Unexpected Lovers Box Set by J.B. Heller

“Oh my God, this is delicious,”Mary-Jane says, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

I grin. “I know, right?” I stab my fork into the last tender sliver of steak in my own salad bowl then pop it into my mouth. My eyes roll as it practically dissolves on my tongue.

I could rave about the food here at Alberto’s all day long, but we’ve got shopping to do. Holding my hand up, I signal the waiter. “Could I get the check please?” I ask then turn my focus back to Mary-Jane. “So, what do you want to get first—shoes or dress?”

“Umm, dress?” she asks then chews on her bottom lip.

I arch a brow. “You’re not sure?”

She shrugs, fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth. “I suck at this stuff.”

“Not a problem, because I’m great at it,” I assure her. If there’s one thing I’m good at—besides being a kick-ass agent—it’s shopping. “Look, I don’t know how other women do it, but I like to start with a killer pair of shoes. Then I match my outfit to them.”

Mary-Jane smiles. “Whatevs, I don’t mind either way. Just know, you’re working with a complete novice. My wardrobe consists of tennis shoes, skorts, and polo shirts.”

I eye the outfit she’s currently wearing, tipping my head to the side to get a full view around the table. “You’re not wearing a skort right now,” I say.

“Okay, I might own one or two pairs of denim shorts.”

The waiter returns with our bill, and I slip my card inside the little folder and hand it back to her.

“I can get my lunch,” Mary-Jane says, an embarrassed blush coating her cheeks.

I wave her off. “I told you today was on me, and I meant it. Well, it’s on the company, actually, but you know what I mean.”

Mary-Jane tilts her head to the side, her perfect blonde waves falling over her shoulder. She is the picture of innocence. “Why are you doing this for me, Lennon? I’m a little fish in a big pond. I know there are athletes out there who deserve your time and commitment more than I do.”

After picking up my water glass, I take a long, slow drink then place it back on the table before answering her. “Because you have what it takes to be more. Part of my job is spotting talent and making sure they’re seen by the right people. You might be a small fish right now, MJ, but give me some time, and you’ll be up there with the best of them.”

Her eyes shine with tears, and I have no idea what to do. I don’t do emotions; they make me uncomfortable. I swipe my unused napkin from beside my plate and toss it at her, hitting her square in the face. “Shit, I’m so sorry!”

She laughs, wipes her eyes with the napkin, then grins. “It’s okay,” she chuckles.

I blow out a relieved breath then finish off my glass of water right in time for the waiter to return with my card. “Shall we go?”

“Sure,” she says, smiling wide. Not a trace of tears left. Thank God.

We make our way to one of my favorite little shoe boutiques where MJ immediately points out a pair of silver sparkly flats. “These ones are cute.”

I cringe and shake my head. “How do you feel about heels?” I ask, holding out a pair of black, three-inch pointed stilettos. Her answer is written all over her face before she even utters a word. These are definitely not MJ’s style, but I want to push her out of her comfort zone—just maybe not this far, judging by the horrified expression on her face.

“Those are what my mother would call ‘Satan’s calling card,’” she says, blushing furiously.

A harsh bout of laughter bubbles up my throat. “Okay, well, let’s not piss off your momma.” I place the shoes back on the shelf.

“Or break my ankle,” MJ chuckles. “I’ve never worn heels that high or skinny in my life.”

“Noted.” I nod and continue perusing the shelves.

We spend the next twenty minutes scouring the boutique for the right pair of shoes before MJ declares, “These ones!”

I turn around and grin at the sight of her in a pair of black and tan wedge heels that do incredible things for her legs. “They’re hot.”

She beams. “And I can walk in them.” She demonstrates by strutting along the aisle and striking a pose at the end before returning.

“I think we have a winner,” I say, giving her the slow clap her little performance deserves. “Now let’s get you a dress to match these babies.”

* * *

It’s nearlyfive o’clock by the time we make it back to my apartment building, dress and shoes in hand.

“Oh, I should warn you, my brother might be home. He moved in a couple weeks ago, and he’s . . . let’s just say Bates is a lot,” I inform MJ as we ride the lift to the seventh floor.

