“No,” he said.
“No one special in your life?”
His eyes lit up at that. “Just baseball and books.”
“Okay, I think they’ll actually love hearing that,” I said. “A lot of them were hoping you were single. Next question: Boxers or briefs?”
Chase blinked. “People actually want to know that?”
I bit my lip to hold back a laugh. “It’s actually one of the top things they want to know about each of you. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he said as a blush stole up his cheeks. “I was just surprised.”
After a muttered “briefs,” we moved on to the next question.
“Do you prefer blondes, brunettes or redheads? And as a follow-up, the next question is: Can you please describe your ideal woman?”
“Hmm, I ‘ve never really thought about it before…”
After a beat, Chase shook his head.
“I don’t know who my ideal woman is—but I’ll know her when I find her.”
I wrote that down as quickly as possible then asked if he could explain what he meant. To say his answer shocked me would be an understatement.
“I’m looking for my soulmate,” he said simply without even a hint of sarcasm.
“Seriously?” I asked.
Chase nodded. “If my parents taught me anything, it’s that love is real. There’s someone out there for each of us. We just have to be patient and keep our eyes and hearts open.”
“You really believe that?”
“Hell yeah, I do. And what’s the point of dating a whole bunch of women who aren’t the one? How do you look at your soulmate once you do find them and explain why you kissed or made love to other women? No way. I’m more than ready to fall in love with my soulmate. But until then, I’m content to wait.”
“Chase…” I set down my pen and looked him in the eyes. I tried to hide the incredulity in my voice but wasn’t sure I succeeded. “Are you”—I lowered my voice to a whisper—”are you telling me you’re a…virgin?”
When he merely lifted a brow, my jaw dropped.
“And you’re celibate?”
He shrugged. “I prefer to think of it as waiting for the one—but yeah. I guess you could say that.”
My mind was blown. Call me judgmental, but I’d just assumed with a twin like Baylor and considering he was a gorgeous college guy in his twenties that he’d be sowing his wild oats like the other ninety percent of the male population. Silly me.
I sat back in my chair, needing a moment, then looked to him.
“I don’t have to put this in the article,” I said.
“Why not?” he said. “I’m not ashamed of it, Honor, and you told me the questions would be personal.”
Yeah, I thought, but not that personal.
“And I’m guessing from your reaction it would make a good story.”
Was he kidding? Walter would go crazy over this and so would pretty much every girl on campus. “It would make a great story. But really, you don’t—”
“Alright then,” Chase said, cutting me off. “You have any other questions for me?”
“Only a few more,” I said.
“Okay, shoot,” he said.
The rest of the questions went by in a snap. And why wouldn’t they? Chase had already given me way more insight into him then I could’ve ever hoped for. My profile of him for The Howler was going to be epic.
Afterward, both of us kind of nodded and went straight to our books. Chase was so right. Outlander really was one of the best books of the century—heck probably of all time. The characters were just so well-drawn, and you couldn’t help but care for them. We were about two hours into the drive, and I’d gotten to the part where Jamie had fallen off his horse, and Claire mended his arm, when the first yawn hit. After reading ten more pages, my eyelids were starting to feel heavy. My sleepless night finally caught up with me. Placing the book into my lap, I leaned my head against the window, letting the coolness seep into my skin. The conversations of the guys on the bus, the crisp sound of Chase turning the pages, it all became dull background noise. My eyes closed as the rhythm of the bus lulled me to sleep.
Archer was in my dream.
And I knew I had to be dreaming—because he was wearing a kilt.
I hadn’t thought anything could compare to seeing him in that suit. But I’d been mistaken. His whole form filled out the kilt quite nicely, the green, blue and white plaid hugging his waist, his strong, muscular thighs on display. On top, he wore a loose white shirt that showcased his broad shoulders. It was slit down the middle allowing a hint of skin to peek through. And was it me, or was his hair just a touch longer? It was definitely messier, tousled and windswept like he’d been out riding over the hills.
Yeah, he was gorgeous (just like Jamie Fraser). And he rocked a kilt better than anyone I’d ever seen (maybe even better than Jamie).
Dream me sighed as he opened his mouth, ready to hear his Scottish burr, but it never came.
“Mind if I cut in?” he said in a completely normal voice.
I should’ve been disappointed, but the deep, smooth sound did things to me, with or without the accent.
Dream me shook her head, and he took a step closer.
“I was wondering how long it was going to take you to come back here.”
That didn’t sound like me—sounded a lot like Chase actually—but it was close to what I’d been thinking, so I didn’t dwell on it too much.
“I was encouraged to keep my distance, but it looks like that’s not happening,” Archer said. “You mind if I sit?”
Frowning, I looked down at the grassy meadow, shivering as I felt a gust of air hit my arms.
“Of course not.” Again, the voice sounded distinctly different than my own or Archer’s. “I need to use the bathroom anyway. Just didn’t want to leave her here by herself.” After a pause, it added, “She’s really great, you know.”
Archer grunted. “That your way of telling me you want her, too?”
A choked sound then, “Are you seriously asking me this?”
“That’s not an answer,” he said.
