31. Allie
ALLIE
“Archer,” I whisper, nudging the hulking man whose massive body is slung over mine. “Archer.”
He’s fast asleep, heavy breath filtering through his parted, full lips, long lashes fanned out over his cheeks—just a faint shadow of hair dusting along his jaw.
God, he’s fucking beautiful. It’s unreal, actually.
He’s on his side, one leg thrown over my thigh, his arm holding my belly—caressing his child even in sleep.
I feel bad waking him when he looks so peaceful, but… “Archer.” I shake him again.
“Hmm?” He stirs, stretching out his absurdly long limbs, and for the first time it dawns on me the real possibility that I could end up birthing a twelve-pound baby.
The man who made her is fucking huge.
“I need you,” I whisper, and his eyes flutter open immediately.
Brow furrowing as he takes me in, he studies me for only a moment before he lifts onto an elbow, eyes tracking up and down my body as if searching for the source of my distress. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”
“A McGriddle.”
He pauses, gaze flashing back to my face before he rubs a hand across his jaw, letting out a rough, grainy laugh. “A McGriddle?”
“It’s not me.” I hold out my palms in surrender. “It’s baby. She needs one like…pronto.”
“Okay, okay.” He groans, voice rough and crackly so early in the morning. Pulling himself into a sitting position, Archer runs a hand down his face. “I’ll go get you a McGriddle.”
His muscles strain and his bones crack as he lifts out of bed. Wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, I can see every fine line of definition in his limbs when he stands and stretches—thick arms, broad back, tight ass.
Damn.
Maybe I’m craving more than just breakfast sausage.
I slowly climb out of bed as Archer pulls a tee and a pair of sweatpants on.
It’s just after seven a.m. on New Year’s Day, and as far as I know, neither Archer nor myself have plans.
The boardwalk is closed, and I officially finished college two weeks ago at the end of the fall semester.
Archer is one semester short of graduation, but since he moved back to California to prepare for the draft, and the baby, he’s not taking classes anymore.
His training cohort has the day off as well, I think.
So, I don’t feel quite as bad about waking him up so early to get me McDonald’s because he can at least go back to sleep afterward.
“Just one McGriddle?” he asks, yawning as he reaches the bedroom doorway.
“And three hash browns.”
He flicks a brow at me, crossing his arms. “Three?”
I nod. “One to put inside my McGriddle, one to eat with ketchup, and one to eat by itself.”
A bemused smirk accents his flawless face as his eyes track my movements while I dress. “My girls are hungry this morning, yeah?”
“Yeah, Daddy.” I pout, stepping into him. “Starving.”
“Fuck.” His throat works with a groan as he tosses his head back. “You called me that last night.”
“Do you like it when I call you Daddy?” I ask, planting a hand against the center of his chest as I peer up at him through my lashes.
He drops his head, searing me with sharp blue eyes. “Yeah. I do.”
I press up onto my toes, planting a soft kiss to his lips before I slip past him and into the bathroom. “Oh, and make sure you get a packet of grape jelly too!”
His laugh bounces off the walls of the small house as he leaves, the front door clicking shut behind him.
I’m elbow deep in a mixing bowl twenty minutes later when Archer returns with that heavenly little paper bag and the smell of hot salt immediately infiltrates all of my senses.
“What’re ya doin’?” he asks, setting the food on the counter across from me.
“Felt like I wanted to make cupcakes today.” I shrug.
“The coffee shop has been so busy with the holiday rush over the past few weeks, I’ve been spending most of my shifts at the front of the house and not in the kitchen.
Then, after work, I’m so tired most days that I’m not up to staying around to bake on my own time. I have the urge this morning, though.”
I went with a simple vanilla batter for the cake itself and sorted through the kitchen for what I have on hand to dress up the frosting. There are fresh fruits, heavy cream, and powdered sugar. So, I thought I’d do a blueberry-lemon frosting with powdered sugar, blueberry, and lemon zest garnish.
Simple. Easy. Classic.
I take a break for a moment, though, sliding my mixing bowl aside before I pull the McDonalds bag in front of me. A minute later, I’m in the middle of spreading grape jam over my McGriddle-hashbrown concoction and taking a massive bite when Archer says, “Can I take you on a date?”
