Unexpected Lovers Box Set by J.B. Heller

“Jesus Christ!”I just about yell as a shark swims right over my fucking head. A shark. Like a real, live, man-eating shark.

“I know.” He chuckles. “See why I had to buy this place? I’ve never seen anything like it.” Then he gives my back a shove, moving me forward through a glass tunnel.

“It’s a literal aquarium,” I say in wonderment.

“Yep, and a bar. What could be more relaxing than admiring fish while you drink?”

True enough, I suppose. I have a fish tank built into the wall at my office and two at home. It helps me decompress, watching their sleek bodies glide through the water so effortlessly.

We emerge from the tunnel into a huge open dome, fish of all shapes, sizes, and colors surrounding us. A square bar is situated in the middle of the area, also made from glass. As we get closer, I squint at the flecks of gold flickering through the clear panels. “Are they goldfish?”

Tom simply nods, remaining silent as I take in the space around me. A mezzanine encircles the entire dome, sectioned into six parts hidden behind more heavy blue curtains. “What’s up there?” I ask, gesturing with my chin.

“Private booths,” he says, pride emanating from him as he strides toward a set of stairs.

I take in the view as we reach the top. The main floor is broken into three distinct areas. One for lounging, filled with couches, large floor cushions, and armchairs. The second seems to be for dining. And the third is more like an actual bar with high-top tables encircled by stools.

Tom opens the curtain, letting me through first then closing it behind him.

Just as I take a seat on a sleek, dark-purple sofa facing the ginormous tank we’re sitting inside, a petite redhead appears with an antipasto tray in hand. She places it on the small table in front of the sofa before turning to Tom. “What would you like to drink tonight, sir?”

Tom eyes me, and I shrug, then he orders for both of us. “Two whiskeys, neat. And keep them coming.”

She gives a slight dip of her chin then vanishes through the curtain again.

“So, what do you think?”

“It’s incredible. I kind of wish I’d found it first. I’d have doubled your offer just so I could have it for myself.”

He chuckles. “I know. Why do you think I didn’t bring you here until the deal was done?”

“Bastard,” I mutter.

Two hours and four whiskeys later, I’m feeling the call of nature. “Where are the restrooms? I didn’t see any downstairs.”

“I’ll show you.” Tom leads the way, back the way we came, then through another tunnel to a hallway that, surprisingly, is not full of fish. The walls are a stark white. Two black doors indicate the men’s and ladies’ bathrooms, and I disappear inside one.

I’m unzipping my fly when a couple of guys stumble in, chatting so loudly I couldn’t ignore them if I wanted to. I stare at the tiled wall in front of me as they continue their conversation.

Guy one says, “Brent, I’m telling you, bro. That is the same chick out there. We dated two years ago for like four months, and she was into fish, and the sex was out-of-this-world good. Then, boom. After three months, it turned to shit.”

Guy two responds, “You think ‘cause her name was Hannah, and she liked fish, and the sex was awesome till it wasn’t that it’s the same chick? That’s the dumbest shit I ever heard.”

His slurred words have me glancing at him from the corner of my eye. He hiccups and sways on his feet, clearly drunk off his ass.

Guy one snorts. “No, it’s not. It makes perfect sense. You told me the first three months were awesome, then one day, it just wasn’t anymore.”

“So?” Guy two hiccups again.

Guy one slurs his words as the conversation continues. “Let’s go find ‘er and I’ll prove it.”

At this point, I’m not even pretending not to listen while I wash my hands then lean back against the counter.

Guy two snorts. “It’s not the same Hannah.”

Guy one shakes his head vigorously. “It is the same one. There’s no other explanation.”

Finally, they notice me standing by the sinks. They’re so tanked they can barely stay upright without the assistance of the urinal dividers.

The first guy frowns. “Are you listening to our private conversation, bro?”

“If it was a private conversation, I wouldn’t be able to hear it from across the room,” I state.

Guy two turns to look at me, dick still in hand. “Okay. What do you think then, Mr. Know-it-All?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I smirk. “I think this Hannah has low standards if she was dating either of you two.”

Guy one shakes his head and sways on his feet. “No, that’s not what he meant. You believe me, right? It’s the same chick. It must be, like, her M.O.”

I shrug. “Could be.”

Guy one glares at guy two. “I told you, fucker!” Then he punches him in the shoulder, and streams of piss splash across the floor and urinal dividers. They start yelling at each other, and I take that as my cue to leave.

I roll the drunken dickwads’ conversation over in my head as I walk back to Tom’s private booth. Sitting beside him, I ask, “Does a Hannah work here?”

