Unexpected Lovers Box Set by J.B. Heller

 

Once upon a time,there was a girl who believed in true love and happily-ever-afters.

That girl was me. Notice the past tense there: was . . . Yeah, I let go of that fairy-tale kind of hope a long time ago. Don’t get me wrong; I want to believe. I really do. But there’s only so much heartbreak a girl can take before she starts to question her fundamental beliefs.

For instance, my first boyfriend back in ninth grade, Toby Miller (insert dreamy sigh), ticked all my boxes. Handsome? Yep. Funny? Uh-huh. Charming? Yeppers. Taller than me? You bet ya. And smart? Bingo. Unfortunately for me, I was not the only girl he was wooing with his swoon-worthiness.

Next, we have Bryan Godfrey. After being burned by Toby and his Lothario ways, I added honest to my list of requirements. And Bryan, bless him, was honest to a fault. So honest he felt the need to inform me of every failing I possessed. But don’t worry. He did it in a very charming way. So charmingly, in fact, that it took me a while to realize he was actually insulting me.

Then there was Grey Mathers, Will Carson, Aiden Fairmont, Alex Norman, and the list goes on. You get where I’m going with this, right? A string of unsuccessful relationships left me jaded and—for lack of a better word—hopeless.

So, I devised a plan to keep my banged-up heart safe from all the douche-canoes in the world. I call it The Starfish Method. It’s really quite genius. You see, I still have needs as a woman, and I very much like companionship, so dropping out of the dating game altogether just wasn’t an option for me.

In order to continue reaping the benefits of a relationship without becoming too invested, I only date each man for four months. Then, I give myself a month or two break before diving back into the dating pool again.

The tricky part is getting rid of the current boytoy without him knowing I’m trying to get rid of him. That’s where The Starfish Method comes into play. At the three-month mark, I take a step back in being an active participant in the sex department and implement my secret weapon: I lie there like a starfish, limbs spread so the deed can successfully be done and mostly enjoyed by both parties. But it’s not great, you know?

It’s so simple, it’s genius.

After a couple of weeks of this, he (the current lover) will become bored and ultimately invent a reason to break it off within my four-month time frame. It hasn’t failed me yet, and I’ve been employing this method for four years.

“You’re insane. You know that, right?” Amy, my BFF since our diaper days, says as I pop another fry into my mouth.

I shrug as I chew. “So you keep telling me.”

She snatches the bowl out of my grasp as I reach for another stick of potatoey goodness. I glare. “Dude, is there a reason you’re taking your life into your hands right now?”

Her brows bunch in a frown. “This is serious. Taking away the carbs is the only way to make you listen.”

I blow my bangs out of my eyes and look to the heavens, silently begging for patience. When I level her with my stare again, she’s clutching the bowl of fries to her chest. “Give them back and we can talk. There’s no need to hold my food hostage.”

She snorts. “Right. I’m not falling for that again. We talk first, then I’ll return your precious grease sticks.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I retort, “Well, get on with it then. I’m hungry.”

Amy clears her throat then straightens her shoulders. “I think you should have held on to Brent. He’s so nice, and he treated you like a damn princess. Don’t even get me started on the way he looked at you like you were the most amazing thing on this Earth.”

I drop my head to the tabletop. “You should date him if you like him so much,” I grumble.

“Maybe if I’d met him first, I would have. But that’s just gross. I don’t want a bar of his pork sword after it’s already impaled my bestie.” She dry heaves then shakes her head. “Besides, he was crazy about you. Can’t you give him a chance? Like, a real one this time?”

Sitting forward, I let my bravado go and get real. “I don’t think I have it in me to give anyone more of myself than I already do. My system works for me. It keeps my heart safe while still meeting all my needs. Brent is a great guy, otherwise I wouldn’t have hooked up with him in the first place. But you and I both know there’s always an expiration date on the ‘perfect guy’ routine. I get out before I get hurt.”

Amy’s frown deepens. “But what if it’s not a routine? I think he’s genuine.”

I grin. “That’s where my system comes in. If he was truly crazy about me, not just the great sex, he wouldn’t have broken it off with me. But he did. You can’t fault The Starfish Method. In the last four years, not one of the guys I’ve dated has stuck around to try to work things out.”

“Life isn’t only about sex, you know,” she grumbles.

“Ames.” I sigh. “I know that. But think about it; if Brent really liked me, for more than a good lay, he would have stuck around.”

After a full minute of silence, Amy finally nods. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just really liked this one. I thought for sure he’d blow your stupid starfish out of the water.”

I chuckle and reach across the space between us, snatching my bowl of fries out of her arms. “Maybe one day I’ll meet the unicorn of men, and he’ll stick it to me so good it won’t matter what position we’re in as long as we’re boning.”

Camille handsme a small black-and-white picture on gloss paper, and I stare at it, confused. “What is this?”

She smiles and slaps my shoulder playfully. “What do you think it is, silly? It’s our baby. We made a baby together, Samuel. Isn’t it wonderful?” Her blue eyes mist with unshed tears as she speaks.

I go back to staring at the picture. A baby? She told me she was on the pill. . . and I wrapped it every single time we’ve been together despite her repeatedly mentioning that I didn’t need to.

“Say something, Samuel. You’re scaring me,” Camille says, planting her ass on the edge of my desk in front of me.

“I’m not exactly sure how this happened, Camille.”

She laughs, and it’s so fake and irritating it grates on my nerves.

Shaking my head, I hand her back the sonogram picture. “That’s not what I meant. I know how it happened, obviously. I just don’t understand. We’ve been using two forms of contraception.”

“Neither of which are one hundred percent guaranteed to work. I think this is a sign that we’re supposed to be together, Samuel. You, me, and this baby.” She rests a hand over her still-flat stomach, a single tear spilling onto her cheek. “We’re going to be a family. The wedding will have to be soon, though. I don’t want to be showing in the pictures.”

