Not taking the hint, Winter replies, “I’m not that tired.”
Thankfully, the groom-to-be seems to be more on board with my let’s-ditch-the-barbecue-and-go-have-sex agenda, even if he doesn’t know I’m sharing the same urges.
Logan yawns quite theatrically and gives my sister the look, saying, “Actually, I could use some nappy time.”
The bride finally gets the message, and suddenly an early bedtime becomes appealing to her, too.
She looks up at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to hang out a little longer?”
“Positive. You kids go have fun,” I say, using the tone a benevolent aunt would use when sending her horny niece to fool around—as if I didn’t have a vested, adult-turned-randy-teen interest in the game.
I kiss Winter goodnight, wink at Logan, then rush inside and toward the elevators before anyone can stop me.
When Archie opens his door five minutes later, he greets me with an infuriating, “What took you so long?”
I jokingly poke him in the chest with a finger while pushing him into the room. “Well, next time try not to mention a secret romantic rendezvous in front of my sister and I’ll be faster.”
“She was hounding me like a dog, I had to throw her a bone.”
“Because it’d be so impossible for you not to get laid.” I try to make my comment sound playful and teasing, but the words come out more nagging than intended.
Archie shrugs in a non-answer.
So, I prod him a little more. “If I remember correctly, you came back from the trip to Thailand empty-handed. No conquests made.”
He comes dangerously close to me. “That’s because I had met the wrong Knowles twin.” His words give me an unjustifiable amount of pleasure. Winter and I have never been competitive, but it’s nice to know someone in the world prefers me to her. Since The Mistake, my fan club hasn’t been exactly thriving.
I’d like to tell Archie all of this, but at the same time, I don’t want to. Thankfully, I’m saved the need to talk by his fingertips brushing up my arms.
“This little bow at the back of your neck has been teasing me all night,” Archie whispers. “I’ve so been looking forward to untying it.” He pulls at the strings unbearably slowly, eyes locked on mine.
I shift my gaze lower, to his lips, and he puts me out of my misery with a deep kiss just as my dress slips down my body and pools at my feet. Breaking the kiss, I push back from him and step out of the dress pool. I’m left standing only in my high heels and underwear, exposed but not embarrassed. To be honest, I’ve never felt sexier.
“Certain things are worth waiting for,” I say.
Archie’s eyes darken with desire, and he scoops me up into his arms. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”
Thirteen
Archie
A sense of unease wakes me up. I stir in bed, my hand automatically reaching for Summer. She’s still lying next to me, so I wrap my arms around her, sighing in relief. The ease is short-lived, though, as I realize it was the fear she’d be gone again that woke me. The concept settles a little heavy on my chest, along with a memory from last night: me scooping Summer into my arms, saying, “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”
What did I mean by that? And did my words give the wrong impression? Does Summer have expectations now? Do I? To be honest, I’m not looking forward to that Sunday end-mark at all. Three more nights to spend with her seems too short a time.
Summer stirs, eyes still closed. Gosh, she’s beautiful. Not that she hasn’t always been beautiful, but I don’t know… It’s as if she’s becoming more so every day. Hard to explain, but the more I stare at her, the more perfect she looks. Because she is perfect, and not just in a physical sense. Summer is fun, and a little quirky sometimes. But she’s also smart and kind and sweet. And all other women compared to her fade in the background.
Heck, Scarlett Johansson could walk past that door right now and I wouldn’t spare her a second glance.
And that, my friend, is an even scarier thought. One I shouldn’t contemplate without being properly caffeinated.
I return yesterday’s favor and make coffee. Summer’s I leave black, bringing the tiny creamer pod and a sugar packet along with her cup so as to leave her the choice of what to add, just like she did for me yesterday.
As I sit on the bed again, either the movement or the coffee scent wakes her. Summer stretches, hands closed in fists near her head, elbows spread wide on the pillow.
“Morning,” she says, pushing up in a sitting position. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“Yep.” I give her the cup and accessories. “I don’t know how you like it.”
She smiles, adding both the creamer and sugar. “Sweet and full of milk, thank you.”
“Only returning the favor.”
Summer takes a long sip, saying nothing. Guess we’re not discussing why she freaked out yesterday and made me wake up to an empty bed and a cup of coffee. What else are we avoiding telling each other? A lot, I fear. Too much.
“Yoga will start soon. You want to go?” I ask, steering clear of more serious topics like a coward.
“Yeah, sure,” she says. “I’ll pop into my room real quick to get changed and meet you downstairs.”
“Okay.” I get up and pretend to use the bathroom to give her some privacy. When I walk out she’s in the white dress again, feet bare, the heels dangling from her fingers. The temptation to untie that bow behind her neck again and skip yoga altogether is hard to resist, but I bite the inside of my cheek and act cool. “See you in a bit?”
“Sure,” she says, blushing. My eyes must be saying what my mouth isn’t.
Summer walks toward me, stands on tiptoe, and stamps a sweet kiss on my lips. It’s an almost innocent gesture, but it has a lot of meaning for me that she didn’t just walk out of the room.
In yoga, our work has improved yet again. Our motions are perfectly coordinated, we’re more familiar with the various poses, and we move through them flawlessly.
“Wonderful job, you guys,” the instructor says, walking past us toward the end of class. “You make a great team.”
The simple comment launches me into another mental rant. Are we a team? I feel a little that way, like it’s me and Summer against the world. And not just because we’re keeping our involvement a secret.
As we walk to the breakfast room, this insane thought pops into my head that I’d rather not have to share her with the rest of the wedding party. Not for breakfast. And not for anything else.
Last night, Logan said he wanted to sleep in, so there might be a chance he and Winter are still in bed.
That hope dies when I spot my friend’s mop of black hair next to Tucker’s distinctive brown curls.
So much for taking it easy, I think accusingly.
My dream of breakfast for two at a table by the window, eating croissants and enjoying the view together, vanishes. Summer will want to keep up appearances.