Cheat Codes

by Emily Goodwin

  “Right? That’s what I told my sister.”

  I start filling my plate when Dean walks over. Archer is with him, and I don’t have to look up to know. The scent of his cologne fills my nose, causing me to tense. Not because it smells bad, but because it reminds me of last night.

  “What are you talking about?” Dean wraps his arms around Kara.

  “Boobs,” Kara responds.

  “This is a conversation I can get behind.” Dean slides his hands up Kara’s waist.

  She takes his hands in hers. “I was specifically talking about Quinn’s. I’d kill for a set like that. I mean, they’re perfect, aren’t they?”

  Dean’s face contorts and he shakes his head. “She’s my sister. As far as I’m concerned, she’s never had any.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ve had big boobs since I was thirteen. It’s the Dawson curse.”

  “That’s not a curse,” Kara laughs. “Oh, there’s my aunt Jessica. Remember, she’s the one who’s going to try to get you to campaign with her.”

  “The conservative one?”

  “Yes. And if she asks—and she probably will—we’re waiting until marriage.”

  “For what?” Dean asks, looking at Kara like he’s serious.

  “You’re lucky I love you,” Kara mutters before putting on a fake smile. She takes Dean’s hand and goes to greet her aunt.

  “Want a plate?” I ask Archer, casting my eyes up to him for half a second. His face is set, dark stubble covering his jaw. I might not know Archer Jones at all, but I know for a fact he’s not one to turn down food.

  “Sure.”

  I hand him one and move around the table. The tension between us is thick and heavy, and I don’t understand why it’s there at all. I look at Archer again, wishing I could crack him open and take a look at his internal codes to find out what makes him tick. And to also find out what the hell is wrong with him.

  There’s a reason I like to work with computers and not people.

  I take my plate and turn on my heel, ignoring the sexy, brooding man in front of me, and almost run over my grandma. She’s headed in the direction I just came from and wants company. I don’t want to step back into the ice storm Archer has raging around him, but it’s my nana.

  “Hi, Mrs. Dawson,” Archer says, offering a polite smile. “It’s been a long time. How have you been?”

  Nana smiles. “Archer Jones. My, it has been a while! I’ve been good, busy with my garden and the choir.”

  “Has Shelly Nicolson stepped aside yet and let you take the lead?”

  Nana beams. “You remembered! And yes, she has, but only because she got cancer.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  Nana leans in. “Between you and me, she deserved it!”

  “Nana!” I say, eyes widening.

  “The stories I could tell about that woman!” Nana turns to me. “But not here. We’ll save those for the bachelorette party.” She gets herself a plate. “I hear you’re a doctor now, Archer.”

  “Yes, I am. I finish my residency this year.”

  “Are you hoping to start your own private practice?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m a surgeon, so I’ll be staying at a hospital.”

  “Ohhh,” Nana coos. “A surgeon. You must be good with your hands.” She winks at Archer. “And I bet you look dashing in that white doctor coat. You know I’m single, don’t you?” Nana puts a few appetizers on her plate. “Oh, Barbara, dear!” She waves to one of her friends and takes off.

  I push a stuffed mushroom around on my plate. It’s too hot to eat but standing here without something in my mouth leaves me at risk of talking. Archer steps closer. Speaking of things to put in my mouth…

  “Maybe I’m reading into this too much,” Archer starts, looking perturbed. “But was your grandma just hitting on me?”

  The effort to control my smile fails me. “She’s gotten a little, how should I say it—crude. Her memory is all there and she drives and lives alone, but she kinda says whatever is on her mind now.”

  Archer laughs. “I’ll take it as a compliment then. And you do look nice tonight, Quinn.” He swallows hard, looking me over for a brief moment.

  “Thanks. And you do too.” I look at him and he looks away, and we’re left standing there in awkward silence.

  “Everything turned out nice.”

  “Yeah, it did,” I agree, internally wincing. I didn’t think anything could be worse than not talking but making forced small talk is.

  “The stuffed mushrooms are good.”

