Chapter Two: Archer

Chapter Two

Archer

Boobs.

All I see are boobs. Large. Perky. Round. They’re in my face and I’m having a hard time straightening up to look at the waitress’s eyes. Alcohol drips off her perfect tits, rolling down onto the table and splashing into my lap.

“Sorry,” the drunk asshole who bumped into her slurs, stumbling away. Dean, who’s on his way to being just as toasted as that guy, jumps up and takes the waitress by the arm and helps her straighten up. The guy had shoved her forward and she hit the table. In a desperate attempt to save the tray full of shots she brought it closer to her body which resulted in all ten shot glasses and one strawberry margarita sliding down the tray and crashing against her ample chest.

I’ve never been jealous of an inanimate object before today. She’s leaning over, alcohol streaming down the tray. A shot glass hits the table and rolls, landing on my lap.

“You all right?” Dean asks, brow furrowing. He looks through the crowd for the drunk guy who bumped into the waitress. She takes a step back, looking at the alcohol running down the front of her white dress. I raise my gaze from her breasts to her face, and my heart stops in my chest.

It’s Quinn, and I haven’t laid eyes on her in years. Her green eyes widen in shock, full lips parting ever so slightly. And then red rushes to her cheeks, embarrassed not by dropping the tray, but by having everyone look at her.

It may have been years since I’ve seen her, but I remember her well. Even though I shouldn’t. Even though it’s wrong.

“Logan’s going to kill you,” Dean says with a grin.

She shakes her head. “I do his taxes. He won’t kill me.” With a sigh, she shifts her gaze, looking at me for the first time. “I am so—” The words die in her throat the second we make eye contact. Everything about her is sheer perfection—even with the booze covering her dress. Her brunette hair falls down her back in waves, and I can see a hint of her freckles dotting her cheeks. She blinks rapidly, long lashes coming together. Then she turns her head down again, wiping away a bead of alcohol rolling down her neck. I can’t help but look too, eyes going right to her tits, which are currently covered in whiskey. My cock jumps at the thought of licking it off her.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” she finally finishes.

“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.” I exhale and reach across the table for a napkin. It’s damp from the drink that was resting on it, but it’s better than nothing.

“Thanks.” Her fingers brush mine as she takes the napkin, swiping it over her collarbone. “It’s going to be hard to explain this if I get pulled over on the way home.” Her hand plunges between her breasts, wiping up as much of the whiskey off her sun-kissed skin as she can.

“You too, Archer.” Kara points to the shot glass that’s resting on my legs. “You both smell like alcoholics.”

Her comment, as innocent as it is, makes me cringe. I do know what an alcoholic smells like. And it’s often much worse than smelling like straight whiskey and a strawberry margarita.

“Whatever,” Quinn says, shaking her head. “It is what it is, right? Could be worse. Want me to get you refills?”

“Refills implies we got the first fill,” Dean teases, picking up empty shot glasses from the table. I lean over and grab three from the floor. Quinn does the same, but her back is to me. My mouth goes dry as I watch her bend over, oblivious to how dangerously close her ass is to being exposed in that short dress.

It’s just a sundress, white with little pale-yellow birds patterned along the hem. On anyone else, I wouldn’t bat an eye.  But on Quinn, a potato sack would look erotic.

She’s tall and lean, getting most of her height from her long legs. I’ve wanted to bury my face between her large breasts since the moment I saw her, and those tits are what threw me on day one, thinking she was much older than she really was.

Even when I found out our age difference, I still wanted her. Her brother was my roommate freshman year of college, but it didn’t matter.

Until it did.

Dean became more like a brother than my best friend, and I didn’t realize how much I needed his family until they took me in. The whole Dawson crew—all seven of them—are good people.

The kind of good that’s hard to find.

The kind of good that values family. That means it when they say they’ll be there for you. The kind that makes you feel welcome and safe, who invites the guy who’s been living with their son for a few months back to the family farm for Christmas because his own parents had to fly out to Vegas at the last minute to deal with some shit no one should deal with over a holiday.

Then it mattered.

