Page 5 of Shots Fired

Before Darcy, I’d never seen eyes like hers. They’re big and round and inviting, but more than that, they don’t need the sunlight to sparkle. They only need her bright demeanor to glow.

There isn’t a single thing in the world that could get this girl down—that I’m sure of. The only time I’ve seen that shine fade was back in October, when I asked her about Liam.

Involuntarily, my grip tightens around the phone. I’d love to do the same around his neck for the way he clearly makes her feel.

“Sorry, you plan on using that, or can I go ahead?”

Startled back to reality, I lock my phone and turn around to find the prick himself standing a couple of feet behind me, pointing at the hand dryer I’m blocking access to.

Jesus, how long has he been in here? I have zero recollection of anyone walking in, taking a leak, or using the faucet.

I step away and pocket my phone. “Yeah, sure. Sorry.”

He approaches the dryer and sets it running, a smirk tracing his lips.

Fuck me, I hate this guy, and we’ve only exchanged fourteen words. I don’t even know his name or what he does. Although I’m pretty sure I know what he’d like to do:

My girl.

Tonight.

In his bed.

The dryer cuts, and he shakes out his hands, moving across to readjust his already overstyled hair.

Try-too-hard.

He pauses and eyes me in the mirror. “I gotta ask—otherwise, I’ll regret this for the rest of my life.” He spins around to face me, still smirking. “Archer Moore, right? Goalie for the New York Blades?”

I scratch at the back of my head. He’d best not want an autograph—even worse, a picture. “You aren’t the first one to make that assumption. But, no, I’m just a look-alike to the king.” Laughing internally at my own flattery, I raise a hand above my head. “Archer Moore is at least a couple of inches taller and even better-looking.”

The guy pulls his brows together, confused. “Well, you sure as shit look like him. Maybe you should check out your family history; you could be long-lost twins or something.”

He turns back to the mirror and reaches into his pocket, taking out a small blue box. When he pops the lid and pulls the white strand, I realize it’s floss.

Oh, this takes the motherfucking cake. He’s flossing his teeth—no doubt in preparation for more kissing—while I stand here, watching him and denying my identity like some deranged make-believe twin.

I point at the box in his hands. “Do you make a habit of night-out dental care?”

On a wink, he pulls the floss from his mouth and tosses it in the trash can beside him. “Nope. However, I do like to carry floss around, just in case circumstances call for it.” He holds the pack out in his palm. “Want to use some?”

I roll my lips together, jealousy coursing through me. The feeling was foreign up until I first met Darcy, and I’m no better at dealing with it today.

“I’m good,” I reply, knowing I should leave this conversation where it is. “But if you’re referring to the honey-haired girl you have waiting for you at the bar, I’d recommend you don’t get your hopes up.”

Retracting the floss, he drops it into the pocket of his pants. “Yeah? And why is that?” His previous lighter tone adopts a cutting edge.

I push off the wall and step toward him.

Leave it, Archer.

“I actually heard she’s seeing someone on the Blades.”

He drops his head and shakes it at the ground. “You must think I’m some kind of idiot. You are Archer Moore, aren’t you?”

I don’t confirm or deny, simply shove a hand into my pocket.

He continues, “Regardless of who you are, I’d check my sources if I were you. She wouldn’t be about to come back to my place if someone else were involved.” He hesitates for a second. “Unless she’s a cheating whore, of course.”