He eyes me over the rim of his drink. “I don’t know. I haven’t met everyone yet. Mostly just the bar staff. But there’s another dozen or so that handle the tanks and fish. Why?”

“I think I might have found the woman who will give me exactly what I want.”

Red alert! Red alert!

Why did I stick around and grab a drink before heading home tonight? Oh, that’s right, because Amy begged me to. Stupid Amy and her stupid ideas.

I duck behind a couple involved in an intense conversation and receive a nasty glare from the woman. “Sorry,” I whisper but don’t move away from them. “Dodging an ex,” I say quietly before peeking over the man’s shoulder to check if I really did see what I thought I saw. Yes, yes, I did.

Brent and a guy I dated a few years ago, Peter, sit at one of the tall tables just six feet from my hiding spot. How do they even know each other? Why is this happening to me? I’m very particular about not dating men from the same circles, so this never happens. So what the hell?

Sweat gathers on my nape and palms. I rub my hands over my purple skinny jeans then reach for my phone from my back pocket to text Amy.

ME: ABORT. Brent is here . . . AND Peter. I’m out.

My phone starts ringing before I can even slide it back in my pocket. I answer, whisper-hissing into it, “What?”

“Where are you? I’m at the bar. I don’t see Brent. And who’s Peter?” Amy asks way too casually.

The people I’m using for cover sidestep, leaving me out in the open. I panic and dive behind a couch in the lounge area to my left.

“Wait, I just saw you. You’re on the ground, aren’t you?”

“What? I was like Flash fast, dude. You couldn’t have seen me,” I snap.

I’m greeted by silence.

“Amy? You still there?”

“Hannah?” a male voice I unfortunately recognize very well comes from above me. I tip my head back, meeting Brent’s blue eyes as he stands over me.

“Oh, hi, Brent. Fancy seeing you here,” I chirp.

“What are you doing down there?” he asks then hiccups.

He’s drunk. Thank God. I get to my feet then hold out my phone. “Dropped this.”

Brent sways a little but braces himself with a hand on the couch. “Really? ’Cause it looked like you dive-bombed the floor.” He smiles his big, adorable, boy-next-door smile.

“Hey, Brent! How’s it going?” Amy appears, giving him a friendly shoulder bump as she comes to a stop beside him. She sniffs then scrunches her nose. “Why do you smell like you pissed yourself?”

His eyes widen, and he sways again. “What? No I don’t.”

“Umm, yeah ya do. You might wanna call it a night, big man.” She shoots him a wink then steps toward me, holding out her elbow to me.

I don’t waste a second, looping my arm through hers and striding away as fast as my Chucks will take me. “Thank you for saving me,” I whisper and press a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Sometimes, I don’t know what you’d do without me.”

“Thank God I’ll never have to find out.” We grin at each other as we reach the dining area, and one of the hostesses, Breanna, leads us through the crowded tables.

“Did you hear the new owner is in tonight?” Breanna asks as we sit.

I scan the room automatically. We haven’t met yet, so I don’t know who exactly I’m looking for. All I know is he’s some rich dude who knows nothing about marine ecology but obviously has a good nose for business, because this place is booming.

Breanna points to one of the partitioned-off private rooms on the mezzanine. “He’s up there. God, he’s dreamy. Like, hot, dirty dreams, not that flowers-and-rainbow shit.”

I choke on my water. “Good to know.” I chuckle.

“Anyway, Mira says he’s here with his cousin, and hot damn, that guy is smokin' too. Those boys must come from good stock, ’cause they’re tall, dark, and hella handsome.” She bites her ruby-red bottom lip. “What I wouldn’t do to be the meat in that sandwich.”

My interest is officially piqued. Bree is very selective, and her standards are outrageously high, so these guys must really be something special.

Glancing at Amy, her gaze is fixed on the room Bree pointed out, then her head tilts to the side. She whimpers and her jaw slackens. I click my fingers in front of her face. “Ames, are you having a stroke?” Shit, what are the signs of stroke again? I run through my medical training.

Amy shakes her head, snapping out of her daze, and stares at me. “What are you talking about? I’m not having a damn stroke. Look!” she says, jerking her chin in the direction she was just stroking out in. I shift my gaze, and it all makes sense. I’m feeling a little strokey myself now.

Two of the most gorgeous men I have ever laid eyes on are nearing the bottom of the stairs, and I think I’m drooling a little. I track their movement to the bar where the slightly shorter of the two summons the bartender, Mike, over and talks to him for a moment before Mike points. Right. At. Me.