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Luke throws up his hands. "Fine. Remember that when they take you to court for custody of Mason. I will not allow you to use me or Mark to win that case."

I balk at his words. "Don’t you dare bring Mason into this."

Luke crosses his arms over his chest. "Do I look as if I care."

Oh, he’s going to care when I stab him in the trachea with a pen. I grind my teeth together to keep my tongue from saying what I really want to say. "Fuck you." I say instead and push past him. I start packing up my things.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Luke says from the doorway.

"Leaving. I'm done dealing with you today." I answer.

"Fine." He says, slamming the door to his office.

The doorbell rings at nine-thirty. I don’t bother getting up. Whoever it is can kiss my ass. I’ve already had Carrie call me multiple times since I left, leaving a dozen messages on my voicemail. Which I deleted. Probably should’ve at least listened to them or sent her a text. I like that girl. It’s not her fault that her cousin is a fucking dickhead.

The doorbell rings again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

"Ugh!" I force myself off the couch and over to the door. "Axe, I swear to God, if this is you being an ass, I’m drowning you in the toilet." I open the door, but it isn’t Axe standing on the other side of the door.

"Archer?" I look past him but don’t see his truck. "Did you walk here?"

"I did." He answers.

"In the rain?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I had a lot to think about." His eyes rake over my body, making me shiver.

I should leave him out there, but he looks so pathetic. Standing there soaking wet, with his hair plastered to his forehead and his shirt stuck to his…very, hard, chest.

Damnit!

I move aside and let him in. "Kitchen. I’ll get you something dry to wear."

I hurry up the stairs and rummage around Mason’s room. Thank God he's at Spencer's for the night, I don't think he'd be pleased with me in his room. I grab a pair of gray sweatpants—because that’s all he seems to have—and a random shirt. "That's where all my cups went." I mutter to myself, spying ten cups on hid dresser. I'll deal with that later.

I head back into the kitchen and hand over the clothes. "There’s a washroom you can use over there." I point to the door off the living room.

"Thank you," he says.

I wait until Luke shuts the door and dump myself into a chair. Nine-thirty at night and he decides to make house calls.

Luke walks out moments later, and I mentally kick myself for lending him Mason’s clothes. The shirt has attached itself to his chest. I can see every ridge of his muscles as clear as day, and those gray sweatpants leave nothing to the imagination.

Note to self: buy Mason darker sweatpants.

Standing, I stick my hand out. "Gimme."

Luke hands over his wet clothes and I shove them in the dryer, hitting the thirty-minute button. "They’ll be wrinkled but dry. You have half an hour."