Free Crave by Monica Murphy

like when he comes. Big deal. Focus on the old days. When he used to be such a jerk to you and treated you so terribly. Remember how you felt last night at the reception, when he first talked to you and called you “chicken.” Jerk. Yeah, he irritated the crap out of you. Hold on to that feeling. The Archer Bancroft-drives-me-out-of-my-mind-he’s-such-an-asshole feeling.
    Forget all about the Archer Bancroft-drives-me-out-of-my-mind-when-he’s-kissing-me-senseless-and-fucking-me-into-oblivion feeling. That is so the wrong feeling to hold on to.
    Picking up my purse, which I left on the bed, I stand, tug at the hem of my new, cute T-shirt, smooth a hand over my hair, and decide to go face my reality.
    I can handle this. Because really, I don’t have a choice.
    Archer
    “W HAT THE HELL is taking her so long? I’m starved.”
    “Grumpy bastard,” I mutter, irritated with Gage’s incessant miserable chatter. He hasn’t quit griping about his empty stomach since the moment I ran into him in the kitchen. I offered him an apple but he wouldn’t take it. Heaven forbid he eats something healthy. And besides, it’s not my fault his sister is taking so long to get ready.
    Why, I’m not sure. I saw her no more than five minutes ago, looking absolutely gorgeous in the simple outfit I left for her to change into. I’d been half tempted to grab her by the waist, walk her backward into the bedroom, lock the door, and have my way with her for the rest of the day. Talk about an ideal lazy Sunday.
    But I knew Gage was waiting and besides, the panicked expression on her face when she first saw me deflated my ego completely. She looked ready to jump and run.
    Did she regret what happened between us last night? I don’t, but I gotta admit, the vibe between us just now was uncomfortable yet hyperaware.
    Were we going to pretend it never happened? That was probably best: act like what we shared last night was some sort of weird—and fucking amazing—dream. Acknowledging it the morning after only asked for trouble, especially since Gage was present.
    A grumbling, moody Gage. He’s acting like a bear you’d regret poking too hard.
    “You need coffee or what? I told you there’s a freshly made pot in the kitchen,” I say, unable to stand his moodiness one second longer.
    “Bah.” Gage waves a hand. “I’ve had your coffee before. It’s complete shit.”
    I don’t bother reminding him that I had the housekeeper make a fresh pot of coffee every morning. Just one of the many perks of having a lot of money. Gage is still stuck on us being college roommates when I used to make coffee that tasted like black oil sludge.
    “Whatever. You’re missing out.” I glance toward the door, standing up straight when it opens, revealing Ivy, who stops on the top step. She’s looking fresh as a damn daisy, her hair still wet from the shower and pulled into a ponytail, showcasing that pretty face of hers. Her eyes sparkle, her cheeks are flushed, and when she catches sight of the both of us standing in front of my Mercedes, a smile curls those sensuous lips. Lips I tasted again and again last night.
    Lips I’d like to see curled around my . . .
    I frown. Damn it, I really need to stop thinking about her like that.
    Her smile fades just as quick as it appeared. Like she caught herself doing it and realized her mistake. Or she noticed my frown.
    Hell.
    “Finally,” Gage calls out. “Let’s get going before they stop serving brunch.”
    “They serve it until two,” I mutter, wishing like crazy Gage wasn’t with us. Of course, if he wasn’t, we wouldn’t be going to Hush either, and I’m excited to show off my baby to Ivy.
    “I forgot what a grump you are in the morning until you get some food in your stomach.” She approaches us, her eyes soft when they light on me. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
    “You’re right on time,” I assure her, because at this very moment she really can do no wrong.
    “I call shotgun,” Gage