  Shoot me now. “It’s Nana’s recipe.”

  Archer nods. “Well, I should go find Dean.”

  “He’s right there, still talking to Kara’s crazy aunt.”

  “Oh, right.” Archer steps back from the table, letting another partygoer get some food. My mind flashes to my dream about Archer last night, and as annoyed with him as I am, there’s no denying how fucking sexy he looks in dress pants and a button-down shirt.

  “I should, uh, go check on the chickens,” I blurt.

  “The ones outside?”

  “Yeah.” Cursing myself, I go into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. I get a mouthful down when Mom comes in, carrying a stack of dirty plates.

  “This is so much fun,” she says with a broad smile. “Just think of how much more fun it’ll be when it’s you getting married. I get to plan the whole thing!”

  Kara threw Mom a bone by letting her plan tonight’s party since it’ll be her family taking care of the bridal shower and then the wedding.

  “Someday.”

  “Oh, it’ll happen, sweetheart. You are looking for someone, right?”

  “In a sense.”

  “Whatever happened to that guy two floors down?”

  “Our first date didn’t go so well.”

  Mom raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re being picky.”

  “He ate nachos with a fork. A fork, Mom. You can’t stab a chip with a fork.”

  “He didn’t want to get his hands dirty.” She smiles then quickly changes her mind. “What kind of first date did you go on where you were ordering nachos?”

  “A Cubs game. He has really good seats too. I might have been able to let the fork thing go, but then he put ketchup on a hot dog.”

  “Chicago has changed you. What about your new intern?”

  “Mom, he’s my intern.”

  She opens the cabinet and takes out her own wine glass. “So he’s not good enough for you because he’s an intern?”

  “He’s a lot younger than me because he’s my intern.”

  “A younger man isn’t a bad thing, you know. Men typically die first. This could be your insurance you don’t end up a widow.”

  I take another gulp of wine. “You’re not much better than Nana,” I mutter and set my wine down and wrap my fingers around my wrist. “Do you have any Advil?”

  “There’s some in the cabinet next to the fridge. Is your wrist hurting again?”

  “Yeah, that dull ache is back and it’s traveling up my arm when I extend it.” I make a face and shake out my hand. “I’m sore from being on my computer for hours every day.”

  “You should get it checked out. My girlfriend Gloria had something similar, always in pain, then had some sort of surgery done. I can ask her—wait! We have a surgeon here with us! Let me go find Archer.”

  “Mom, no, he’s not here—” And she’s out of the kitchen. “To work,” I say to myself. I grab the Advil and pop a pill in my mouth, washing it down with wine.

  “Are you taking painkillers with alcohol?” Archer gives me a smug smirk.

  “Relax, Dr. Fuddy-Duddy. It’s just an Advil.”

  “You still shouldn’t do that.”

  “Noted.” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Your mom asked me to come in here because you’re in pain.”

  I wave my hand in the air. “I’m fine. It’s just random shooting pains in my arm that go up to my shoulder.”

  “Which
arm?”

  “I’m not having a heart attack,” I sass. “It’s my wrist and really, I’m fine.”

  “I can take a look.”

  “I guess it won’t hurt anything.” I set my empty wine glass in the sink and cross the kitchen. My heart starts to speed up and heat rushes through me, settling between my thighs. I stand before Archer Jones, left arm extended, fighting off the insane attraction I’m feeling.

  Archer gently takes my wrist in his hands. “It’s not swollen. Does it hurt now?”

  “It’s off and on. Like a dull ache.”

  “What makes it hurt more?” He turns my arm over and runs his thumb down my forearm. I suppress a shiver, licking my lips as I watch his fingers slide over my flesh. I tear my eyes away from his hand to look up at his face, but that only makes things worse.

  His brow is furrowed, and there’s genuine concern in his eyes.

  “Extending my arm and being on my computer.”

  “Do your fingers feel tingly?”

  “Actually yeah, they have a few times when the pain gets bad.”

