My stomach fluttered with nerves as he tried to respond to my less-than-friendly greeting.
The length of his legs, the intimidating breadth of his shoulders, were just shy of stupid, because every inch of him made me feel like a shrimp, and I was no petite, tiny thing. I had to tilt my chin to look him in the face, that prick.
For a moment, his stubble-covered jaw worked back and forth, and I braced myself for some asshole response that would trigger myI will slap the shit out of youinstinct, which had never been triggered in twenty-seven-and-a-half years on this earth. But for this guy—driving his drunk ass into the building I loved so much—I’d break that streak in a heartbeat.
But then his chest expanded on a deep breath, and he leveled his electric-blue eyes right onto mine. “I am.”
That’s it.
Two words, spoken in a deep, low tone that flipped the pit of my belly upside down. It was brutal.
I crossed my arms. “What are you doing here?”
He glanced sideways to where the dog had disappeared, and blinked a few times before shifting his attention back to me. Whatever genetic lottery had given this man his bone structure should not be out procreating all willy-nilly, because I was fairly certain he was the most attractive man I’d ever shared space with.
That also made me want to slap the shit out of him.
“In the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by to say hi.”
“Is that supposed to be a joke? I don’t want to talk to you unless you’re coming to write me a fat fucking check for what you did.”
His smile was tight. “Don’t worry, Red, that’ll come too.”
My pulse skipped at the nickname, a traitorous little bitch of a skip.
“Do not call meRed,” I said hotly. “I have a name, and if I’m forced to talk to you, I’d prefer you use that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “If I knew what it was, I’d consider it.”
My lips rolled together as I tried to decide if I wanted to meet this asshole step for step. Unfortunately, I had a conscience, and being bitchy took more energy than I’d been blessed with that day. “Remi. Remi Sinclair. Now you know my name, and now you can leave.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You’re stuck with me. Or weren’t you aware?”
Oh God, my fingers were tingling as my hands lowered to my sides. “What?”
His eyes flickered. “My fifty hours of community service. The judge made it sound like you knew.”
“No fucking way,” I breathed.
Archer’s gaze narrowed. “Believe me, this is the last thing I’d lie about.”
The apology for not believing him sprang to the tip of my tongue—decades of ingrained behavior rearing its ugly head. We apologized for everything, didn’t we?
I’m sorry I’m late.
I’m sorry I’m bothering you.
I’m sorry I need help.
I’m sorry I can’t do this on my own.
I’m sorry I had a human moment.
Even Mother Teresa must have had a moment where she was ready to snap, right? There were a lot of amazing people in this world. Helpful and kind and lovely. But boy, oh boy, there were a lot of dicks too. And I didn’t much feel like apologizing to this particular dick, or at least not until he did a little apologizing of his own.