“Thanks,” Quinn tells me and puts the final shot glass on the tray.

“Why are you bringing drinks out?” Dean sits back down in the booth and puts an arm around Kara.

“Heather is running late and I tried to be nice.”

“That’s where you went wrong, sis.” Dean picks up his beer only to realize it’s empty. “Don’t do favors for those dickheads.”

“Those dickheads who brought you another beer?” Logan appears behind Quinn, with a towel in one hand and a beer in another. Dean laughs and takes the beer from his younger brother.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Quinn starts. “Some drunk guy bumped into me. On accident,” she adds quickly, knowing her brothers well. All four of them are over-protective, and if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve secretly wanted Quinn for myself for the last several years, I would have felt sorry for her. Dating can’t be easy with Owen, Logan, Dean, and Weston always looking over her shoulder.

Logan shrugs it off and mops up some of the booze on the floor with the towel. “There’s a reason you’re not a bartender anymore.”

“Trust me, I know.” She picks up the tray. “I’ll go get more.”

“No!” everyone shouts at the same time. Laughing, Logan takes the tray from her. “I’ll get it.”

“Thanks,” she tells him and pulls her phone from her purse, firing off a text message. “Dammit. Jamie’s already on her way. I was hoping she’d bring me more clothes,” she mutters to herself. The white fabric of her dress is stained from the margarita, and she has to be soaked down to her bra from the whiskey. Well, if she’s wearing a bra. My eyes go back to her chest on their own accord. I don’t see straps, and the faint outline of her nipples are visible through the wet fabric.

Dammit. I need to stop.

“I have an extra set of scrubs in my car,” I offer before I have a chance to think about what I’m saying. “They’re clean.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” she says, looking at the stains on her dress again. “The smell alone is going to make me sick.”

“Memories?” Dean probes, raising his eyebrows.

“Maybe.”

“I didn’t know your nerd-friends knew how to have fun.”

Not missing a beat, she pops her hip and places a hand on the curve. “Well, between washing our Ferraris and firing our personal assistants, we’re known to have fun.”

Dean waves his hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Be nice to the nerds because you might end up working for one.”

“Exactly. And I don’t drive a Ferrari. Or have a personal assistant. And I wouldn’t fire one unless they were doing a terrible job.” She turns to me, a smile playing on her full lips. “You brought scrubs to a bar?”

“They’re in my car. I keep an extra set or two in there. You never know what a day might bring at the hospital.”

“Oh, right.” The flush is back on her cheeks. “You’re a doctor now.”

“I am,” I reply and get out of the booth. The smell of her floral perfume is masked under the heavy scent of alcohol clinging to her skin. It wafts its way to me, teasing, making me want to lean closer and inhale.

“What do you do?”

“General surgery, for now.”

She takes a small step backward, heel sliding on the floor still slick from the spilled drinks. I reach out and catch her, pulling her to my chest to keep her from falling.

“I keep telling you ‘thanks’ tonight.” Her hands slide across my pec as she uprights herself. “And I should probably wipe that up before someone else slips.” She moves away, reaching across the table for the stack of napkins Logan left. She wipes up the floor and leads the way out, tossing the napkins in the garbage as she passes it.

We slip out the employee door, stepping onto a gravel path that takes us down to the back lot behind the bar. The heavy door swings back into place, blasting us with cool air-conditioned air once more before shutting out the cacophonous thumping of bass coming from the bar.

The sounds of early summer echo through the night and moonlight shines down on the cornfield behind us.

“What did you mean ‘for now?’” Quinn turns to me, slowly walking into the parking lot.

“I finish my residency soon. I’ve been applying for jobs and I’m not sure what I’ll get.”

“But it’ll be surgery?”

“Yeah, I’m a surgeon.”

She smiles and looks up at me. Even in heels, I’m taller than her. “That sounds cool, you know.”

“It does,” I agree, not at all attempting to hide my smirk. I worked my ass off from day one to get to where I am right now. I motion to my car and pull my keys from my pocket. “What about you? Dean said you invented and sold an app.”