A laugh then, “No man, that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is: Don’t screw it up.”
“I’ll try my best.”
Another gust of wind blew by, and I felt the goosebumps rise on my skin. Dream me sat next to Archer on the grass, shifted to be closer to his warmth. I rested my head against his shoulder.
“What am I going to do with you?” he muttered.
No idea, I thought. But I can’t wait to find out.
He started humming softly, and though I couldn’t make out the tune, it flowed through me, relaxing my body until I was totally content. A sigh escaped, though I wasn’t sure if it was his or mine. This was the best dream I’d had in a while. Usually, they weren’t so vivid. I could’ve sworn I felt the brush of his hand against the skin of my cheek as he pushed the hair away from my face.
I wasn’t sure how long I slept.
My tiredness hadn’t helped, but I’d always been able to sleep in the car, falling right out on road trips. It was both a blessing and a curse. Waking up had always been the tough part. And part of me this time fought to stay exactly where I was, in the warm contentment with kilted Archer as we had adventures together in the Highlands. But the rhythm of the bus had stopped some time ago, a clear signal we weren’t moving anymore.
The pillow under my head was just so comfortable. It felt like it was heated or something, and the smell…gah. I didn’t know what it was, but it reminded me of clover mixed with clean fresh fields. Burrowing my face deeper, I fought opening my eyes—until the pillow under my head let out a soft chuckle.
I froze.
Slowly, my eyelids lifted, and I sat up, raised my head. Blinking at the sight in front of me, I took note of all the empty bus seats and the black jacket that had just fallen from my shoulders into my lap. A second ago, it had been draped over me like a blanket. I frowned down at
it, having no clue how it had gotten there.
“I was wondering if you were going to wake up on your own. Must’ve been a good dream.”
That wasn’t Chase’s voice.
I looked to my left, knowing who I’d find, but a jolt still went through me when my gaze met Archer’s.
“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he said, one side of his lips tilted up.
“What happened to Chase?” I said.
“We switched seats a while back.” Archer shrugged. “Did you get some rest?”
His voice, just like in my dream, was so smooth. “Yeah, I did. Thanks.”
He nodded. “Seemed like you needed it.”
Glancing around again before coming back to him, I said, “Where is everyone?”
“Out there getting their stuff off the bus.”
And I hadn’t even heard them leave, a rowdy bunch of baseball players? Man, either they were the quietest guys alive, or I must’ve been dead to the world.
The mystery was solved when Archer added, “I told them if they woke you I’d make them do extra sprints.”
“Ah,” I said, shifting slightly. “Sorry about”—I gestured to him—”you know, falling asleep on you. But in my defense, your shoulder was so comfortable, like a heated pillow.”
Archer sounded amused. “Are you saying I’m soft?”
Eyes wide, I turned to him. “No! Not at all. I just slept well.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “You were out. May have even snored a bit, definitely drooled a little.”
“Please tell me you’re joking,” I said, mortified.
Archer shrugged before saying, “So you got to interview Chase?”
I was still stuck on the snoring/drooling comment, trying to discreetly check his shirt for evidence, but I answered in as cool a voice as possible, “Yeah, he was great, gave me a lot to work with.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Want to try me? We have some time before the game.”
“Sure,” I said then swallowed. “If you’re up for it.”
“I told you already,” he said. “I’m up for anything when it comes to you.”
Swallowing again, I took my time opening my notebook and taking out my pen. It hadn’t been awkward interviewing Chase—but Archer was a whole other matter.
“Okay, so first question,” I said, deviating from my list a bit to satisfy my own curiosity. “Have you ever worn a kilt?”
Archer’s signature frown appeared. “No…” he said, drawing out the word. “I haven’t. But I would love to know why you asked. Did Chase say something?”
I shook my head, only slightly disappointed. “Nope, just curious.”
“Right,” Archer said. “Kilts are a Scottish thing, you know. O’Brien is an Irish surname.”
“Of course, I knew that.” I rearranged myself again so I could face him, and so he couldn’t try to peek at my notebook like I thought I’d caught him doing a second ago. “A lot of these questions came from the fans. Like I told Chase, they can get kind of personal.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Does that mean I can move on?” I asked.
“Move on from the kilts? Go right ahead.”
“Okay, next question”—I was back on script now, even though I felt really uncomfortable asking him this—”do you have a girlfriend?”
Archer tilted his head. “You already know the answer to that.”
Sighing, I looked up and met his gaze. Gah, those gray eyes could swallow me whole if I let them. “It never hurts to be sure.”
“No,” he said. “I’m one-hundred percent single at the moment. Though that’s not necessarily by choice.”
Feeling my cheeks heat, I took my notes then quickly moved on. “Is there anyone you’re interested in?”
“Yeah, I am. But I’m not sure she’s into me.”
I scoffed. “She’d have to be crazy not to be.”
“Honor,” he said quietly.
Pretending that I didn’t hear the pleading tone, I asked him the next one. “Blondes, brunettes or reheads?”
“Brunette,” he said, taking a strand of my hair, before I slapped his hand away. “With natural light brown highlights.”
