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“What do you mean by that?” Archer chuckles.

I shrug. “Dunno. I just feel like I know most of the guys on the team reasonably well by now, but you’re kind of a mystery.”

Archer looks kind of surprised by my question, but not reluctant to give me an answer. “I’m a straightforward guy.”

“Yeah, I figured that part out. You’ve never wanted to find that one girl though, no?”

He quirks a brow in my direction. “I’m twenty-six, not dead. There’s still time for me to find someone. I’m just not in a hurry.”

“Fair enough,” I reply.

“What about you?” he asks.

My thoughts drift to Kendra and the last text she sent, congratulating me on our win.

“Bit like you, I guess, in the sense that I’m single and I’ve never been all that bothered when it comes to dating. I had a brief girlfriend in college, but that didn’t work out.”

“You don’t strike me as a playboy,” Archer replies.

I shake my head. “I’m not. I’ve slept with a few girls, but other than Olivia, no one was more than a one- or two-time thing.”

Finishing up his drink, Archer tips his empty glass in my direction. “Why do I get a strong past-tense feeling about all you’re saying right now?”

I’ll give him one thing—he’s fucking perceptive.

I pull at the back of my neck. My attraction to Kendra is nothing new, but the feelings I’m developing and trying to suppress are starting to play havoc with my head.

“I know the phraseit’s complicatedis overused, but in this case, it’s definitely true—as is the termunrequited,” I tag on, a tug pulling in my chest as I do.

Archer blows out a long breath. “In one sentence, I think you’ve summed up the exact reasons why I fuck and flee.”

I’m practically howling when I set my eyes back on Archer, and his shoulders shake too.

“Jesus, you got a way with words, buddy.”

His smile turns cocky. “Yeah, that’s what they all say right at the critical moment.”

Laughter continues to spill from me when I feel a presence from behind.

Sensing it’s our coach, Archer pushes his glass toward the barman and throws down a twenty. “I’m gonna head to bed.”

As Jon takes a seat next to me, I call after Archer, “For real?”

He scratches at the scruff on his jaw, his cockiness returning. “I never said alone, did I?”

“Jesus, just looking at him resurfaces memories of me fifteen years ago,” Jon groans.

I turn to him. “More like twenty, no?” Lifting a hand at the barman, I ask for two more pints of IPA.

“Really, Jack?” Jon asks as I feel my cheeks flush.

“What? We’re celebrating a win, aren’t we?”

He nods at my empty glass. “What number was that one?” Jon sits back in his stool. “All right. You played your most accomplished game tonight, so I’ll let this one slide.”

“You’re too kind,” I reply on my first sip.

As the rest of the team filters out of the bar, I watch Jon’s demeanor shift from a coach to family.