“A date?” I ask, mouth full. My eyes drift to my baby bump. “We’re a little past that, don’t you think?”
Archer laughs, rounding the island. Coming to stand in front of me, he says, “We are. You’re the love of my life, Allie.
I already know that much.” He reaches out, brushing a thumb along my lower lip.
I only realize I had jelly on my face when he pulls back and sucks it into his mouth.
“You’re the mother of my child. The owner of my body, and yet we’ve never even dated.
Not officially, anyway. I want to take you out. ”
A giddy, schoolgirl-like giggle bursts from my lips, my gaze dropping to my feet as a bashful blush heats my neck. “I’d love to date you, Archer.”
Suddenly, the pressure of his hand grips my chin, and my face is tilted upward to meet his convicted eyes. “I’ve got back-to-back team visits coming up, and I know you’re starting to teach dance, so it might not be immediately, but I’m gonna plan something, okay?”
“Okay.” I smile. “Do I have to wait until the date to fuck you too?”
His laugh blankets my lips before he kisses me softly. “My body is at your beck and call, baby, but last night I wanted to take care of you. Your body was the focus.”
“Your body makes my body feel good,” I whisper.
He groans, nipping my lip before pulling himself away. “And now I’m going to be hard during my run.”
“Well, that’s what you get for going for a run on New Year’s Day,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Do you ever take a day off?”
“First round draft picks don’t have off days.” He winks, strutting toward the front door. “I’m mostly resting, but I want to keep my limbs loose. I’ll be back in a bit to eat your cupcake.”
“What exactly do you mean by cupcake?” I call as he steps outside.
He only responds by tossing me another wink before the door clicks closed behind him.
When Archer gets back from his run a while later, my cupcakes are halfway done baking and my frosting is chilling in the fridge. The house smells like warm vanilla, and college football is playing on the television.
I considered not streaming it for the sake of Archer’s feelings, since his team didn’t make the playoffs, but I know he secretly enjoys watching the sport when nothing is on the line for him. It’s the one time where he can think past strategy and leadership and just enjoy football for what it is.
Plus, he’s still the top-ranked quarterback in the country for pass completion percentage, even without postseason participation.
I open the window above the kitchen sink, the Pacific horizon a fine line past the porch outside.
The sun is bright overhead, casting a glittering gold over the ocean.
The sea breeze filters through the house, adding a little chill that is just tolerable enough for me to wear my favorite crewneck of Archer’s.
Admittedly, I love living in the Grahams’ guesthouse, and even though it’s only one bedroom, I think it’ll be a perfect place to bring a newborn home to.
Someday, when our daughter is older, we’ll play on the beach in Celestia Cove, and I’ll be able to tell her that it was the first place she ever called home.
“When will we have to move?” I ask, hearing Archer’s footsteps behind me after he’s finished showering, staring out over the horizon as I wash dishes.
“Darby and Leo said we can live here as long as we want to. We don’t have to move before the baby is born.”
“Right.” I turn around as a whisk slips from my grasp and clatters against the sink. “We’ll have to move after you’re drafted, though. When will that be?”
He rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. “Mid-summer, most likely.”
I nod. “So, we’ll still get a few months with her here before we have to leave?”
Archer’s brows draw together, eyes cast in unease as his lips cluster at the corner of his mouth. He studies me for a long moment before sighing and nodding toward the couch. “Let’s sit?”
I glance at the timer on the oven, noting I still have a bit before the cupcakes are done baking before following Archer over to the living room. He sprawls out on the sofa, patting the cushion beside him, and as I sit, he lifts my legs into his lap and begins rubbing my feet.
“You’re the world-class athlete who trains seven days a week, and yet you’re constantly rubbing my feet.” I laugh. “Maybe I should be pregnant all the time.”
He slowly lifts a brow, that charming-as-fuck smirk creeping up his mouth as his eyes rake over my body.
“You’re growing a human being, Allie. There is no comparison.
” Lifting my ankle to his lips, Archer presses a kiss to my foot.
