5. Allie
ALLIE
With pillows piled high on all sides, I nestle back against my headboard and pop two ibuprofen into my mouth, washing them down with a swig of ginger ale.
I’ve my favorite cucumber melon mask on my face, I’m freshly showered, and wearing my comfiest pajama bottoms and TU crewneck I stole from Archer last fall when Willow and I flew out for one of his home games.
No matter how many times I wash it, it still kind of smells like him, and I’m already having withdrawals. It happens every time we sleep together—both sexually and platonically. I have to enter a full twelve-step program to recover and relearn how to be on my own again.
Last night was a slip up that shouldn’t have happened.
I wasn’t expecting to see him, and that mingled with Declan’s humiliating outburst—which he’s called me at least twenty times today to try and apologize for—led me to over drink, and my baser self knows that Archer Ramos is the fortress to my reluctant vulnerability.
It was embarrassing to immediately fall back into my reliance on him, to demand he take me to bed and hold me through the night.
It was crossing boundaries he and I have fought hard to draw and fought harder not to break—we almost always fail.
But last night, even as wasted as I was, I could tell he was battling the proximity.
He wanted to keep the space, and I shattered the illusion of our mutual self-restraint into splinters.
I needed to cuddle up with myself today and lick my emotional wounds. I was needy and obnoxious and overly emotional. Things I typically wouldn’t be ashamed of, but I know Archer was hellbent on not crossing lines, and I hate that I dragged him over them anyway.
Plus, Willow made me go paddleboarding this morning, and that was a complete fucking nightmare.
The minute I got home, I stepped into the steamiest shower I could handle, wrapped myself in my most comforting clothing, and got right to work on my recovery routine.
Skincare, face mask, conditioning treatment for my poor curls that weren’t maintained last night, and hours upon hours of my favorite reality television show that I’ve already watched a hundred times over, playing in the background.
After I wash this mask off, I’ll dive into the advanced e-copy of Elena’s next release that she allowed me to read early.
Dahlia promised that Archer would bring me dinner, but I texted him and told him not to worry about it.
He’s home for the next month, and I’ll see him at the boardwalk tomorrow while I’m working, I’m sure.
I think we could both use some space tonight, so I decided I’ll order delivery from my favorite Chinese restaurant across town.
An hour later, I’m five chapters deep into Elena’s enticing childhood-friends-to-enemies-to-lovers romance while the white noise of two middle-aged women throwing glassware at each other in Amsterdam plays on my television when someone knocks on my door.
My studio above The Wicked Wildflower includes an entrance at the bottom of the stairwell behind the bakery, and my front door at the top of the stairs.
I know I locked the bottom door when I came home this morning, and there are only a handful of people with access to the key that opens it.
The boardwalk owners and their children.
I texted Archer earlier and let him know he didn’t need to worry about feeding me, and while I suppose it could be Willow, I don’t know why she’d show up without letting me know first. With a huff, I toss my Kindle onto my mattress, throw off my blankets, and pad across the linoleum flooring to the door before unlocking it and tossing it open.
His shoulders are so goddamn wide they take up nearly the entire frame.
I wonder if he has to turn sideways to get inside most places.
There was a period of time when we were children that I was taller than Archer, but not long after he hit puberty at thirteen did he shoot up like a beanstalk, and I’ve had to crane my neck to meet his gaze ever since.
I don’t often mind it. When I walk into his arms, they’re the perfect height to cradle my head, and my cheek rests at the center of his chest, so I can feel the beat of his heart against my skin.
In moments like this, though—when I’m right in the middle of my Ramos rehab treatment and I know it’d be a terrible idea to touch him—I hate how tall he is. Tall and broad and so strong.
Fuck. Now I’m remembering the way he’s capable of lifting me like I weigh nothing.
I’m remembering the last time we were together—when he threw me onto his bed, sank to his knees, and still towered over the mattress.
How he gripped my thighs with that delicious pressure that set an aching need deep inside my core.
“Allie Cat.” His voice is a soft caress, floating through the space between us, warming my cheeks.
My eyes snap to his. He’s watching me with that frustratingly charming crinkle at the edges of his blue eyes, the corner of his lips tilting into the salacious smirk that drives me mad—the one only meant for me.
“Where’d you go just then?”
I scoff and toss him an eye roll for his obnoxious accuracy at reading my emotions, then spin on my heel and retreat back through my apartment.
Archer follows me in, shutting the door behind him and setting two large paper bags that smell alarmingly like the spring rolls and chicken chow mein from my favorite Chinese takeout on the small dining table beside the entrance.
I lean back against the kitchen counter, flicking a brow in his direction. “I told you earlier I was going to order in for myself tonight. You didn’t need to come by.”
He shrugs, busying himself with unpacking the food.
“Well, I beat you to it.” Without looking at me, he extends a box and a pair of chopsticks in my direction.
I take them, digging into the savory noodles and fighting the urge to salivate at the smell.
“I wanted to check on you and make sure you’re okay after last night. ”
“Like I said in my text earlier, I’m fine,” I mumble through a mouth full of food.
