Chapter 12
TWELVE
DARCY
I was mid-deadlift, sweat dripping down my face, and between my shoulder blades, when I heard a knock at my door.
Linnea and I always had dinner together on Sundays like we had growing up, but that wasn’t until later.
Shayna was out of town for the weekend, and I doubt she’d gotten back early considering I had no texts from her.
There wasn’t anyone else who ever stopped by except for the mailman who, in the three years I’d lived here, had never once knocked on my door.
Grabbing the towel I had draped over my bench press earlier, I dried my face so that I didn’t look like a complete disaster for whoever was on the other side, and swung open the door.
I froze, a greeting on the tip of my tongue. Nothing could’ve prepared me for the man standing on my doorstep.
Archer stood in all black, one hand clutching his motorcycle helmet down by his side, the other propped against my door frame.
It was such a casual stance for someone who should know he wasn’t going to be receiving a warm welcome.
A tiny part of my brain also registered that it was a very hot stance too, but that was probably the pregnancy libido talking, and she needed to shut up because this was Archer.
We didn’t like him, or his dick at the moment—no matter how incredible said dick was.
Stop it.
Focusing back on the present, I watched his eyes roam over my body, and I crossed my arms over my chest, drawing his attention back up to my face.
He straightened, hand dropping from the doorframe to point an accusatory finger in my direction.
“I’m not a coward,” he finally muttered, green eyes colliding with mine.
My eyebrows shot up. What the hell was I missing? “Okay, great.”
“I’m an ass, but I’m not a coward.”
A sarcastic laugh slipped through my parted lips.
“I’m so glad you’re self-aware. Feel free to have this epiphany of yours elsewhere.
” I moved to slam the door in his face, but it never made it.
Glancing down, I saw the tip of his black steel-toed boot in my door, and anger raced down my spine. The audacity of this man.
Ripping the door back open, I opened my mouth to tear him to shreds, but he beat me to it.
“Just wait, okay? Look . . .” He glanced back over his shoulder like he was contemplating leaving and abandoning whatever mission he came here on.
When he looked back at me, his demeanor was different.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the other night at the bar, and I’m sorry about right now. I’m not . . . good with people.”
The apology seemed genuine, and part of me wanted to accept it. Unfortunately for him, I was still pissed off. It’d been weeks of nothing from him, and now he wanted to apologize? I recrossed my arms and hitched an eyebrow at him. “You don’t say?”
His brows knit together slightly, clearly not loving my attitude. Well, good. I didn’t love his either.
“You’re not exactly making this easy on me.”
“And you think I should?”
“Can I please come inside? I was hoping we could talk.”
“I tried talking with you. You stormed out on me. Why should I talk to you now?”
He scowled down at me, somehow standing closer to me than he was a minute ago. “Darcy.”
Why did him growling my name alone have my resolve lessening? And when did the heat in my house kick on? I was sweating all over again.
Rolling my eyes, I uncrossed my arms and opened the door wider, stepping aside so he could enter. “Fine. I’ll give you five minutes.”
I could’ve sworn I’d heard him mutter something that sounded an awful lot like “brat” under his breath, as he brushed past me, but I wasn’t sure enough to call him out on it.
The man had no problem making himself right at home, setting his helmet on the kitchen island and taking a seat on one of the barstools. If he thought I was going to offer him something to drink he was sorely mistaken. Turns out, I was feeling awfully petty.
I took up a spot on the opposite side of the island, letting the marble put distance between us just in case he said something that had me wanting to punch him. Not that I had any problems with leaping across the table.
“How are you, um, feeling?”
A laugh escaped me. “Are you really asking that?”
“Yes?”
“I’m tired, hungry, and wildly cranky, so you might want to get to your point.”
“I’ll do a paternity test,” he snapped, his voice more hurried than aggressive, like he was trying to say it before he could stop himself, and annoyance was just his default tone.
However, of all the things he could have said, that was one of the last things I expected to hear come out of his mouth.
