The Wingman (Vancouver Storm, #3)

by Stephanie Archer

I count the vases on the counter. “Eight.” He looks away, folding his arms over his chest. “One for each year we’ve been friends.”

“And I don’t like the idea of some guy taking you for granted.” Or taking her home. Or touching her. Or looking at her.

“God, Darcy,” he groans against my lips. “Fucking finally.”

“You want to know why I don’t touch you?” His blue eyes grow a shade darker. “Because if I start, I won’t stop.”

“You know why I dated women who look nothing like you?” Speechless, I shake my head. “Because I didn’t want to be reminded of you. Because I was trying to convince myself I didn’t have feelings for you.” His Adam’s apple slides up and down as he swallows, pupils blown wide. “It never worked, though. My thoughts always wander back to you.”

“You’re my type,” Hayden says like it hurts him. “More than anyone.”

I’m done with being her wingman, and I’ll do what it takes to convince Darcy she’s mine.

I love her, I realize. I’ve loved her for years. Maybe since she walked into English class that first week of university, or the first conversation we had about The Northern Sword, or the first time I opened my blinds and screamed at the weird gnome peering into the window while she collapsed on my bed, laughing her ass off.

I’m going to marry this girl. The thought struck me eight years ago, during a conversation before class our first week of school. Embarrassed by it, I buried it as fast as it sprung up; I was eighteen, for Christ’s sake. I knew, though. A few conversations with Darcy Andersen, and I knew she was the one for me.