“A promise.”
“Archer!” I cry out, half-angry, half-astonished by his behavior.
His eyes cut to me for the briefest of seconds. When I sway on my feet, still not one hundred percent in control of my balance, he looks swiftly away again, his jaw even tighter than before.
“Look, man…” Ryan’s nostrils flare. “I don’t know what your problem is, but—”
Archer cuts him off. “Right now?You. I told you to piss off once already. You won’t like the way I tell you again.”
Rage gathers inside my chest, overriding all the confusion and embarrassment fighting for purchase. Before I know it, I’m barreling in my best friend’s direction, so angry, I can barely see straight. (The buzz isn’t helping on that front, either.)
My palms slam against his shoulders, full force. “Have you goneinsane?”
He barely even rocks backward — which pisses me off so much, I do it again. Harder. He grunts this time, but doesn’t move more than an inch.
Is the boy made of stone?
“What is the matter with you?” I ask, my words punctuated by a third shove to his shoulders. “You can’t just go around—” Another shove. “—punching people—“ And another. “—for no good reason!”
Before I can land one more hit, Archer grabs my wrists, manacling them in a steely grip. Disarming me seems to cost him almost no effort — like controlling an overtired toddler or swatting a meddlesome fly. I don’t even have time to summon indignation; in the space between two heartbeats, I find myself hauled up against his chest, our joined hands crushed between our bodies.
Normally, he’s a half-foot taller than me. Like this, dragged up onto my tiptoes, we’re nearly nose to nose.
“Stop,” he grunts.
I jerk in halfhearted protest at his order, knowing all the while it’s futile. He’s a million times stronger than me. I couldn’t get away if I tried. And if I’m being candid, I’m not trying. Not really. Something about Archer’s anger up close is disarming. It tempers my rage with undeniable curiosity.
What’s gotten so under your skin, Archer Reyes?
“Let me go,” I whisper thickly. “You’re acting like a total psychopath right now!”
“The girl who just shoved me six times is angry I hit someone?” His eyes narrow on mine. “Certain sort of irony in that.”
“At least I had a good reason!”
“So did I.”
“And what might that be?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “He was touching you.”
“And?”
The muscle jumps again, but he remains silent.
“So what if he was touching me?” I ask, not even caring that Ryan is within earshot of this mortifying exchange. “Maybe Iwantedhim to touch me, did you ever think of that? Did you?”
Fury is still rolling off Archer in waves — it’s there in the rapid rise and fall of his chest, in the stiffness of his posture, in the furrowed brow — but when he speaks again, it’s in a flat voice that lets me know his emotions are now on a tight leash.
“He was taking advantage of you.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“He was.”
“How?”
“You’re drunk, Jo.”