Cheat Codes (Dawson Family 1)

“I’m not having a heart attack,” I sass. “It’s my wrist and really, I’m fine.”

“I can take a look.”

“I guess it won’t hurt anything.” I set my empty wine glass in the sink and cross the kitchen. My heart starts to speed up and heat rushes through me, settling between my thighs. I stand before Archer Jones, left arm extended, fighting off the insane attraction I’m feeling.

Archer gently takes my wrist in his hands. “It’s not swollen. Does it hurt now?”

“It’s off and on. Like a dull ache.”

“What makes it hurt more?” He turns my arm over and runs his thumb down my forearm. I suppress a shiver, licking my lips as I watch his fingers slide over my flesh. I tear my eyes away from his hand to look up at his face, but that only makes things worse.

His brow is furrowed, and there’s genuine concern in his eyes.

“Extending my arm and being on my computer.”

“Do your fingers feel tingly?”

“Actually yeah, they have a few times when the pain gets bad.”

“You have carpal tunnel syndrome, which is quite common for someone who types or is at a computer all day.”

“I figured so.” His hand is still around my wrist. “A handful of my co-workers have it. They’re a lot older than me, but it is what it is, I guess. So, am I damned to live like this forever, doc?”

“No, there are treatments. Start with ice and Advil for the pain and try a wrist brace.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Archer steps closer and hasn’t let go of my wrist yet. “You said it makes your shoulder hurt?”

“It does, but I think part of that is bad posture. I know I slouch at my desk.” I put my free hand over Archer’s. “It’s not something a massage can’t fix, right?”

The floor in the butler’s pantry creaks and Archer drops my wrist and steps back. Dean emerges into the kitchen.

“Are you guys hiding too?” he asks.

“Why are you hiding? This is your party. And no,” I say. “We’re not hiding. Mom’s overreacting—surprise, surprise, I know—and made Archer look at my wrist.”

“What’s wrong with your wrist?”

“Carpal tunnel. It’s seriously no big deal. Archer told me what to do and I’ll be fine.”

Dean gives Archer a nod. “You’re a good friend for putting up with our mom.”

Archer laughs. “She’s not that bad.”

“She can be a bit overbearing,” Dean grumbles.

“Go back to your party,” I tell him. “Before Kara notices you’re missing.”

“She’s the one I had to get away from,” Dean admits.

“You’re hiding from your fiancée at your own engagement party?” I hike an eyebrow.

“She’s still going on about your boobs. And then Mom came over and was talking about her boobs.” He shudders. “I had to leave or throw up.”

I laugh. “Watch out, Dean, we might start talking about our uteruses next.” I give him a sweet smile. “I hope you two only have girls.”

“As long as they’re not twins. Twins do run in our family.”

“It doesn’t matter on the guy’s side,” Archer explains. “It only matters on the girl’s side, and identical twins aren’t hereditary anyway.”

“Really?”

“Really. Identical twins are a random event.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Dean says. “I guess I’ll go back out there. Might as well enjoy the party you all threw in my honor, right? You’re my best man,” he says to Archer. “You gotta come save me. I mean join me. Keep me away from Aunt Mary. She thinks modern medicine is witchcraft so she’ll avoid you.”

“Best man,” I repeat as Dean walks out of the room. I turn my gaze back to Archer. “I wasn’t sure how that was going to go. Logan and Owen were taking bets on which one of them Dean would pick. You are Dean’s oldest friend. It makes sense.”

“Yeah…we have been friends a long time.” His brow furrows again, and he flicks his eyes up to me, looking at me almost as if I’m suddenly offensive.

“So…I’ll, uh, try to have better posture. Would that help my wrist pain?”

“Maybe. I’m a surgeon. I don’t deal with this sort of thing. Make an appointment with your general practitioner.” He turns to leave.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap.

“Nothing,” he retorts, whirling around. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Seriously?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He inhales deeply, and I’m not sure if he’s going to tell me off or push me up against a wall and kiss me.

“It’s like you’re a rescue dog and I don’t know if you’re going to let me pet you or if you’re going to bite. At least I can understand the dog’s unpredictable behavior, but you…I haven’t got a clue with you and you are driving me nuts.”

“You want to pet me?”

“Yes. No. Kind of. It’s a figure of speech.” I throw my hands up. “Whatever, Archer. I don’t know what I did to offend you.”