After popping the lid off a container of broccoli and beef and digging in, Archer glances in my direction, chewing slowly as he studies me. “You don’t want me here.” It’s not a question. “Why?”
“You know why,” I whisper.
Because it’s impossible to be around you and not fall in love with you.
His eyes soften, brows drawing together in understanding as he bites his inner cheek. Going back to his food, he says quietly, “Have you talked to him?”
“Declan?”
Archer nods, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Not yet. He’s been groveling all day, but…” I laugh lightly. “I plan to make him sweat it out a little longer.”
“You should end things.” Archer raises his head, and when I frown, he pins me with a withering look. “You know you deserve better, Allie. I know that you know that.”
I shrug, crossing one foot behind my ankle as I dig through my noodles, my appetite dissipating the longer this conversation wears on me. “I can take care of myself. It’s not something for you to worry about.”
He sets his takeout on the table before reaching me in two long strides. “That’s where you’re wrong, Allie Cat. I’m always worried about you. I worry you’ll forget your worth when you’re wrapped up in relationships like this.”
I keep my eyes fixed on the chopsticks in my hands. If I look at him, I’ll dissolve beneath his gaze—I’ll throw my entire heart away for one night in his arms, and neither of us is strong enough to stop that storm once it starts.
“We promised we wouldn’t do this,” I murmur. He’s standing so close to me now, the heat of his body radiates against my skin. So close that when his breath becomes rapid, the movement of his chest nearly brushes against me. “We wouldn’t get involved in each other’s relationships.”
He stills for a moment before his huge hands softly grasp each side of my face, and his lips tenderly glide over my forehead. He takes a step back, voice hollow as he whispers, “I know.”
The reconfirmation of the rules we made years ago, when he first left for college, gives me the courage to lift my head and look at him again. I force a soft smile, nodding toward the table. “Eat with me.”
He takes a seat in one of the worn wooden chairs that is far too small for his hulking body. I slide in across from him, digging back into my chow mein.
“Are you going to avoid me all summer, then?” he asks, breaking the tense silence.
“Of course not.” I sigh. “I want to spend as much time with you as possible. I wasn’t expecting you yesterday, and after my fight with Declan, I was…” I shrug. “I was looking for comfort, I guess.”
“I want to be your comfort, Allie.”
“You are.” I nod, lifting my eyes to find his blazing through me from across the table. “When I’m drunk, though, I want more than that. I want you in ways I shouldn’t—ways that we both know hurt more than help. I needed to take today to recover from that. Remind myself of our boundaries.”
Archer chews the inside of his lip before a small snort escapes his nostrils. He mindlessly digs into his food, but I wonder if he’s lost his appetite because he doesn’t seem to be making an effort to actually take a bite. “Zander thinks the two of us are fucked up.”
“We’ve always been messy.” I shrug.
Our relationship doesn’t make sense to anyone else—hell, I can hardly understand it myself half the time.
But at the end of the day, I know I can’t live without him.
I’ve never known life without Archer in it.
I’ve never spent a day where he wasn’t my very best friend.
It may be a common phrase, but he and I might as well have invented the concept of knowing someone better than they know themselves.
I know Archer could be the love of my life, and I still hold hope that someday that’s exactly what he’ll become, but we both understand the distance is too painful.
Falling into one another’s arms the few times each year we’re able to see each other causes a heartbreak that’s proven detrimental to our souls, and while none of it’s ever easy, it’s easier to nurture the friendship above all else.
Friends who sometimes slip up and fuck each other.
We’re all human, I guess.
After we finish eating, Archer helps me store my leftovers in the fridge and take out the trash before we end up back in front of my apartment door, awkwardly staring each other down.
“We could watch a movie?” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
“You know that will only end up with you between my thighs.” I reach for the door handle.
Archer’s hand darts out, covering mine before I can pull the door open. His convicted rasp echoing across my skin with a vibrant heat as he says, “I can control myself, Allie Cat.”
“I can’t,” I whisper back.
We’re still for a moment, his palm over mine, scorching my flesh. His body towers behind me, rapid breath skating over the back of my neck. My core floods, atoms buzzing with a primal, ancient need—some tether I think has stretched between us far longer than just this lifetime and these bodies.
I’m not looking at him, my gaze is fixed on our hands, but I hear him swallow before he roughly clears his throat and steps away, skin slipping off my own. “Will you be working tomorrow?”
I spin around, pulling the door open and meeting his sapphire gaze, nodding.
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll come by. I’m meeting with a private trainer in the morning, then volunteer coaching a practice with the PSHS team, but I’ll head over to the boardwalk after that, yeah?”
I smile too, but it feels forced. I’d like nothing more than to make him stay, have him hold me all night, and watch his hands trace every inch of my skin. But I’m all too familiar with the heartache that follows the experience of making Archer Ramos mine, so I only say, “Yeah.”
He kisses my forehead softly before darting out the door. I listen as his footsteps fade away before I close it behind him and crawl back into bed. I spend the rest of the evening tied up in a romance book, savoring the lingering scent of his body wash that’s become trapped inside my shirt.