Stealing Home

He gave me a minute to change my mind—clearly trying to change it for me with the way he was looking at me—then shrugged. “Okay. Thanks for the ride.”


As he crawled across the backseat to open the door, something hit me. “I just realized something,” I said, blinking. “I have no idea how I’m going to get back to my car to get home.”

Archer’s smile told me this had crossed his mind a while ago. “Just realized that, eh? I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out. Must have been distracted by something.” Waggling his brows, he added, “Or someone.”

“The man stretched out on the backseat should not be flattering himself right now.”

He chuckled like my state of transportation impairment was amusement at its best. “Take my car home,” he said, motioning at the steering wheel. “We can go get your car together tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to drive this tank another length of curb.”

His mouth fell open. “Are you insulting my wheels?”

“Yeah, I think I am.” Even in park, the thing was rumbling like we were four-wheeling up some logging road. “Besides, why are you driving something that probably rolled off the manufacturing line when we were in middle school?”

“Because we have a lot of history.” He patted the passenger seat affectionately. “I drove this baby to college my freshman year. It’s gotten me through a lot of good times. You don’t just abandon it because people expect you to drive a Range Rover with twenty-inch rims.” He made a face like he’d rather be caught driving a hot pink Barbie car. “Besides, in this, I’m incognito. As you’ve just proven, no one expects me to be driving a 2003 Tahoe.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised a guy who made bank drove a car with a trade-in value of probably five grand, but it still made me shake my head. “Point made.”

“So I’ll see you tomorrow morning then? Around eight?” His hand dropped on the back door handle.

“To drop off your car?”

His shoulders lifted. “And to go shopping. Remember? Me and the girls. At the mall all day.”

I exhaled. “I don’t know, Luke.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. Plus, if you expect me to follow-through on my promise to keep my leg elevated all day, that means I’ll be in a wheelchair, which means shopping will be spatially challenging.”

I made a face at him. “Spatially challenging?”

“Have you ever been in those teen girl stores?” He waited like he was expecting an answer. I didn’t think my abundance of team polos and khakis required an answer to that. “I can barely fit as a bi-ped. Definitely won’t be able to as a four-wheeler with an appendage hanging out.”

“Speaking of appendages . . .”

His smile twisted as his eyes dropped to his crotch. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“How is your leg?” I said around a sigh. Luke had a one-track mind that was always heading in the same direction—between my legs.

“Better than my dick right now,” he muttered, looking so dejected I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing.

As he started shoving the door open, sliding down the seat to leave, I made a spur-of-the-moment decision. One I hoped I wouldn’t regret.

“Luke?” When he glanced back over his shoulder, I said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

All signs of dejection disappeared instantly. “Really?”

Instead of overthinking it, I listened to what my heart was telling me. “Really.”





FROM THE SOUNDS I could hear coming from the other side of the door, it sounded like an entire mob of sorority sisters had taken over Luke’s apartment. Some over-played, under-talented band’s song was blaring, a couple of girls’ voices joining in during the chorus. The sound of a blow dryer could be made out in the background, and I just heard someone close to panic levels shrieking about their missing tube of mascara.

It even smelled like a sorority house—or walking past the threshold of a Bath and Body Works and getting plowed over by the array of scents blasting out.

Thinking of Luke inside with three teenage girls who sounded and smelled as though they were fully embracing their teenage state of being made me smile. He came across as such a guy’s guy on and off the field, so hanging with him and his sisters today should be an enlightening experience.

That was part of the reason I’d agreed to it—I wanted to see him in a different element. I wanted to see how he was and who he was with his family. Was the man I knew the same one he was with those he loved the most? If not, who was the real Luke Archer—the one I knew or the one I was about to get a glimpse of?

Nicole Williams's books