“Ah, yeah. I did.” She gets a little shy, casting her eyes back down. Dean also told me how much Apple bought it for, and I’m actually surprised to find out she doesn’t drive a Ferrari or have a team of personal assistants.

“You were always smart.”

“I just like computers and coding and all that stuff Dean says is geeky.”

“So what do you do now?”

“I design the structures software systems need to operate. This week, I’ve been fine-tuning the coding standards for a program with real-time computing for a client that may or may not be the US Government.” She gets excited as she talks, face lighting up.

“Coding standards?”

“It’s the basic guidelines used when writing out the code to a new program.”

Having reached my car, we stop. I turn my head down to meet Quinn’s gaze and raise an eyebrow. “I’m not even going to pretend to understand what you do.”

She brings her shoulders up and smiles. “That’s okay. I don’t understand it either.” Her smile disappears the moment she realizes what she says, and the flush is back to her cheeks. “Actually I do. Obviously. Since it’s my job.”

I’d be lying if I said her awkwardness wasn’t part of her appeal to me.

I open the back of my Jeep and grab my bag. Being a resident doctor means shit hours, long-ass days, and even longer weeks. Two years into my residency, I got an apartment with my friend Sam, who was working his way to becoming an anesthesiologist. We were farther from the hospital than before but saved a ton on rent. I started keeping necessities in my car on the nights when we were in surgery for hours.

I shake out the blue scrub top and pants. “They’re a little wrinkled, but they’re clean, I promise.”

“As long as there’s no blood on them, I’m good.” She shakes her head, hair swishing over her bare shoulders. A few strands stick to her collarbone, still damp and sticky from the spilled drinks. If there’s ever a lesson in self-control, it’s right here and right now.

I swallow hard, talking down my cock.

“Then you’re good. They’re going to be big on you.” I hold up the shirt, using it as an excuse to run my eyes over her body.

“That’s okay. It’s better than being wet all night. Which I am. I’m soaking wet.”

Fuck. It’s like she’s trying to kill me.

“I mean, look at me.” She sticks her finger between her breasts again. “I’m all sticky. I’m pretty sure—” She licks her finger. I readjust my cock in my jeans, trying to stop it at half-mast before it gives me away. “—Yep, that’s salt from the margarita. It tastes kinda good, actually. I think I’ll go order one after this. Want one? I still feel bad I spilled those drinks on you. But ten shots? Isn’t that a little excessive?”

“There were other people at that table, you know.”

“Right. I guess I didn’t notice them.”

Her words make my heart stop, make all the air leave my lungs. I’ve felt that way for years whenever she’s around.

“But I’m sure they noticed me and the spilled drinks.”

“They noticed, but probably won’t remember.”

She smiles again, and we head back to the bar. “This is nice, you know.”

“What is?”

“Talking to you.” Gravel crunches under her heels. “We’ve known each other for years but hardly ever talked. It’s like you thought I was just an annoying nerd like Dean did and avoided me.”

I did avoid her, but it was the only way I knew how to keep my hands off her. To keep those words in my mouth and my lips away from hers. There were times I was fairly certain she had a crush on me, times she even put herself out there. But I couldn’t dare act and risk losing my friendship with Dean.

“It is nice, isn’t it?” she asks when I don’t respond.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

“Maybe.”

But I can’t. Not now. Not ever.

There’s nothing more I’d rather do than spend more time with Quinn. But if I’m alone with her, I’m going to spill my guts and admit that I’ve wanted her for years. That I’ve watched from the sidelines, fighting off jealousy when she’d have a new boyfriend and how I never thought anyone was good enough for her. That she’s made me want to be a better person without even trying because being around her showed me what it’s like to be a good fucking person.

Or worse, I’ll skip all the words that’ll get knotted up in my chest and try to kiss her.

Neither of which I can do. I’m in town for my best friend’s engagement party, and I’m not going to fuck shit up by making a move on his little sister. She might have liked me years ago, but the time has come and gone.

So I do what I’ve always done: Swallow everything I feel like a big pill, forcing it dry down my throat and walk away.