Accidentally on Purpose (Heartbreaker Bay #3)(11)

Spence slid Elle’s phone across the bar top toward her and then, when he caught the look on her face, passed his glass over as well.

“Jameson?” she asked.

“Only the best for you,” he said, watching with quiet amusement as she tossed it back and then coughed. “Easy, tiger.”

Turning her back on the sight of Archer and the woman, the both of them flirting freely now, she nodded a thanks to Finn, who brought her another drink.

“She came on to him if it helps any,” Willa said, always the peacemaker of the group. Willa had the heart of a saint.

Elle did not. “I couldn’t care less.”

“Uh-huh,” Spence said.

Why were all men assholes? “You know what?” she asked, setting her glass down. “I’m out.”

“Aw, come on.” Spence grabbed her hand. “Stay. I’ll even let you try to kick my ass in darts.”

She pointed at him. “I own you in darts. But no. Not tonight.”

“It’s only ten o’clock.”

“I have to get up early for class and work.”

“Adulting means you get to do whatever you want,” Spence said.

He only said that because he’d sold his start-up two years back for an undisclosed sum, a.k.a. big bucks, and he no longer had to be on the hamster wheel. Instead he bought shit to amuse himself—like this building—and did whatever suited him, which lately had been walking dogs for Willa’s shop. Elle knew he only did so because women were suckers for a man walking their pet. “No, adulting is like”—she searched for the right words—“looking both ways before you cross the street and then getting hit by an airplane.”

He laughed and she started to walk off, but at the last minute she couldn’t help herself. She once again glanced at the other end of the bar where Archer and the woman sat laughing, and she knew she wasn’t smart enough to “go easy” on him or leave well enough alone.

“Elle,” Willa said from behind her. “Honey, maybe whatever you’re planning isn’t a great idea.”

No kidding. “I’m not planning anything,” she said. “I’m being . . . spontaneous.”

“But you’re never spontaneous,” Pru said. “You make a Pinterest board before you change your lip gloss color.”

Dammit. True story. “Hey, that was a secret board that I let you on because you wanted to compare colors. And I know what I’m doing here.”

“But do you really though?” Spence asked.

Ignoring them, Elle headed toward Archer, unsure of exactly what was bothering her so much about the way he was letting that woman come on to him. Okay, that was a lie. She knew exactly what was bothering her and it was the fact that he never flirted with her. Absurd. Ridiculous. Asinine . . .

And yet did she stop? No, she did not. She kept heading right for them, leaning in between them to pat Archer on the shoulder. “Hey, nice to see you out and about,” she said, all friendly-like. “Your full body rash must be all cleared up then . . . ?” She trailed off, letting her gaze run over him from head to toe, lingering quite by accident on his crotch because as it turned out, Trudy was right. He did indeed have an impressive-looking package.

Archer gave a slow shake of his head, a small almost smile playing about his lips. “Nice to see you, Candy,” he said calmly, the jackass.

She sent him an eat-shit-and-die look, and in return he smiled a full two hundred watts.

Damn him. She wished she’d said cock rot instead of rash. Rash wasn’t bad enough. With her fuse fully lit now, she turned on her heel and stormed out into the night. Ignoring the chill, she got an Uber and headed home, which was one side of a postage-stamp-sized duplex in Russian Hill.

She loved her place almost more than she loved her shoes, even if she couldn’t turn around in it without bumping her elbows on the walls. It was cozy, quaint, warm . . . everything her life had never been before.

She made herself some hot tea and sat at her tiny kitchen table in her tiny kitchen and stayed up late into the night doing homework for her two accounting classes.

And absolutely not thinking about one irritating, infuriating, smug, arrogant Archer Hunt.





Chapter 4





#OffTheDeepEnd



Archer lived in an old converted warehouse in the Marina. He had a gym on the ground floor and in the early mornings he always hit that first, beating the crap out of a punching bag. He did this to keep his body in lean, mean, fighting shape. He also did it to clear his mind.

But his mind wasn’t having it today.

Elle had kept his knife. She literally carried a piece of him around with her wherever she went and he had no idea what to make of that. Especially in the day since she’d done her best to ignore him. And when she wasn’t ignoring him, she was treating him like a bug on her windshield.

He got it. She deserved far better than he could ever come up with. And plus no way would he ever risk her being with him because she felt she owed him. So he’d put up walls, trying to be disciplined when it came to her. For her sake.

But she’d kept his knife . . .

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an agate worry stone. The very one she’d given him in return for the knife in that run-down park the night when everything had gone to shit for the both of them. Pounding the punching bag until his muscles quivered pleasantly, he reminded himself that Elle had changed.