He strides forward so quickly I take a step back, pinning myself against the fridge. Archer’s hands land on my waist and he moves in, legs spread, so his hips are against mine. I inhale the scent of his woodsy cologne, heart beating so fast I think it might explode. So many times I’ve imagined his hands on me. For years, I’ve yearned for his touch. Begged and pleaded with the universe to have him look at me and not see me as Dean’s little sister.

And right now, he’s not. I’m not his friend’s sibling to put up with, but he’s not looking at me the way I’d hoped. He stares at me with a combination of hatred and lust, more intense than anyone has ever looked at me before. It turns me on and terrifies me.

I’m hot and cold up against him.

I want to push him away and bring him closer.

He leans in, taking one hand off my waist to move my curls over my shoulder. He licks his lips, and the light above us shines off the trail of wetness left from his tongue. The heat between my thighs intensifies, and my pussy begs to be touched. Stroked. Fucked hard.

Just like in my dream.

I swallow my pounding heart and turn my head up to Archer, refusing to let him see how close to coming undone this is making me. He tucks my hair behind my ear and traces the outline of my jaw with his thumb, bringing it up to my mouth. I part my lips, feeling intoxicated by his touch.

“You didn’t offend me, Quinn.” He spits each word out, eyes narrowing. Then he blinks and his face softens. His hand trails over my collarbone and down my arm until our fingers meet. He intertwines his with mine for a brief moment. “You didn’t. But I should go.”

He pushes off me and goes back to the party like nothing happened. I lean onto the counter for support, heart racing and nerves tingling. That asshole did it on purpose. He knew he could get that reaction out of me. Knew he could easily unnerve me with a few simple touches.

Fuck him.

If I never see Archer Jones again, it would be too soon.

7

Archer

“Well, kids, it looks like you’re going to be here for a while.” Mr. Dawson hangs up the phone and goes to the window, watching the storm. “A tree fell and knocked out power lines. The road is blocked.”

“How bad?” Dean asks.

“Weston said there’s been a lot of damage in town they have to get to first. He’ll keep us posted. I know Quinn and Archer need to leave soon to make it home in time. Though you shouldn’t drive in this rain anyway.”

Quinn shifts in her seat, and the collar of her oversized sweatshirt falls down her shoulder. Her hair is in a messy braid, she’s not wearing any makeup, and she’s refused to look at me all morning. She’s done an impressive job of pretending I’m not here, actually. No one else has noticed her go about the kitchen, getting coffee and helping her mom make breakfast and act like it’s just her family sitting around the large island counter.

“Should we go into the basement?

” Mrs. Dawson asks. She tightens her grip on Jackson, who doesn’t seem bothered by the storm at all.

“Nah,” Mr. Dawson says, looking out the window. “This house has survived for over a hundred years. It’ll go a hundred more. I’m not worried.”

A loud crash of thunder booms overhead, startling the dogs. The lights flicker. Once. Twice. And then the power goes out.

“Quinn, can you call your brothers and make sure they’re awake and aware of the storm? Owen can sleep through anything.” Mrs. Dawson gets up, keeping Jackson’s hand in hers as if she’s afraid the small boy will blow away in the storm, and gets battery-powered candles and a flashlight out from under the kitchen sink.

“I’ve been texting Logan all morning,” Quinn responds, not looking up from her phone. “They’ve been up doing inventory at the bar.”

“The bar? Maybe they should come here where it’s safer.”

“Jackie,” Mr. Dawson starts. “It’d be far more dangerous to have them drive. The bar has a basement.”

“Grammy will you read to me? I’m tired.” Jackson tugs on Mrs. Dawson’s hand.

“Of course, baby! Let me get another flashlight and we can go snuggle on the couch.”

Kara goes into the living room with them to work on her lesson plans for the week, and Mr. Dawson tells Dean he needs him to sort through a client’s file so they can get a head start on a project for tomorrow.

And now just Quinn and I are in the kitchen. I’m pretty sure her coffee mug is empty, but she brings it to her lips and pretends to take a drink, turning away from me to look outside at the storm.

It’s just now ten AM, and I’m not at all worried about making it back home in time. But being stuck in this house with Quinn…it’s not uncomfortable at all. Especially after last night.

Hah. The tension is so thick it’s hard to fucking breathe.

Regretting the second helping of bacon and eggs I got, I push the last bit around on my plate and steal a glance at Quinn. She’s holding her coffee cup—which is definitely empty—and frowning as she reads something on her phone.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.