Almost three weeks ago, I sat with this man in a booth and told him I was potentially carrying his child, and he looked me in the eyes and insisted the baby wasn’t his—insisted that I’d get nothing from him.
Maybe my face hadn’t shown it, maybe I put on a better front than I thought, but I’d been vulnerable with him.
I’d let my guard down, which was something I never did, and he fled the bar without so much as a backwards glance.
Now, here he was, in my house, sitting at my kitchen island, offering to do a paternity test?
I glanced at my glass of water on the counter skeptically, as if it was the reason I was hallucinating an apologetic Archer.
“Darcy?” His voice was gentle, so at odds with the rest of him.
Nothing about Archer was gentle. His entire persona was bad boy biker dude mixed with sexy firefighter and a dash of danger.
No one looked at him and said, “I bet he has a secret love for animals,” or “he probably makes a delicious chocolate chip cookie.” Every bit of his appearance was exactly what you got.
Snapping my gaze back to his, I pinned him with a cautiously curious look. “Why?”
Shock registered on his features, like he hadn’t expected that particular response from me. “Why?”
“Yes!” I shouted. “Why? Why are you offering to do the test when you made it perfectly clear you wanted nothing to do with either of us?”
He had the good sense to look ashamed. “Because, I’m not a coward. I was an ass, and I reacted poorly, and for that I’m sorry.”
I scoffed, the hurt I felt in that booth resurfacing—that’s what bottling your emotions will do for you. “Just for that?”
He inhaled the deepest breath I’d ever heard someone take, followed by an equally large exhale. “I’m trying to make things right here.”
Glaring at him, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Try harder.”
Maybe I should’ve eased up on him a bit. He was here to apologize after all, but he really had been an ass.
“What do you want from me, Darcy?” He sounded a touch exasperated, but also desperate. Desperate for what, I wasn’t sure. Did he genuinely want to make things right by me, or did he just not want me to think he was a coward?
Regardless, my mind began racing with all the possibilities. I’m sure if I asked for money he’d agree, but that wasn’t me. I wasn’t rich by any means, but I didn’t need his financial help, and I wasn’t the type of woman to take it simply because I could.
I shrugged, then placed my hands on the counter top before me. “I don’t know; I’ll have to think about it. The test is a good start, though.”
The laugh that burst out of him was more a sarcastic scoff, but still, it was an interesting sound. “I’m sure you will.” He brushed a hand over the back of his head and released a weighted breath. “Can I put my number in your phone? So you can text me when you decide?”
I hesitated for a couple of seconds, then nodded. “Sure. Yeah.” I unlocked my phone and opened it to my contacts, passing it over the island to his waiting hand. Before I knew it, Archer had programmed his number into my contacts and was handing it back to me.
“Okay, cool,” I said, the whole situation feeling a little awkward. “Um, did you need anything else?”
His eyes scanned my face, contemplating something before shaking his head and standing up. The full height of him made my tiny apartment feel impossibly smaller—hotter. It felt far too warm in here. I needed him to leave so I could breathe properly.
I led him back down the hallway that served as an entryway, and opened the door. He stepped through, but lingered on the other side.
“Thank you . . . for hearing me out and not slamming the door in my face.”
I decided not to get into how he hadn’t extended the same courtesy to me at The Crooked Quill. “It wasn’t for lack of trying.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in what I thought was almost the start of a smile before he slid his helmet over his head, hiding my ability to see if it turned into anything more.
Then he turned and walked down the two steps to the walkway, the setting sun reflecting off the black sheen of his motorcycle.
The second I closed and locked the door, I raced back to where I’d set my phone on the counter, and texted Linnea.
Me: Change of plans. We’re going out. Meet me at Abe’s.
Me: You’re going to need a drink for what I’m about to tell you.
I got ready in record speed, not caring that I was going to be early to dinner with Linnea. It seemed too good to be true. Archer had just offered to do the paternity test in addition to whatever else I wanted, but there had to be a catch. There was always a catch.