  “You have carpal tunnel syndrome, which is quite common for someone who types or is at a computer all day.”

  “I figured so.” His hand is still around my wrist. “A handful of my co-workers have it. They’re a lot older than me, but it is what it is, I guess. So, am I damned to live like this forever, doc?”

  “No, there are treatments. Start with ice and Advil for the pain and try a wrist brace.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Archer steps closer and hasn’t let go of my wrist yet. “You said it makes your shoulder hurt?”

  “It does, but I think part of that is bad posture. I know I slouch at my desk.” I put my free hand over Archer’s. “It’s not something a massage can’t fix, right?”

  The floor in the butler’s pantry creaks and Archer drops my wrist and steps back. Dean emerges into the kitchen.

  “Are you guys hiding too?” he asks.

  “Why are you hiding? This is your party. And no,” I say. “We’re not hiding. Mom’s overreacting—surprise, surprise, I know—and made Archer look at my wrist.”

  “What’s wrong with your wrist?”

  “Carpal tunnel. It’s seriously no big deal. Archer told me what to do and I’ll be fine.”

  Dean gives Archer a nod. “You’re a good friend for putting up with our mom.”

  Archer laughs. “She’s not that bad.”

  “She can be a bit overbearing,” Dean grumbles.

  “Go back to your party,” I tell him. “Before Kara notices you’re missing.”

  “She’s the one I had to get away from,” Dean admits.

  “You’re hiding from your fiancée at your own engagement party?” I hike an eyebrow.

  “She’s still going on about your boobs. And then Mom came over and was talking about her boobs.” He shudders. “I had to leave or throw up.”

  I laugh. “Watch out, Dean, we might start talking about our uteruses next.” I give him a sweet smile. “I hope you two only have girls.”

  “As long as they’re not twins. Twins do run in our family.”

  “It doesn’t matter on the guy’s side,” Archer explains. “It only matters on the girl’s side, and identical twins aren’t hereditary anyway.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Identical twins are a random event.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” Dean says. “I guess I’ll go back out there. Might as well enjoy the party you all threw in my honor, right? You’re my best man,” he says to Archer. “You gotta come save me. I mean join me. Keep me away from Aunt Mary. She thinks modern medicine is witchcraft so she’ll avoid you.”

  “Best man,” I repeat as Dean walks out of the room. I turn my gaze back to Archer. “I wasn’t sure how that was going to go. Logan and Owen were taking bets on which one of them Dean would pick. You are Dean’s oldest friend. It makes sense.”

  “Yeah…we have been friends a long time.” His brow furrows again, and he flicks his eyes up to me, looking at me almost as if I’m suddenly offensive.

  “So…I’ll, uh, try to have better posture. Would that help my wrist pain?”

  “Maybe. I’m a surgeon. I don’t deal with this sort of thing. Make an appointment with your general practitioner.” He turns to leave.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap.

  “Nothing,” he retorts, whirling around. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” He inhales deeply, and I’m not sure if he’s going to tell me off or push me up against a wall and kiss me.

  “It’s like you’re a rescue dog and I don’t know if you’re going to let me pet you or if you’re going to bite. At least I can understand the dog’s unpredictable behavior, but you…I haven’t got a clue with you and you are driving me nuts.”

  “You want to pet me?”

  “Yes. No. Kind of. It’s a figure of speech.” I throw my hands up. “Whatever, Archer. I don’t know what I did to offend you.”

  He strides forward so quickly I take a step back, pinning myself against the fridge. Archer’s hands land on my waist and he moves in, legs spread, so his hips are against mine. I inhale the scent of his woodsy cologne, heart beating so fast I think it might explode. So many times I’ve imagined his hands on me. For years, I’ve yearned for his touch. Begged and pleaded with the universe to have him look at me and not see me as Dean’s little sister.

  And right now, he’s not. I’m not his friend’s sibling to put up with, but he’s not looking at me the way I’d hoped. He stares at me with a combination of hatred and lust, more intense than anyone has ever looked at me before. It turns me on and terrifies me.