I stare at her like she’s lost her damn mind. Because clearly, she has, if she thinks I’m going to marry her when we’ve only been seeing each other for five months.

She doesn’t seem to notice the expression on my face as she reaches out a hand and cups my cheek. “You’ve made me the happiest woman in the world, Samuel. I will be the best wife and mother you could ever dream of.”

Okay, no. “Listen. . .” I take her hand from my cheek and hold it between my own. “I will be there for you every step of the way. All the ultrasounds and doctors’ appointments. I’ll even be at every recital or football game without fail. But what I will not be doing is marrying you.”

Camille yanks her hand out of my grip, rears it back, and slaps me across the face. “I am carrying your child! Of course we need to get married. How could you disrespect me like this, Samuel?”

I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose. “I’m not disrespecting you. I just told you I’ll take care of you and the child. But we don’t even know each other that well. And I’m sorry to say this—especially right now—but I had planned on ending things between us.”

Her eyes flare. “I know you were, you moron!” she seethes and pushes to her feet. Stalking around the desk, she lets out what can only be called a screech as she slams her palms on the marble surface. “I went to all the trouble of getting that damn sonogram picture and you still won’t commit. You have a problem, Samuel English.”

My head kicks to the side. “What did you just say?”

Camille straightens, seemingly having realized what she’s let slip.

“You’re not pregnant, are you? You thought you’d come in here, tell me we’re having a baby, and I’d drop to one knee and propose. If you knew me at all, you’d know there’s no way I would do that.” I shake my head. “And for your information, a child doesn’t need their parents to be married—it needs their parents to be happy. And nothing would make me more miserable than sharing the rest of my life with a conniving bitch like you. Now get out.”

* * *

It has been a long-ass day,and I’m done with it. I’m kicking back with my feet on my desk, sipping a whiskey, when my cousin Tom wanders in and drops into the seat across from me.

“Whiskey in the office? Did I miss something? I thought the merger with Svendenson was going well?” he says, watching me cautiously.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I groan then lean forward before dropping my feet to the floor and bracing my forearms on my desk. “Camille faked a pregnancy.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

I take a deep breath as my fingertips strum over the cool marble beneath them. “She came in to see me at lunch today. Figured I’d marry her if she was pregnant. Went as far as to produce a fake sonogram.”

Tom’s eyes widen. “Are you fucking serious? Bitch is crazy. You’ve only been boning for a couple of months.”

Shrugging, I glance at my hands. “Apparently, being heir to the English fortune is reason enough to marry me. Anyway, the condensed version is I told her I’d support her and the child, be an active parent, but no fucking way was I marrying her after a few months. She then lost her shit and accidently confessed.”

Tom sneers. “I’ve had some pretty desperate dames, but none of them have gone that far to try to lock me down. What is wrong with these women?”

“It’s the world we live in. They’re raised to be money-hungry bitches. More money equals more power and prestige. I’m done with psychos trying to trap me for nothing more than what my name represents.”

“I get that. But where are you going to find a woman who doesn’t give a shit who you are? Seriously, Sam, it’s what these women do. It’s how they’re wired: find a man—trap the man—consume the man’s happiness,” Tom states matter-of-factly.

I laugh. “Surely there is a woman out there who doesn’t know who I am and who will happily wave me off when our time is up. Right now, I’d settle for a few months of good, old-fashioned fun without having to take out a restraining order at the end of it.”

“I think this day calls for a stiff drink—or five,” Tom suggests.

I nod, holding out my now empty whiskey glass. “I’m way ahead of you, cousin.”

He shakes his head. “Not here. That’s just depressing.”

“Okay, but I’m not going to the club. I can’t stomach another night being surrounded by social climbers trying to dig their claws into me.”

“I know a place.” Tom grins then pushes to his feet, and I follow him out of my office to the elevators at the end of the hall.

“Your car will be waiting, Mr. English,” my secretary calls from behind me.

Peering over my shoulder, I give her a nod. “Thanks, Mary. See you on Monday. Have a fun weekend with those grandkids of yours.”

Fifteen minutes later, my car pulls up outside a bar I don’t recognize. I glance at Tom and he smiles. “I bought it last month. It was time to do something different. I’m bored, man, and you know what I do when I get bored.”

Yeah, I do. He spends money—lots of it.

I survey the exterior of the building from the sidewalk. The name is splashed across the wall in a big, neon-blue script: The Aquarium. It’s clean, in a good area, and there is a line of people already gathered out in front. We, of course, skip it, walking straight through the doors without a backward glance at the people waiting in the heat of the night.

“Interesting name for a bar,” I murmur as we walk along a darkened corridor toward a set of heavy, blue velvet curtains.

Tom’s grin widens. “It’ll make sense in a minute.”

A hostess greets us as we approach the curtains, the muffled sound of the music seeping through just slightly.

“Mr. English, so good to see you again. I’ll have your booth prepared immediately. Will there be anyone else joining this party tonight, sir?” the woman croons.

“No, thank you, Mira. Only my cousin Sam and myself this evening.”

Mira nods and presses a button on a small headset I didn’t even notice she was wearing, murmuring something then smiling brightly at Tom again. “Would you like me to escort you through tonight, Mr. English?”

The corner of Tom’s mouth hooks in a smirk as he shakes his head slightly. “I think we can manage. Thank you, Mira.”

Without another word, she tugs one of the heavy curtains aside to allow us entry. Tom gestures for me to go first, and as I step over the threshold, I’m taken aback by the scene around me. Now the name makes perfect sense.

“Amazing, right?” Tom says, clasping a hand over my shoulder. And all I can do is nod.