“But if you want to keep making my babies, I’ll do anything you want. ”
A low whoosh swoops through my stomach at that insinuation, the sprouting of butterfly wings erupting from my depths. Heat floods my cheeks, though I can’t stop the smile that begs to spread over my mouth at the fantasies of our future that blanket my vision.
I shake my head, hiding my face as a bashful laugh bursts from my mouth. “Maybe we should get our shit together and get this first kid out of me before we consider making any more.”
When I lift my eyes to Archer, he’s grinning. “Whatever you want, baby.” Archer clears his throat. “But…regarding the gathering of our shit, I’ll start the season out with a training camp wherever I’m drafted—if I get draft—”
“You’re getting drafted.”
He tsks a laugh. “Anyway, the training camp is typically onsite at a college campus or training center, so there is no point in you coming then and having to move in all alone. After training camp in August, I’ll get us a place to live and then bring you and the baby out to get settled before the season starts. ”
“Do you have an idea of where we’ll end up?”
He huffs, shaking his head. “No, but Lou is going to run some analytics postseason to pull the most likely odds depending on different teams’ budgets, needs, and draft pick placement. If I were to guess, though, I’d say Pittsburgh, Buffalo, and Miami are the most likely options.”
“All East Coast teams,” I murmur.
“I know.” He sighs.
“What will your schedule be like?”
“Training and practice through the week, games on Sundays, with the exception of primetime. Mondays off, again…with the exception of primetime.”
“And you’ll be home every night?”
He nods. “Unless I’m traveling.”
“Right,” I breathe.
Archer bends my legs, inching himself across the cushion to get closer to me. “C’mere,” he murmurs. “Let me hold you for a second.”
I sit up as he draws me into his arms, folding his body over mine. “I hate the thought of taking you away from our family, but I hate the thought of being away from you—both of you—more. I know I’m a selfish fucking asshole, but…”
“You’re not,” I rasp, shaking my head. “You’re not. I know you would’ve given it all up so we could stay right here. Sometimes I wanted to be selfish enough to let you, but I love you too much for that.”
“I love you enough that I’m willing to let you stay,” he whispers. “If you think this is where you’ll be happiest. Where she’ll be happiest.”
“No,” I whisper. “We’ll make it through. Together, this time. We’ll spend the offseason here, right?” I tilt my head, peering up at him.
His blue eyes shine when he nods. “Yes.”
“Then we’ll be okay. You’ll be rich enough to fly our family out as often as I want.”
His breath is hot against my temple when he laughs. “You’re giving me all my dreams, Allie. I’ll do everything in my power to give you yours too.”
“I know.” I press my lips to his jaw. “I know.”
We don’t say much after that. When my cupcakes finish baking, I return to the kitchen to frost and garnish them while Archer works on his laptop while watching football.
He eats two cupcakes, so do I, then I eat another two hours later.
I box up the rest for him to take to the other players in his training cohort when he returns to practice tomorrow.
We spend the rest of the afternoon lazily watching movies before Archer ultimately falls asleep, sprawled across the sofa with his head on my belly.
The sun is still fading outside as the house becomes cast in darkness, only the light from the television illuminating the room when a notification chimes on Archer’s laptop.
He doesn’t stir, so I reach over him as gently as possible, lifting the screen to check the message. He has an email from Lou confirming his flights about a team visit coming up, but what piques my interest more is the search engine he has opened, and the history of topics listed in the search bar.
Culinary graduate programs in Pittsburgh
Culinary schools in Upstate New York
Culinary programs in Miami
Dance studios in Miami
Archer hums in his sleep, curling his face against the swell of my stomach. My eyes mist over as I close his computer, leaning back to gaze down at him as I run my fingers through his hair.
Every step I take these days feels like attempting to outrun the inescapable haze of fear that has my throat firmly clutched in its grasp.
My entire life is about to change in every conceivable way, I can see it barreling toward me at light speed, and I’m left with no choice but to brace myself and hit it head-on.
While the terror of my oncoming reality is potent, siphoning all the space around us, I’m certain that nobody is more qualified to carry me through than the man sleeping in my arms—the boy who has held my hand through every phase of life.