  I’m hot and cold up against him.

  I want to push him away and bring him closer.

  He leans in, taking one hand off my waist to move my curls over my shoulder. He licks his lips, and the light above us shines off the trail of wetness left from his tongue. The heat between my thighs intensifies, and my pussy begs to be touched. Stroked. Fucked hard.

  Just like in my dream.

  I swallow my pounding heart and turn my head up to Archer, refusing to let him see how close to coming undone this is making me. He tucks my hair behind my ear and traces the outline of my jaw with his thumb, bringing it up to my mouth. I part my lips, feeling intoxicated by his touch.

  “You didn’t offend me, Quinn.” He spits each word out, eyes narrowing. Then he blinks and his face softens. His hand trails over my collarbone and down my arm until our fingers meet. He intertwines his with mine for a brief moment. “You didn’t. But I should go.”

  He pushes off me and goes back to the party like nothing happened. I lean onto the counter for support, heart racing and nerves tingling. That asshole did it on purpose. He knew he could get that reaction out of me. Knew he could easily unnerve me with a few simple touches.

  Fuck him.

  If I never see Archer Jones again, it would be too soon.

  7

  Archer

  “Well, kids, it looks like you’re going to be here for a while.” Mr. Dawson hangs up the phone and goes to the window, watching the storm. “A tree fell and knocked out power lines. The road is blocked.”

  “How bad?” Dean asks.

  “Weston said there’s been a lot of damage in town they have to get to first. He’ll keep us posted. I know Quinn and Archer need to leave soon to make it home in time. Though you shouldn’t drive in this rain anyway.”

  Quinn shifts in her seat, and the collar of her oversized sweatshirt falls down her shoulder. Her hair is in a messy braid, she’s not wearing any makeup, and she’s refused to look at me all morning. She’s done an impressive job of pretending I’m not here, actually. No one else has noticed her go about the kitchen, getting coffee and helping her mom make breakfast and act like it’s just her family sitting around the large island counter.

  “Should we go into the basement?
” Mrs. Dawson asks. She tightens her grip on Jackson, who doesn’t seem bothered by the storm at all.

  “Nah,” Mr. Dawson says, looking out the window. “This house has survived for over a hundred years. It’ll go a hundred more. I’m not worried.”

  A loud crash of thunder booms overhead, startling the dogs. The lights flicker. Once. Twice. And then the power goes out.

  “Quinn, can you call your brothers and make sure they’re awake and aware of the storm? Owen can sleep through anything.” Mrs. Dawson gets up, keeping Jackson’s hand in hers as if she’s afraid the small boy will blow away in the storm, and gets battery-powered candles and a flashlight out from under the kitchen sink.

  “I’ve been texting Logan all morning,” Quinn responds, not looking up from her phone. “They’ve been up doing inventory at the bar.”

  “The bar? Maybe they should come here where it’s safer.”

  “Jackie,” Mr. Dawson starts. “It’d be far more dangerous to have them drive. The bar has a basement.”

  “Grammy will you read to me? I’m tired.” Jackson tugs on Mrs. Dawson’s hand.

  “Of course, baby! Let me get another flashlight and we can go snuggle on the couch.”

  Kara goes into the living room with them to work on her lesson plans for the week, and Mr. Dawson tells Dean he needs him to sort through a client’s file so they can get a head start on a project for tomorrow.

  And now just Quinn and I are in the kitchen. I’m pretty sure her coffee mug is empty, but she brings it to her lips and pretends to take a drink, turning away from me to look outside at the storm.

  It’s just now ten AM, and I’m not at all worried about making it back home in time. But being stuck in this house with Quinn…it’s not uncomfortable at all. Especially after last night.

  Hah. The tension is so thick it’s hard to fucking breathe.

  Regretting the second helping of bacon and eggs I got, I push the last bit around on my plate and steal a glance at Quinn. She’s holding her coffee cup—which is definitely empty—and frowning as she reads something on her phone.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.