7. Chapter 7
seven
Skye
“Do you like Archer? Like, like him, like him?” Lily asks, walking with me toward the kitchen.
I hesitate, then nod. “I think so.”
“That’s good because he obviously likes you.” She laughs. “He’s been, like, really marking his territory, huh?”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “What do you mean?”
“You know, the hovering, the handholding, the way he stands just a smidge behind you like he’s guarding you from other guys.” She shrugs. “Total move to signal you’re taken.”
I’m taken?
I thought tonight was just… a date. But maybe the bracelet really is as big as it seems?
“Oh,” I say, caught off guard by how official it suddenly feels.
“Yep, you really hit the jackpot.” She sighs. “Meanwhile I am very much not taken. But now that my best friend’s off the market, I’m definitely making my move on Boston.”
My boot catches and I stumble, suddenly incapable of walking.
“You alright?” Lily asks with a hand on my elbow.
“Yeah, just clumsy.” I clear my throat. “So, you didn’t ask Boss out tonight?”
She groans. “He was hanging with Pace and Jon all night. I panicked.”
I noticed that—how Boston just kind of drifted off and I didn’t catch another glimpse of him after the kitchen encounter. “Yeah. Okay, well, just… I don’t know, move slow, I guess?”
“Move slow?” She huffs a laugh. “Okay, Mrs. Archer Longfellow with her fancy Tiffany’s bracelet on the first date. Didn’t realize you were suddenly some dating expert.”
I snort. “Ew, no. Don’t call me that!”
She laughs again. “I gotta head out, Mrs. Longfellow. Talk to you tomorrow.”
I wave after her, then turn toward the patio and immediately slam into a wall of warmth and hoodie.
I gasp.
“Shit. Sorry,” Boston says, steadying me with his hands on my shoulders.
My heart hammers in my chest, not only from our collision. “No, it’s my fault. I didn’t see you.”
He grins. “I’m easily missed.”
“Oh yeah, you’re such a dainty little wallflower.” I playfully swat his chest.
His gray eyes meet mine and everything else fades—the music, the chatter, even the weight of the bracelet around my wrist.
I blink, pretending not to feel that flutter low in my stomach. “Have you seen Archer, by any chance?”
His jaw flexes, but he nods. “He’s out there.”
“Thanks.” I will my feet onward, but Boston stops me.
“Hey, Stormy, can I ask you something?”
There it is again—his nickname for me.
He started calling me that after his dad died and I went full wrath-of-God on a kid who said something cruel. Boston said I looked meaner than a storm cloud.
Stormy stuck.
I nod. “Sure.”
He hesitates for a moment.
“Are… are you and Archer… together?”
I swallow, heat rushing up my neck. “I, uh, I don’t know. We’re not official, or anything,” I say. “At least… I don’t think we are,” I add too quickly. Why am I qualifying my answer? “Why do you ask?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Suddenly, it’s like lightning hits me—an image of me kissing him flashing in my mind’s eye. Not Archer. Boston. And, god, it’s so vivid it feels like a memory.
“It’s nothing,” Boston says with a shake of his head. “Just… be careful, okay?”
I don’t know why I do it—maybe because he looks so serious, or because that weird vision of us is still messing with my head—but I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tightly.
it feels… familiar. And right. I inhale deeply, his wild, heady scent winding into my nostrils, making the edges of my brain go fuzzy.
Boston doesn’t move, his arms slack by his sides, like he’s too surprised to react. Or maybe he’s too respectful to hug a girl he knows is at this party with another guy.
Oh god, what am I doing? I back off fast, plastering a smile onto my face like this wasn’t awkward as hell just now. “See you Monday?” I ask, already hurrying away from him.
By the time I find Archer—his fingers lacing with mine automatically—Boston is gone.