We Don't Talk Anymore (The Don't Duet #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,15

touching you when you’re too wasted to consent? Yeah. I am happy.”

“So you can get drunk and have—” I can’t bring myself to say sex. “—and hook up with whoever you want, but I can’t even let a boy kiss me without you beating him into the ground?”

“It’s not the same thing,” he growls. “He was taking—”

“Advantage of me?” I shake my head. “And what exactly were you and Sienna doing tonight? Playing Scrabble? Because she wasn’t sober. In fact, she was snorting lines off the coffee table with the commitment of a housewife in the candle aisle at HomeGoods.” I pause for a loaded beat of silence. “Or did you think I didn’t know that you slept with her?”

Archer actually flinches.

Good.

I’m glad I still have the power to wound him. God knows he’s hurt me enough, tonight. Glaring into his face, I try to read the emotions in his eyes but he shields them from me, staring fixedly over my shoulder. He offers me nothing — no answers, no apologies, no explanations.

I’d hit him again, if he weren’t still holding my hands.

“Right, I forgot! Silly me!” I try to laugh, but my voice cracks pathetically. “The rules don’t apply when you’re the one getting some.”

He expels a frustrated sigh. “I’m not fighting with you about this, Jo.”

“Well you sure as hell had a lot of opinions a few minutes ago!” I shake my head. “You know what? I don’t even care what you have to say. Spare me your sexist, double-standard bullshit.”

His furious gaze snaps to mine. “Then spare me the doe-eyed innocent act. You know as well as I do that these guys are just looking for a warm body. Forgive me if I don’t want my best friend winding up one more meaningless notch in their belts.”

“Ryan isn’t like that!”

“Ryan Snyder is exactly like that. These guys… they’re my teammates, and they’re decent enough to spend an afternoon at the batting cages with. Beyond that, they’re not winning any prizes for chivalry. They’ll fuck anything with a pulse. For all I know, they made a bet out of it — first to nail Valentine gets bragging rights.”

Ouch.

My stomach drops to my feet. I reel back, desperate for some space, only to realize I’m still a captive. His hold on me is stronger than iron — and I’m not just talking about his hands on my wrists.

“So that’s all this was?” I ask flatly.

“All what was?”

“One friend looking out for another.” I stare at him, too worked up to hold back.

His gaze flickers back and forth across my face, reading me like a book. “What else would it be, Jo?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And I don’t know why you can’t just admit it!”

“Admit what?”

“That it bothered you!” I snap. “Seeing me with Ryan.”

His eyes flare. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You were jealous.” I poke him in the chest with the tip of my finger. “Admit it! You couldn’t stand seeing me with someone else. Because deep down, in some twisted way… you think I belong to you.”

There’s a long beat of utter silence. So long, I start to count the waves as they crash, a relentless metronome. I reach a dozen before I begin to feel the tingling of regret creeping up my spine. A dozen more before Archer takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“You’re drunk, Jo. You don’t know what you’re saying, and you’re going to regret it in the morning.”

My heart fails inside my chest when he says that. Suddenly, I want to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but with him. I want to crawl into bed, cry my eyes out, and forget this entire night ever happened. Or, at the very least, escape my own mind for a few blissful hours of unconscious sleep.

Defeat and despair intertwine inside me in a tight knot, filling up my lungs, blocking off my airway, pressing at the back of my eyes. I don’t want to cry. If I start, I may never stop.

Forcing my mouth open, I speak very carefully — each word like a bullet in the air. “Let me go, Archer.”

“Jo—”

“Now. I mean it.”

He does.

In the sudden absence of his steadying hold, the sky spins precipitously around me. I lurch sideways and nearly fall over, only managing to catch myself at the very last moment. So much for my insistence re: sobriety.

When stability returns, Archer is watching me from a careful distance with his arms crossed over his chest. I can’t stand to see the