No one had had any expectations for me either, but that was exactly the reason I’d had to create them for myself.
A rush of animosity filled me. Archer West came from a wealthy family who’d likely tried to give him everything, and for some reason he’d thrown it all in their faces. Dean had had the same upbringing and hadn’t made a mess of his life. Just the opposite.
I shaded my eyes from the sun as Richard West crossed the lawn and climbed the terrace steps.
“Hey, old man.” Archer tilted his head toward me. “I was just chatting with Dean’s new girlfriend. Nice that he brought someone home, isn’t it?”
“I want you out of here by tomorrow morning,” Richard told him.
“Hey, did I tell you I’m looking for an investor for my new bar?” Archer examined his fingers, digging a ring of dirt out from beneath his thumbnail. “If I find one, I could be on the road in half an hour. If not—”
Richard moved forward so fast that I flinched at the blur of motion. If there hadn’t been people milling around nearby, I swear he would have hit his son. Instead he stopped right in front of Archer, his voice lowering. “Don’t you threaten me.”
“Dad.” Dean’s voice cut into the sudden fury. He pushed himself between his father and brother. “Back off, both of you.”
Richard held up his hands, his eyes shooting daggers at his younger son before he stalked inside.
“Have a seat, bro.” Archer recovered his composure as he slouched back into his chair. “Liv was telling me all about her studies. You got yourself a girl who’s both smart and pretty. Nice work. Better than that cold fish Helen.”
“Shut up, Archer.” Dean took my arm and tugged me to my feet. “Come on, Liv.”
“Dean doesn’t like cold fishes,” Archer continued. “And you don’t look like one to me, Liv, I can tell you that.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Dean snapped.
The instant Archer looked from Dean to me, I saw a realization click in his brain. Apprehension filled my chest.
“Stay away from him,” Dean told me as he pulled me away from his brother, back toward the house. “He’ll be gone tomorrow morning.”
Dean didn’t leave my side for the next couple of hours. By late afternoon, several of the guests had gone home while the others sat out on the terrace with the last of the coffee and pie to watch a pickup football game between neighbors.
The Coleman brothers were three athletic-looking men in their late twenties and early thirties who had greeted Archer and Dean like long-lost friends. I learned they’d all grown up on the same street and had known each other since they were kids. Two cousins joined the game, along with the Coleman patriarch Brian to even out the teams.
I sat to the side on the terrace as the players haggled back and forth about the teams, where the goal lines would be, and which trees would serve as sidelines. I was glad everyone else was worn out from food and conversation because it meant there were no distractions as I sat watching Dean in motion.
A thing of beauty, if ever there was one.
He had changed into frayed jeans and a T-shirt, and his lean, muscular body arched with natural grace as he leapt to catch the ball and run. The sight of him was enough to get my pulse racing—his thighs flexing beneath his jeans, the way his T-shirt rode up to expose the flat, hard muscles of his abdomen, the wind ruffling his thick hair. He was playing quarterback and threw an interception.
“Still got that rag arm, big brother,” Archer called as he dashed just past Dean’s outstretched arm and beyond for a touchdown.
After Dean’s team got the ball back, he threw a long pass down the sideline to Matthew Coleman. Matthew turned to run upfield. Archer was right beside him, thrusting out his arm to knock the ball from Matthew’s hands.
With eight testosterone-and-turkey-fueled men playing, the game soon took on a hard, competitive edge. Archer had a more hotheaded style than Dean, which didn’t surprise me. Whereas Dean’s power was coiled, contained, Archer moved and reacted with a barely leashed energy, as if he were about to explode at any moment.
It also became clear that Archer and Dean brought their personal stuff into the game. Dean eyed his brother every time they lined up, and Archer made a point of going after Dean whenever he had the ball, several times tackling him with what seemed like unnecessary force.
The game progressed with lots of running, shouts, taunting. Archer’s team led by a touchdown. Dean gripped the ball with both hands and dropped it, his right foot connecting with it several feet from the ground.
The ball sailed forty yards into the crisp breeze, and it looked like the other team might let it bounce through the end zone. At the last moment Archer lunged and grabbed the ball, turning upfield in one smooth motion. James Coleman brought him down with a thud that made Joanna West stand up.
“Is he all right?” she asked as Brian helped Archer back to his feet.