Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Leo
I can’t stop touching Archie.
I’ve never been an after-sex cuddler, but right now, I can’t help it. I can’t help stroking my hand over the curve of his shoulder, the jut of his hip bone, the soft skin of his thigh. He’s practically melted into me, boneless and pliant in a way I’ve never seen him.
This is a man who never stops moving. Who vibrates with chaotic energy every waking moment. And right now, he’s still and quiet. His cheek is pressed against my chest, his breath warm and even against my skin.
Archie Mansley, sated and satisfied.
He makes a contented humming sound, like a cat who’s found the perfect patch of sunlight.
My heart flutters. I press my lips against the top of his head before I can stop myself.
And that’s when it hits me. Not the wanting—I’ve made my peace with how much I want Archie Mansley—it’s the tenderness that terrifies me.
Fuck.
He’s still Vaughn Mansley’s little brother. Nothing changes that fact.
This started with me acting on an impulse to get revenge on Vaughn, whom I set out to embarrass, only to injure his brother’s ankle.
And now I’m in bed with that brother. Postcoital. Cuddling.
Revenge has definitely taken some unexpected turns.
I need to tell Archie the truth.
The thought surfaces unbidden, unwelcome. I should tell him that the night we met wasn’t an accident and that every moment since has been built on a foundation of deception.
But how do I even begin that conversation? “Hey, Archie, great sex. By the way, I originally planned to humiliate your brother and accidentally maimed you instead.”
The problem is, there’s no version of this confession that doesn’t end with Archie pulling away. And I’ve gotten addicted to him edging closer.
Archie has trust issues. I’ve seen the way he deflects personal questions, keeps people at arm’s length, and hides his real self behind layers of charm and chaos. It’s taken weeks for him to let me see glimpses of who he actually is.
If I tell him the truth now, those walls go right back up, and they’ll probably be higher than before.
However, not telling him is selfish and dishonest. It’s everything I pride myself on not being.
But this was a one-off thing, wasn’t it? Just a release of the sexual tension between us.
And if I tell him now, it will screw up this fake-relationship thing, wouldn’t it? And it’s important to Archie that Elizabeth believes he’s in a good relationship and stops worrying about him.
There’s no way Archie could continue to pretend to be my boyfriend when he’s processing the truth.
I’ll tell him as soon as Elizabeth leaves. Or is that me being selfish because I don’t want to change the dynamic between us?
“So,” Archie says, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. He looks up at me with mischief in those hazel eyes. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate that experience? Be honest. I can take constructive criticism.”
And just like that, Archie is back.
The softness is gone, replaced by that familiar spark of mischief.
This is the Archie who never lets me get too comfortable. Who pokes and prods and refuses to let a moment stay sincere for too long.
I should be exhausted. I should want quiet, peace, maybe some sleep before Elizabeth wakes up and we have to resume our performance.
Instead, I lean into it. Because this is what Archie does to me. He makes me sharper and more alive. Like I’ve been sleepwalking through conversations my whole life and he’s the first person worth waking up for.
“I’m not rating you,” I reply.
“Why not? I’d rate you.”
“I don’t want to know my rating,” I say quickly.
“Nine point five.” He grins up at me. “I had to deduct half a point for the thing with your elbow.”
“What thing with my elbow?”
“Exactly.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. I’m also not entirely sure that he’s not making it up just to fuck with me.
Actually, now that I think about it, I’m fairly sure he’s making it up just to fuck with me.
“So, do you rate the Destroyer a ten then, given the fact that I’m almost as good?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s a ten. But you should be flattered you came so close to it.”
“Flattered that a piece of silicone outperforms me?”
“Very high-quality silicone.” He stretches luxuriously.
“I’ll have that put on my tombstone. Leo Brennan: Almost As Good As High-Quality Silicone.”
“It’s a noble epitaph. You should be proud. Being ranked nearly as good as the Destroyer.”
“I’m going to need you to stop complimenting your sex toy while lying in my arms.”
“Jealousy isn’t attractive, Leo.”
“I’m not jealous of a dildo,” I growl.
“You know what would bump you up to a nine point six?” He props himself up on one elbow, eyes glinting.
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Cheese.”
I blink. “Cheese.”
“Postcoital cheese. It’s very romantic. Very European.”
“It’s midnight.”
“Cheese doesn’t have a curfew.”
“You want me to get out of this bed and make you cheese,” I say, just to clarify I’m actually hearing this correctly.
“I want you to demonstrate your commitment to excellence.” He pats my chest. “A true nine point six would already be in the kitchen.”
“The Destroyer doesn’t make you cheese.”
“The Destroyer has other qualities. You have to compensate somehow.”
I stare at the ceiling. “I’m being emotionally manipulated into making you a cheese plate so I can achieve close to comparable status with a dildo.”
When I glance back at him, Archie is watching me with a cheeky smile. “Is it working?”
The worst part is that it actually is.
“And while we’re eating it, we can start discussing the wording for all the sock-drawer notes you’re going to have to start writing.”
I stare at him. “You’re actually going to make me write sock-drawer notes?”
He grins at me. “At least once every two days. Elizabeth will expect consistency.”
“What am I supposed to write? Dear Archie, your socks are here. Regards, Leo.”
“God, no. That’s tragic.” He looks genuinely pained. “You need to be romantic.”
“I don’t do romance.”
“Then this will be an opportunity for personal growth.” He beams at me. “I believe in you, Leo. You contain multitudes.”
“I contain irritation.”
Archie hides his smirk and nudges me with his foot. “Now. Cheese. Chop chop.”
I should resist. On principle, if nothing else. But Archie is looking at me with those ridiculous hazel eyes, and his hair is sticking up in different directions, and his lips are still slightly puffy from our kissing, and apparently, I have no principles left.
I get out of bed.
“Brie if we have it,” he calls as I pull on my discarded T-shirt and pajama pants. “And crackers. The fancy ones, not the sad ones.”
“We only have one kind of crackers.”
“Then I trust you to elevate them with the presentation.”
I give him a sharp glare as I leave the bedroom. His delighted laugh follows me down the hallway.
I pad into the kitchen, navigating by the dim light from the hallway.
When I look in the fridge, I discover the cheese situation is actually decent. There’s a wedge of Brie, some aged cheddar, and something with an unpronounceable French name.
I arrange them on a cutting board with some crackers and grapes, feeling faintly ridiculous. Leo Brennan, IT strategist, midnight cheese sommelier.
But that doesn’t stop me from adding a drizzle of honey because we have it and Archie strikes me as someone who’d appreciate the extra effort.
This is what he’s reduced me to.
The alarming part is, I don’t actually mind. A month ago, if someone had told me I’d be making cheese plates at midnight for a man I was fake-dating, I would have had them committed. Now it feels almost normal.
Archie has a way of making the absurd feel inevitable.
When I return to the bedroom, he’s propped himself against the headboard, looking unreasonably pleased with himself. Like a king awaiting tribute.
“You actually did it,” he says, delighted.
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late. This is the new standard.” He makes grabby hands at the cutting board. “Bring me my cheese, you magnificent nine point six. Actually, do you think that should be your new nickname?”
As he grins impishly up at me, I suddenly realize how much trouble I’m in.
I don’t know how I’m going to resist him.
I don’t know if I want to.