The twins and I had our own friends here in Austin, and while it was nice to know there was a whole group of people we could rely on in a pinch, regardless of time and distance, they couldn’t be a part of the challenges and solutions that made up our everyday lives.
Plus, Ry was the epicenter of the relationships that connected everyone. He was the one we all circulated around and gravitated toward, whether we wanted to or not. He was either related by blood to half of them or was the one who welcomed the new additions into the fold with open arms. There were a lot of us kids from the second generation running around. He was friendly and charming. He was levelheaded and calm. He was the one they turned to for advice, and the one they looked up to as a role model. The fact he and I had always rubbed each other the wrong way forever made me feel like the outcast. It made it harder to get close to the others who did nothing but sing his praises and fall for his false portrayal of perfection. I felt like I was the only person on the planet willing to call out Ry on his bullshit time and time again. I felt like I was the only one who could tell he was putting up a front, and that underneath that very pretty mask he wore, he was as much of a mess as the next conflicted kid.
I couldn’t believe he was sleeping on my couch right now.
I couldn’t believe his dream girl dumped him and had been hiding something as big as leaving the state from him.
I couldn’t believe she found the courage to tell him, to his face, that he didn’t make her happy.
I couldn’t believe I was the one he turned to for comfort after all the harsh words and ugly accusations we had slung at each other the last time we were in the same room together. I was pretty sure we’d reached the mutual agreement to never speak again after that big blowout.
The only thing that wasn’t a surprise was that he still looked as good as ever.
All those damn Archers were blessed with some pretty fucking superior genetics.
They were all tall with outrageously striking looks. Both Zowen and Ry took after their fathers with dark hair and inexplicably pale blue eyes. Both boys were in really good shape from playing sports. Ry played football, while Zowen preferred soccer. Ry was far more serious about his chosen sport than his cousin. Ry was still playing college ball, while Zowen had given up the game to focus on school when his grades started slipping. The Archer girls, Remy and Daire, looked more like their mothers, who were fair and delicate. They were no less impressive than their siblings, even though they lacked the hulking height and bulging muscles. Any one of them was a headturner on their own. When the four of them were together, it was like they created their own magnetic force that made everyone around them unable to look away or focus on anything but them. The Archer effect was no joke.
Ry had always been astoundingly good looking. He had also always known it.
It wasn’t that he was the conceited or egotistical type. More like, he’d always been the best at whatever it was he did, so of course, he would also be the guy who was the best looking wherever he went. I wanted to be irritated by his self-assurance, but he wasn’t wrong.
Honestly, today was the most real I’d ever seen him. All of that polish and shine he wore like armor had finally tarnished, but he was still better than the average person. His hair was still thick and shiny, even when it was a ruffled mess. His body was still unbelievably ripped and gorgeously toned, even when he was dressed down and looked like he’d shoved his dinner in his face while driving eighty on the interstate. His face still looked like it’d been carved by a master sculptor, even when it was tearstained and slightly haggard. An unkempt Ry Archer was still the best looking guy I’d ever seen in person. I liked him better when his human side was showing, especially since it was so rare.
I had to remind myself he was absolutely not my type. No matter how quickly he softened my hardened heart.
I never understood how a guy whose father owned and operated one of the biggest and most well-known tattoo shops in the US could be so clean cut and proper. It wasn’t that Ry didn’t have any ink, but he definitely didn’t embrace the form of self-expression the way a lot of the older kids had who had grown up running around the different tattoo shops our parents either worked in or frequented. He could be covered in beautiful, colorful designs that made him stand out even when he was covered up in a football uniform. Instead, he only had one complicated, black and gray image covering one of his muscular arms.
I thought it was boring. My dad, who was covered in ink from all over the world, reminded me it was just as bad to judge someone for how normal they looked as it was to make assumptions based on how they decorated their body. It wasn’t my place to question why Ry did or didn’t let his father put his famous and highly sought-after work all over him… but I did it anyway. Mostly because I felt like I needed to question everything Ry did.
The boy was beyond confusing.
So was the way I felt about him.
Because while Aston Wheeler might be his first love and the one he picked as his perfect match… I was his first everything else… and he was my one and only.
Chapter 2
Ry
I wasn’t sure what time it was when I finally managed to open my eyes the next day. I felt a little like I’d been hit by a two-hundred-fifty-pound linebacker or one of the semi-trucks I’d passed on the interstate. My head hurt the same way it did when I had too much to drink and was forced to get up early the following day for practice. I rubbed my eyes and swung my legs off the unfamiliar and seriously lumpy couch. I had no recollection of anything that happened after I fell apart as soon as I saw Bowe. It seemed like she somehow hauled me inside her home. That couldn’t have been an easy task considering our size difference.
Looking around her space, one thing became immediately clear. Even if you didn’t know a thing about her, you would know you were standing in the home of a musician. There were various types of guitars, both electric and acoustic, hanging on the walls and leaning against other furniture. There was an electric keyboard taking up one whole corner of the small living room, and the computer set up took up space where a dining room table should be and had all kinds of gadgets for mixing and tweaking sound, as well as an array of expensive-looking headphones. The place wasn’t exactly homey, but rather looked like the inside of a recording studio, and very much reflected Bowe’s number one passion.
The girl had been telling anyone who would listen that she was going to be a superstar since she started talking.
I dragged my hands down my face and got an unpleasant whiff of myself when I lifted my arms. Now that I was no longer operating in a haze of heartbreak, I slightly regretted my rash decision to take off in the middle of the night with zero plans or forethought. I hadn’t even packed a bag or brought anything that would make a few nights away from home comfortable.
Fortunately, I was the overly prepared type and kept a loaded gym bag in my truck, so I should be able to get by until I hit up a big box store for essentials. After collecting my duffel from the truck and cleaning out the trash that lingered from the drive, I picked my way through Bowe’s tiny house until I found the bathroom. Obviously, she was preparing to share the space with someone since the other two rooms were mostly empty but incredibly clean. It was clear she was still living her days and nights mostly backward, because I could see she was sound asleep, lying horizontally across her bed when I accidentally opened the door to her room.