Page 132 of Shots Fired

He looks delicious in a dark blue suit and a white shirt, open at the collar, his platinum chain shining against his freshly showered skin.

His eyes drop to the baby-blue jumper dress I’m wearing. “Are you showing off our baby, Darcy?”

“I am,” I reply, feeling my cheeks flush hot.

He brushes his lips over mine, smiling into me. “Lesson four in Archer Moore: I’ve been desperate to do this since I first laid eyes on you.”

“What?”

“This. No more hiding in parks, movie theaters, or at home.” Interlacing our fingers, he holds his wash bag in the other hand and guides me down the hallway toward the exit.

When he reaches the doors, he pauses for a second, offering me a cheeky wink before he pushes out into the evening, and immediately, a few cameras begin flashing, multiple reporters asking questions. There aren’t many since security only allows a certain number outside, and they can’t reach us behind the fences, but still, they’re rowdy and desperate for information.

I know they’re here because it’s Archer, but when a reporter asks about my baby bump, I stop and turn toward him.

“Archer, is this your new girlfriend? There have been whispers circulating for some time now that you’re dating …” another reporter asks as his eyes drop to my stomach.

I smooth a palm over my bump, and Archer steps toward the reporter, my hand still in his as he squeezes it tightly.

“The whispers are true,” Archer confirms, picking our joined hands up and kissing across my knuckles. “As some of you may already know, this is Darcy—sister of Jack Morgan, stepdaughter of my coach, and as of very recently, my wife and the mother of my unborn child.”

A flurry of conversation breaks out among the reporters as more cameras flash. Archer doesn’t flinch at the attention, and I can’t say it makes me feel uncomfortable. I’ve seen enough attention paid to Jack to know what I’m walking into.

“How many weeks are you, Darcy?” another male reporter shouts up.

Archer goes to respond, but then stops himself, allowing me to answer.

“A little over fifteen weeks.” I smile when Archer cups the side of my face, bringing his lips down to mine.

“You two look very in love,” a female fan croons as Archer steps forward to sign autographs.

“Darcy is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Sometimes, I have to pinch myself to know she’s really mine,” he replies. The sincerity and awe in his voice as he turns to look at me sends my head spinning out.

“Thanks for showing up tonight. I’m happy we got the win and another shutout against Philly.” Finishing up on a Blades cap, he hands it back to the female fan, along with a pen, and then retakes my hand as we walk toward his car and head for our usual postgame meetup at Lloyd’s Bar.

“Where’s Emma?” I ask with excitement as we step into the private area, still hand in hand.

We’re way later than expected since Archer wouldn’t let me leave his car, my sore lips evidence of his reluctance. I’m desperate to meet his sister, even if it’s only briefly as she passes through town.

He points in front of him toward a dark-haired beauty talking with Jenna, Collins, and Kendra. “That’s Emma.”

“Oh Jesus.” I stop dead in my tracks. “She’s stunning. Like, mega stunning.”

Archer low chuckles. “She has her brother’s genes. What did you expect?”

I roll my eyes at him. “I don’t know. Maybe a little more humility.”

He full-on cackles as he wraps an arm around my shoulders and leads me over to Emma. We didn’t meet at the game since she was seated rink side with a couple of friends, but now that I’ve got my chance, my inner social butterfly is ready to take full advantage.

Archer ruffles a hand through his baby sister’s hair, pulling her attention toward us. “Ems, how’s it going?”

She spins around. Piercing blue eyes, just like Archer’s, capture my attention, along with high cheekbones and a huge smile that reminds me of Julia.

“Hey!” she squeaks, throwing her arms around Archer’s neck. “I thought you weren’t coming; you took so long to get here. Either that or you were both mauled by the media.” She winces. “I saw the photos and footage; they were like savages.”

I look up at my husband as he flushes at the memories of the dirty things he just did to me in his car. We both know the media isn’t the real reason we’re late.

“We got a little sidetracked.” He motions to me. “This is Darcy, but I guess you already worked that one out.”