Page 4 of Shots Fired

“How was Oxford after the wedding?” I change course, knowing they both recently got back from the UK.

Kendra sighs, tipping her head up to look at her husband. “A honeymoon from heaven. All the tea and cakes a girl could ask for.”

I quirk a brow, remembering the impressive afternoon tea they put on for each guest. I nailed cream cheese and cucumbersandwiches like my life depended on it. What can I say? They were a useful distraction from staring at Kendra’s maid of honor.

Which I’m back to doing right now.

Jack follows my line of vision, eyes landing on Darcy. He takes a pull of his beer and sets his glass back down on a headshake. “Don’t get me wrong; having Darce here with me is awesome. We’ve spent way too much time living thousands of miles away. That said, I don’t think I’ll ever be used to watching her get hit on.”

I scrub a hand across my jaw, tension building in my shoulders. “I wouldn’t say she’s being hit on.”

She’s definitely getting hit on. It’s been like this every night out since Darcy moved to New York.It’s like the guys in this city have some kind of unspoken agreement to hit on the hot blonde from England, just to screw with my head.

Jack scoffs. “Are you for real? That dude isn’t checking out the quality of my sister’s denim jeans.”

I chance another quick glance toward the bar. The dude’s hand has crept lower, and I look away again, inhaling a deep breath as I try—and fail—to temper my unjustified rage.

“Looks friendly to me,” I grit out.

“I guess to a playboy, ass groping would be considered normal behavior.” Jack laughs.

Even though I know he meant nothing by that statement—along with the truth that sits behind it—it still stings. He’s not wrong; I’ve palmed more asses than I can count. Sure, some I went on to take home later that night, but others were purely out of harmless flirtation.

Archer Moore: Boundary overstepper extraordinaire.

“Out of curiosity, where would you categorize kissing on the getting-hit-on scale?” Kendra nods her head back at Darcy.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

I look.

Yep, he’s kissing her.

The metal legs on my chair cut through the moderately loud music, turning a few heads, as I rise to my feet, gaze still locked on Darcy while the prick works to deepen the kiss.

“I—ugh—I need the restroom,” I push out, ignoring Kendra’s question and snatching up my cell. “I’ll be right back.”

“You okay, buddy?” Jack asks, frowning at my forced smile.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I think that meal we had at the restaurant earlier is doing things to me though.” I circle my bowels, and Kendra scrunches up her nose.

Jack holds up a pleading hand. “Say no more. Please be my guest and relieve yourself.”

If only it were that simple.

Swiveling on my heel, I head for the bathroom break I don’t need. Although if I happen to come across an emergency exit, I’ll be happy to make use of that.

A few seconds later, I’m pushing through the swing door and into the empty men’s toilets, coming to a stop in the center of the room and unlocking my phone to scroll aimlessly through social media. Habit has me clicking on Darcy’s Instagram profile, and I take a few more steps, leaning against the tiled back wall.

She hasn’t posted since the last time I checked, which is unsurprising, given that was barely an hour ago. Still, I reread the caption on her last post, being careful not to like it or click on her latest story and reveal my stalker status.

The post is one she took in Hyde Park when she visited England for Jack and Kendra’s wedding. Darcy’s wearing a bright yellow summer dress, a puzzle book and pencil balanced across drawn-up knees as she smiles into the camera. Her hair is down and around her face, only controlled by a pair of sunglasses propped on top of her head.

I zoom in on the shot. The dress is low cut, but I’m not looking at what’s on show.

I’ll save that for when I finally get to explore her body with my hands.

Right now, I’m more interested in the pink that perfectly stains her high cheekbones, along with the depth of her wide eyes.