“Boxers or briefs?”
His voice deepened. “Whatever you like best.”
With a gulp, I asked another, “Can you describe your ideal woman?”
“I can do better than that,” he said. “Get out a mirror, and I’ll show you exactly what she looks like.”
Looking up, I caught his gaze just as he ran his knuckles along my cheek. The feel of them caused a shiver of pleasure to travel down my spine.
“Better yet, get out your phone, take a picture of yourself. Then send it to me, so I can keep it for whenever some other reporter asks me that question.”
“Archer,” I sighed.
“Yeah?” he said.
“You’re wasting your time on me.”
He just shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
With a sound of exasperation, I pulled away from him, while he continued to sit there calmly, staring at my face. “You don’t even know me! I’m not the girl you met at the party. Heck,” I threw my hands into the air, “I don’t even want to be a reporter. This is just for fun. I’m majoring in accounting to become a CPA. Totally boring, right? And I have so many issues. You have no idea.”
“Tell me then,” he said.
“I’m not just inexperienced. I-I’m afraid of relationships,” I said, deciding to lay it all out there. Archer deserved the truth, and for some reason, I couldn’t seem to stop the words from coming. “I have major abandonment issues. I don’t expect you to understand. You have a great family. But my dad left when I was young. And my mom, the way she attaches herself to men, the way she’s obsessed with their love, she basically gave up on me. It was abandonment, too, just in a different way.”
His mouth opened to interrupt, but I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
“Guys never wanted me in high school either,” I went on. “I think it’s because I’m not normal and would rather hang out with book characters than real people—plus they knew I wouldn’t put out on the third date. So you see? Everyone gets tired of me eventually. And you will, too.” I shook my head. “I’m a lost cause, Archer. We can’t be together. No matter how much I want you.”
Taking a much-needed breath, I watched the emotions flit across Archer’s face: concern, sympathy…and then there was the one I hadn’t expected. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Archer began to smile. It started in his eyes, then his mouth bloomed into a full-on grin.
“What are you so happy about?” I asked.
“You want me,” he said.
I shook my head, not to deny it but because I was confused. He nodded anyway.
“Yeah, you do.” Archer’s eyes were alight. “You said so yourself. ‘No matter how much I want you.’”
Thinking back, I realized yes, I had in fact said that. But was it the only thing he heard?
“Don’t worry, I caught everything else you said, too. But I just want to live in those last words for a bit if you don’t mind.”
Before I could respond, I heard a ding from inside my bag.
“You should get that,” Archer said, tipping his chin toward the floor. “It’s been going off for the last half-hour.”
With a frown, I reached down, opened the bag and grabbed my phone. The screen lit up, and sure enough, there were five texts from Charlie. They started out simple.
Charlie: Hey girlie, just checking in on you (and all those hot bball players, of course!)
Then about 10 minutes later…
Charlie: Honor!!!!! Come on, text me back, I’m SO bored!
Then…
Charlie: I can’t believe you’re there w/all those guys. Find the hottest, and text me a pic. So bored here without you :(
Charlie: Hello? Honor, you there? Emmy says you should be there soon. Let me know how it’s going, please (and also send pics of hot bball players :))<
br />
And then, there was the last one.
Charlie: Has anything happened with Archer yet? ;) Remember you promised to tell me if it does! You and he would make such pretty babies *sigh* Write back soon!
“Pretty babies, huh?” Archer said, and I gasped, pulling the phone to my chest. I couldn’t believe he’d read that.
Clearing my throat, I turned away, trying to hide my pink cheeks. “Charlie has an overly active imagination.”
It sounded like he bit back a laugh, but I wasn’t sure.
“What are you going to text back?” he asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” I mumbled.
Leaning in, quicker than I could react, Archer swiped the phone from my hand and held it away from us. When I turned to him, he laid a kiss to my forehead, and I heard the click in the background signaling a picture had been taken.
“Send her that,” he said, tossing my phone back, standing and stretching his arms above his head—which made his shirt rise up. He must’ve untucked it sometime during the ride because I saw a little slice of skin. My eyes latched onto that small reveal, the tan of his abs contrasted with the white of his shirt, like it was the eighth wonder of the world. “I think she’ll like it.”
“But—” I said.
“In fact, give me your phone back for a sec, and I’ll send it to myself, too.”
Shaking out of it with difficulty—the trance his naked stomach put me under was no joke—I frowned. “No way. You already stole my phone once. There’s no telling what you’d do this time or if you’d even give it back.”
With a shrug, Archer started walking away. “Okay…I guess this means I’ll have to keep the picture I took of you while you were sleeping. It’s going to be your contact pic.”
My eyes were wide as they met his.
“Don’t worry,” he said, turning back just as he was about to step off the bus. His eyes were smiling again. “You look cute in your sleep—even when you drool.”
I swear I died right there.
Maybe I shouldn’t have teased her.
Maybe it would’ve been better if Chase and I had never changed seats.
As I had that thought, an image of Honor with her head resting against my brother’s shoulder went through my mind, and I scowled. Hard. No, I’d made the right choice.
The Best Mistake Page 15
