Unexpected Lovers Box Set by J.B. Heller

It’s been morethan a week since my awkward encounter with Arlo, and I haven’t seen Sadie-not-Sadie again. It’s making me twitchy. She’s constantly there in the back of my mind. Every time the elevator stops on the seventh floor, I hold my breath, hoping it’s her, and I’m disappointed each time.

I haven’t even seen her at the building’s gym. She’s normally down there two or three times a week. And I only know that because I hit it up at six p.m., Monday to Saturday, which just so happens to be the same time of day I’ve seen her there. Could she be avoiding me?

I’m jolted by something knocking into my side. I jerk my head and glare at the football on the floor by my feet then flick my eyes to Arlo.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “You were staring off into space again, old man. Something on your mind?”

Rubbing the back of my neck with the hand not clutching my whiskey, I shift my gaze back out the floor-to-ceiling window of our lounge room. “I’m fine.”

“Never said you weren’t,” Arlo returns. “Just asked if something’s on your mind.”

I peer over my shoulder at him. He slouches back on the couch, watching the Sunday night game. I shrug. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

His eyes narrow on me, then he gets to his feet, stalks toward me, and bends down to retrieve his football. “You never get like this,” he says, then he arches a questioning brow. “Is this about a woman?”

I can’t help my reaction. I blanch then blurt, “What? No!”

Arlo’s eyes light with amusement, then he buckles over and laughs his ass off.

“It’s not that funny,” I mutter and make my way over to the dry bar to refill my drink. In my peripheral vision, I notice Arlo swiping tears from the corners of his eyes, and I roll mine in response.

His grin is blinding when he steps up to my side and wraps his arm around my upper back, clasping my shoulder. The little bastard is my height—six-two—already, and he’s only sixteen. I glare at him, and his eyes sparkle with mirth.

“This is the best day of my life,” he says. “Come, sit, tell me your lady problems, and let’s see if we can’t figure this out together, Daddio.”

I shrug him off then stomp over to the couch, drop onto the plush cushions, and glare at the little smartass. “I’m the one who gives out the advice around here, thank you very much.”

Arlo retrieves a Coke from the fridge and a packet of crisps out of the pantry then returns to the couch. He pops a crisp in his mouth, swigs his drink, then turns his attention to me. With a dramatically slow shake of his head and a pathetically remorseful look on his face, he says, “Face it, old man. You’ve lost your touch.”

I snort. “I have not.”

“I’m sorry to say this, but yeah, you really have,” he says.

“You look sorry, too,” I deadpan.

He grins and shrugs. “I’ve been waiting for this day, and it’s finally come. I honestly thought it would take longer, but here we are. I can’t help it if my happiness is peeking through.”

“You’re a shit. You know that?” I drawl.

“Yep.” He pops the P then carries on. “So, let me have it. What’d you do to scare her off? Was it the single-dad thing? The workaholic thing? The small dic—”

I shove my son so hard he topples off the couch.

“Hey, don’t hate the messenger!” he yells, reaching for the can of Coke currently spilling on the carpet. Once the drink is upright again, and he’s back on the couch, he glares at me.

I smirk. “There was a bee. And you better clean that up before Petra sees it tomorrow. She’ll lose her shit.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Sure there was. It’s not my fault you have a micro-pen—”

I shove him again, but this time, he’s ready for it. He places his drink on the floor then launches. I have just enough time to put down my glass before he collides with me, and we end up wrestling until we fall to the floor where I pin him, my legs hooked around his waist, and my arm locked around his neck.

Arlo wriggles and bucks, trying like hell to escape my hold, then he taps my arm three times, and I release him. We laugh as we stand up and flop back onto the beige cushions of the couch. I reach out and scruff up his hair, and he slaps my hand away.

He rolls his eyes at me then huffs. “Okay, fine. You made your point, old man. The size of your penis is not the reason for your womanly problems. So, what is?”

I lick my lips and avert my gaze. “I may have implied she’s a con-woman, and now she’s avoiding me.”

Arlo side-eyes me. “Smooth, Dad. Real smooth.”

Shrugging, I clear my throat. “I was working with some misinformation. Anyway, I just want to fix it, or at least apologize, but I can’t seem to catch her anywhere.”

“So, go to her place,” he says.

“Would if I could, but I can’t. I know what floor she lives on, but not the apartment, and I don’t know her real name. I can’t exactly go door-knocking, looking for her. That’s just creepy, and she already accused me of being a stalker.”

My son bursts out laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach. “Oh, God—this is—too good!”

I flip him off and take a generous swig of my drink, focusing on the slight burn as the liquor makes its way down my throat, to keep from shoving Arlo off the couch again.

Sundays are designatedlazy days in our apartment, therefore Lenny, Em, and I are all lying around in our most comfortable sweats, fuzzy socks, and hoodies while eating takeout. Sundays are my favorite.

“So, you going to tell us why you’ve ditched hitting the gym with us this week?” Lennon asks around a mouthful of pizza.

I’ve been giving them lame excuses all week, and even though they’ve given me skeptical looks, neither called me on it. Until now.

