Finally, after more than an hour of outfit changes, ignored knocks, and repeated “I’m almost ready!” shouted through the door, you stepped out of your apartment.

Bootcut jeans hugged your legs perfectly, paired with a black cropped top that made both men immediately go quiet.

Archer leaned back against the wall, but the second his eyes landed on you, his gaze dragged slowly from head to toe — shameless, heavy, appreciative.

Rowan let out a low breath beside him, shaking his head with a grin that looked equal parts annoyed and impressed.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” Archer muttered.

You barely had time to roll your eyes before he grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against his firm chest. His hand settled at your lower back while he looked down at you like he had all the patience in the world — even if the slight smirk on his lips said otherwise.

“You done, princess?” he asked softly.

“How many times did you say you were ‘almost ready’?” Rowan cut in, stepping forward.

Before you could answer, he caught your arm and tugged you away from Archer and into his own hold, his fingers curling possessively around your waist.

“At least six,” Rowan said, looking down at you with amusement. “Pretty sure we both aged waiting for you.”