though.” I circle my bowels, and Kendra scrunches up her nose.
Jack holds up a pleading hand. “Say no more. Please be my guest and relieve yourself.”
If only it were that simple.
Swiveling on my heel, I head for the bathroom break I don’t need. Although if I happen to come across an emergency exit, I’ll be happy to make use of that.
A few seconds later, I’m pushing through the swing door and into the empty men’s toilets, coming to a stop in the center of the room and unlocking my phone to scroll aimlessly through social media.
Habit has me clicking on Darcy’s Instagram profile, and I take a few more steps, leaning against the tiled back wall.
She hasn’t posted since the last time I checked, which is unsurprising, given that was barely an hour ago. Still, I reread the caption on her last post, being careful not to like it or click on her latest story and reveal my stalker status.
The post is one she took in Hyde Park when she visited England for Jack and Kendra’s wedding.
Darcy’s wearing a bright yellow summer dress, a puzzle book and pencil balanced across drawn-up knees as she smiles into the camera.
Her hair is down and around her face, only controlled by a pair of sunglasses propped on top of her head.
I zoom in on the shot. The dress is low cut, but I’m not looking at what’s on show.
I’ll save that for when I finally get to explore her body with my hands.
Right now, I’m more interested in the pink that perfectly stains her high cheekbones, along with the depth of her wide eyes.
Before Darcy, I’d never seen eyes like hers. They’re big and round and inviting, but more than that, they don’t need the sunlight to sparkle. They only need her bright demeanor to glow.
There isn’t a single thing in the world that could get this girl down—that I’m sure of. The only time I’ve seen that shine fade was back in October, when I asked her about Liam.
Involuntarily, my grip tightens around the phone. I’d love to do the same around his neck for the way he clearly makes her feel.
“Sorry, you plan on using that, or can I go ahead?”
Startled back to reality, I lock my phone and turn around to find the prick himself standing a couple of feet behind me, pointing at the hand dryer I’m blocking access to.
Jesus, how long has he been in here? I have zero recollection of anyone walking in, taking a leak, or using the faucet.
I step away and pocket my phone. “Yeah, sure. Sorry.”
He approaches the dryer and sets it running, a smirk tracing his lips.
Fuck me, I hate this guy, and we’ve only exchanged fourteen words. I don’t even know his name or what he does. Although I’m pretty sure I know what he’d like to do:
My girl.
Tonight.
In his bed.
The dryer cuts, and he shakes out his hands, moving across to readjust his already overstyled hair.
Try-too-hard.
He pauses and eyes me in the mirror. “I gotta ask—otherwise, I’ll regret this for the rest of my life.” He spins around to face me, still smirking. “Archer Moore, right? Goalie for the New York Blades?”
I scratch at the back of my head. He’d best not want an autograph—even worse, a picture.
“You aren’t the first one to make that assumption.
But, no, I’m just a look-alike to the king.
” Laughing internally at my own flattery, I raise a hand above my head.
“Archer Moore is at least a couple of inches taller and even better-looking.”
The guy pulls his brows together, confused. “Well, you sure as shit look like him. Maybe you should check out your family history; you could be long-lost twins or something.”
He turns back to the mirror and reaches into his pocket, taking out a small blue box. When he pops the lid and pulls the white strand, I realize it’s floss.
Oh, this takes the motherfucking cake. He’s flossing his teeth—no doubt in preparation for more kissing—while I stand here, watching him and denying my identity like some deranged make-believe twin.
I point at the box in his hands. “Do you make a habit of night-out dental care?”
On a wink, he pulls the floss from his mouth and tosses it in the trash can beside him. “Nope. However, I do like to carry floss around, just in case circumstances call for it.” He holds the pack out in his palm. “Want to use some?”
I roll my lips together, jealousy coursing through me. The feeling was foreign up until I first met Darcy, and I’m no better at dealing with it today.
“I’m good,” I reply, knowing I should leave this conversation where it is. “But if you’re referring to the honey-haired girl you have waiting for you at the bar, I’d recommend you don’t get your hopes up.”
Retracting the floss, he drops it into the pocket of his pants. “Yeah? And why is that?” His previous lighter tone adopts a cutting edge.
I push off the wall and step toward him.
Leave it, Archer.
“I actually heard she’s seeing someone on the Blades.”
He drops his head and shakes it at the ground. “You must think I’m some kind of idiot. You are Archer Moore, aren’t you?”
