The Best Mistake - Cookie O'Gorman Page 0,57

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