I drop the slice I was about to take a bite out of and wipe my hands on a napkin. Both Emory and Lennon are staring at me, waiting for me to spill the proverbial beans. I heave a sigh then tell them about my encounter with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding.

When I’m done, I take my first glance at my girls’ faces to be met with Em’s hanging jaw and Lenny’s twitching left eye.

I pick at the toppings on my pizza, nibbling on bits of pepperoni and olive as I wait for them to process. After a couple of minutes of silence, I clear my throat and add, “Yeah, so I’ve maybe been avoiding going to the gym since I know he’s usually there when we go. Oh, and his name is Atticus. We should probably stop referring to him as Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding.”

“Atticus,” Em sighs. “That’s such a hot name.”

I nod. “I know, right?”

“Definitely,” she agrees.

But Lennon is still silent. I slowly turn my attention to her. “Len?”

She holds out a hand. “Shh, I’m thinking.”

Okay, this can’t be good.

Lennon shreds the pizza on her plate into tiny pieces then abruptly shoves the plate onto the coffee table and stands. “We need more wine,” she declares as she trots off to the kitchen then returns with a new bottle. She refills our glasses to the brim then places the empty bottle on the coffee table.

Once she’s seated again, she levels me with narrowed eyes. “Why are you only telling us about this now? Also—side note—is this why you’ve been taking the stairs instead of the lift?”

“Ohhh,” Em mumbles. “That totally makes sense now.”

I shrug. “Yeah, well, it’s like killing two birds with one stone. I was making up for the missed workouts and avoiding another mortifying showdown.”

“Clever,” Len says, patting my leg. “Anyway, you didn’t tell us this earlier because …?”

Oh, right. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I think a part of me wanted to just dwell in my mortification alone, you know? I mean, it’s so humiliating. He’s so freaking hot, and we’ve lusted after this guy since we moved in, and now he knows I’m Miss Sadie.” I shrink farther into the plush beanbag I’m inhabiting and cover my face with my hand.

“Oh, babe,” Em says, crawling over to me until she tugs me into a hug. “You know we understand. We get why you need Sadie. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

I scoff. “Yeah, except that he thinks I’m trying to seduce his son and get in his pants. Oh, and let’s not forget he figured out I’m Sadie! And I accused him of being a stalker!” I shudder as another wave of humiliation washes over me.

I’m the first to admit I have some serious issues. I mean, obviously, right? I’m an heiress who sidelines as an erotic cleaner.

Becoming Miss Sadie increased my confidence, and it still does to a degree. I don’t do live feeds as much as I did in the beginning. Nowadays, I only go live once a week, except for the week I brunch with Mom and Sophia—then I usually do a couple of extras. What can I say? They’re soul crushers, and my delicate ego needs the power boost I get from doing my thing afterward.

Lennon clicks her fingers in front of my face, snapping me out of my inward musings. “Hey, Earth to Kinsley!”

I shake my head and focus on her. “Sorry, what?”

“We know you’re all messed up when it comes to how you see yourself, babe, but I just want to point out that if Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding recognized you from your lavender tattoo, he’s obviously been paying you some attention, girly.” Lennon grins and shimmies forward on the upholstered armchair she’s occupying then rests her elbows on her knees, cradling her glass of wine between her palms. “He’s noticed you.”

A ball of nerves tightens in my stomach. “You think?” I ask softly.

Em nods emphatically, her big blue eyes widening with excitement. “For sure! He told you he saw the tattoo and your hair color—that’s how he worked out who you were. Guys don’t notice stuff like that unless they’re interested,” she says with a suggestive waggle of her brows.

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, mulling it over. He’s never paid me any mind before when we’ve shared the elevator—not that I’ve noticed, anyway. “It’s not like he pays me special attention or anything like that. He’s never said a word to me before last week.”

Lenny rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t have realized if he was paying attention to you. You’re so blasé it’s not funny. I’ve seen guys outright hit on you, and you’ve been none the wiser.”

That’s not true. My brows furrow as I frown at her. “Whatever. Guys don’t hit on me; I’m the go-between girl. The one they approach in order to talk to you two.”

“Unbelievable,” she mutters and shakes her head. “I swear, one of these days, Kins, I’m going to make you see just how beautiful you are. Inside and out.”

My lips lift in a small affectionate smile, because I know she means it. My girls love and care about me as much as I do them, and it fills my heart with warm fuzzies when hard-as-nails Lennon gets all mushy on me.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Lenny snaps. “I’m serious. You are so freaking clueless sometimes, Kins; it’s infuriating. I don’t know how you can do all that smart techy shit for Fiora, but you can’t recognize when a man is into you.”

And just like that, I’m frowning again. I sip my wine and process her words. “Do you really think Atticus is interested?” I eventually ask.

“No,” she says, her face blank of all expression, then she arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “We just like fucking with you.”

I roll my eyes then shove her knee, laughing when she spills her wine down the front of her sweater. “Serves you right.” I chuckle.

Em gasps. “That’s alcohol abuse!”

Lennon snatches a spare napkin off the coffee table and dabs the wet patch on her chest. “You owe me a refill,” she huffs.

Wriggling my way out of my beanbag, I head for the kitchen in search of more wine. Thank God these two awesome women are in my life.