I don’t confirm or deny, simply shove a hand into my pocket.
He continues, “Regardless of who you are, I’d check my sources if I were you. She wouldn’t be about to come back to my place if someone else were involved.” He hesitates for a second. “Unless she’s a cheating whore, of course.”
Moving closer, I cup my spare hand around my ear, grinning with rage. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear that last part. I mean, it’s possible I did, but you couldn’t be so fucking stupid to call a girl like Darcy Thompson a whore.”
His smile drops to a frown, and he backs up a few inches. “Her name is Darcy? She told me it’s Jessica.” He holds up a hand. “Wait, maybe you have the wrong girl.”
I continue closing the distance between us. There’s nothing he can say to calm my anger. He has the wrong girl all right, just not in the way he thinks.
“Aww, she’s given you a fake name. If you already have her digits, you’d best check they’re not fake too.”
You can even check against the ones I have since I know they’re for real .
His brows lift. “You’re a fucking lunatic—you know that?”
I shrug. He’s not wrong. “Crazy or not, I advise you to leave her alone and move on. You don’t want to find yourself tangled up in a mess.”
The guy looks like he’s considering my warning for a split second and then resets himself, shrugging back at me. “Whatever. I’m an innocent party with no idea of her real name, let alone who she’s banging on the regular. I’m only after a quick fuck with a smokeshow. And, goddamn, is she h?—”
Bang.
A couple of seconds pass before I catch up to my own actions.
Spitting blood into the sink, the guy hunches over it, clutching his jaw. “Jesus fucking Christ! You are a lunatic. What the hell was that for?!”
I reach across to the wall and snatch a paper towel from the dispenser, handing it to him. “That was your final warning.” I lean over him, eyeing his shocked face in the mirror. “Wipe her face—and mine—from your memory bank and leave without another word, or my next hit will do the job for you.”
Dabbing at his chin, he slides from underneath me and heads for the restroom door, turning around momentarily. “You got some real issues.”
I raise an unaffected brow. “Not really. I just hate it when a guy trash-talks a girl. Toss in the fact that this one is basically royalty, and you got yourself a problem. Or in this case, a bloody jaw.”
He doesn’t say another word as he pulls open the door and disappears a second later.
After a few beats of silence, the reality of my actions starts to take hold.
It’s obvious who I am, and even if he has no proof of who laid the hit on him, he could take to socials and claim anything. The public loves to drag a celebrity.
Pulling out my phone and making for the restroom door, I quickly scroll through my Contacts until I find the one person who can help me right now. Or at least talk me through the self-inflicted mess I’ve created.
The bar music is louder as I stride past our table, ignoring Jack and Kendra as they talk to Darcy.
Good. At least she’s safe and away from the prick.
The line connects, and Sawyer Bryce—my captain on and off the ice and the guy I always go to when shit gets real—says something, although I can’t make it out as I head for the exit.
“It’s Archer,” I yell.
He says something else, but again, I miss it all as I push out into the midnight air and circle around on the sidewalk, checking that no one is in earshot.
“Archer, what the fuck is going on?” Sawyer asks.
I continue walking down the street, blowing out a breath that does nothing to steady my anxiety. “You have to promise you won’t go nuclear on my ass.”
“I promise,” he replies, sounding less than convinced.
I consider cutting the call altogether and praying this doesn’t blow up in my face. If this gets out, I’ll be in the shit with the Blades and probably Jack. But worse still, Darcy will likely never speak to my crazy ass again. And I wouldn’t fucking blame her.
Nausea roils through me at the thought.
“Archer!” Sawyer commands.
I jolt and swallow hard. “Oh fuck, man. I think …” I break off, blowing out one last deep and ultimately futile breath. “I think I fucked up again. Only this time, it was over Darcy.”
“Jesus Christ,” he drawls. “What did you do?” Sawyer sounds more concerned than he does pissed, and honestly, that kind of makes it worse.
I shake my head to no one. “It doesn’t matter. It’s my mess to clean up, and I’ll call you in the morning when I’ve got my head on straight.”
“Archer?!” he grumbles.
“I’ll call you in the morning,” I repeat. “Enjoy your first night with your fiancée. Seriously, Collins will chew my ass up if I wreck it for you with my bullshit.”
Hitting End on the call, I pocket my phone and drop my gaze to the sidewalk.
Fuck me, Archer. You’re such a fucking idiot.