He scoffs, ruffling his messy hair. “I’m thirty-one years old. The only friends I have are in the next fuckin’ room, and I sure as hell don’t think of them the way I think of you, freckles. And fuck buddies? Never been one for that kinda arrangement. Still ain’t.”
“Then…” My hands flail. “Thenwhat?”
“I don’t know!” he barks, chest heaving. “I don’t know. All I know is that Iwantyou.”
I shake my head and step back, trembling hand wrapping around the door handle. My shoulders fall, breath heaving from my lungs. “Andthatanswers all my questions. You don’t care about me. You don’t have feelings for me. You justwant.”
Tugging the door open, I turn, give him back and whisper the deepest truth of all.
“And wanting—” My voice cracks, but I force the words out anyway. “Wanting’s never gotten me anything but heartache. So forgive me if I don’t run toward it like it’s something good.”
Chapter Twenty Five
Welcome to the Saddle, Bitch
The red saloon doors swing in the evening breeze, all chipped and creaking, like they’re daring me to walk into the most country-ass bar I’ve ever seen.
The Twisted Saddle’s porch is wide and worn, the wood bleached gray from years of boots and spilled drinks. Music thumps from inside, muffled by laughter and the occasional holler.
It smells like beer and bad decisions. Like the kind of place where you lose your panties after a wild night on the dance floor.
Despite the butterflies battering against my insides, the thought makes me smile.
I adjust my faded cheetah print maxi skirt and cropped band tee, suddenly very aware that I’m about to stick out like a sore thumb.
Especially if Hazel and Gemmaaren’there like they said they would be.
Yesterday, while we were putting the finishing touches on Kade’s house for the big reveal, I spent time with all the Archer women.
I wasn’t lying when I told Kade his family is incredible. They didn’t just include me because they needed an extra set of hands—they went out of their way to make me feel welcome.
I see where Kade gets it from.
The Archer’s have an uncanny ability to sneak past my walls, and God, I’m letting them.
Without anything else to distract me, I shove my shoulders back and push through the swinging doors.
It’s instant sensory overload in the best way.
The music’s live—a country-rock band on a low stage in the far corner, the lead singer in a battered ball cap and tight jeans. Somewhere, pool balls crack and people cheer. A hot guy is riding on the mechanical bull, his hat high in the air, his body rolling with the waves. The sight is so downright sexual, my mouth falls open.
Abby would eat this shit up.
I take a quick video before shooting her a text.
Me: You’re missing out, witchling. You’d love this place.
I wait a beat for her to read the text, but she doesn’t, and my stomach sinks, but I bury the sadness away. My eyes roam across a sea of cowboy hats, baseball caps, and everything in between as I hover just inside the door, clutching my bag like it might protect me.
What if Kade’s sisters don't show? I probably should’ve gotten one of their numbers when they begged me to come to girls’ night.
Maybe this was a mistake. I’ve barely recovered from what happened with Kade last night. Hanging out with more Archer’s will only lead to trouble. But I’d already agreed, and for once, a little trouble doesn’t sound so bad.
“You made it!” a familiar voice calls just as I’m debating turning around.
I scan the crowd and spot the girls at a high-top near the bar, both of them waving with wide smiles. Chuckling, I make my way over, sliding onto the empty stool next to Hazel with Gemma on her other side.
“Hi, Georgia,” Gemma says, beaming. “We’re so glad—”