She side-eyes me. “What exactly does a lot mean?”

“You’ll get it when you meet him,” I say, stepping out of the elevator and approaching my front door. After sliding my key in the lock, I swing the door open then screech, “What the fuck, Bates?!”

MJ lets out a little squeak beside me as she drops her shopping bags and covers her eyes, muttering, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“You’re not supposed to be home yet,” Bates says casually.

My eyes narrow to slits on my naked brother. “Go put some damn clothes on,” I yell at him.

He rolls his eyes at me, then his gaze darts to MJ, and a cocky smirk tips his lips. “Who’s your pretty friend?”

Poor MJ still has her hands over her eyes, and a bright-crimson flush now covers her neck and cheeks.

“Fuck off,” I tell him before whatever idea he’s forming can come to fruition. “At least put some pants on. Why are you naked anyway?”

“I’m a man, Lenny. I need to let my boys fly free as much as possible, let them breathe,” he says like this is something I should obviously know.

A headache is forming at my temples, and I rub them with my thumb and forefinger. Arguing with him is pointless, so I sigh. “Whatever. Just please, for the love of God, go put some pants on before MJ faints.”

“Fine,” he grumbles and makes for the short hall that leads to the bedrooms.

“It’s safe to open your eyes now,” I state then head straight for the fridge. “You want wine?” I ask. “'Cause after that, I do.”

“And some bleach if you’ve got it,” she gripes, lowering her hands.

“I heard that!” Bates yells from his room.

MJ shocks the shit out of me by yelling back, “You were meant to!”

I can’t help but laugh. The shy little wallflower is giving my pro-athlete brother shit, and I love it.

“I see what you meant now,” MJ says as I hand her a glass of white wine.

I open the cabinet beside the fridge and grab a bottle of Advil before dropping two in my palm and putting it back. I down them with a hearty swig of wine. “Yep.”

Bates returns—wearing pants, thank God—and frowns at us. “Where’s mine?” he asks, pointing at our glasses.

“You can get your own,” I mutter, then I grab MJ’s discarded shopping bags. “Come on. We can get ready in my room.”

“Oh, where are we going?” Bates asks, trailing behind us.

I snort. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Come on, Lenny. It’s Friday night. I’m bored. Take me with you,” he pleads, throwing a pout in for good measure.

“Go hang out with Archer or one of the guys,” I tell him, standing in my doorway to block his entrance.

His shoulders droop, and he looks at his feet. “Don’t you want to spend time with me?” he asks in a pathetically forlorn tone.

“Nope,” I retort cheerfully then slam the door in his face.

“What was that all about?” MJ asks, her brows furrowed in concern. “Is he okay?”

I shrug. “He’s fine. He’s trying to get in your pants.”

Her big, brown eyes widen. “What?”

“You don’t honestly think he wants to spend time with me, do you?” I chuckle then sip my wine.

Poor MJ looks both intrigued and horrified. “He doesn’t even know me,” she murmurs.

“And that matters because . . .”

“How can he want to sleep with me if he doesn’t know me?” she asks, genuinely confused.

I don’t even remember a time when I was that innocent. I plop in the armchair by the window and throw a leg over one side. “MJ, babe, women throw themselves at Bates on the daily. You covered your eyes instead of ogling his man meat. You just presented him with something he’s never had before.”

She plonks on the edge of my bed and tilts her head. “Why do women throw themselves at him? I mean, he’s good-looking, but he’s no Zac Efron.”

“I take it you don’t follow baseball then,” I say.

She shakes her head slowly. “Not really.”

I grin. “Bates is the star batter for the Phoenixes.”

Her jaw drops. “Oh,” she breathes.

“He’s a player on and off the field,” I explain. “Not to mention, you’re freaking adorable. Pretty sure no woman has ever shied away from his junk before.”

MJ flushes again and gnaws on her bottom lip. “It’s not like I’ve never seen a naked man or anything. It’s just…I wasn’t prepared to walk in on that.”

“Dude, it’s fine. Neither of us was expecting to see my brother’s baloney pony. You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” I assure her. “If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s me.”

She frowns and sips her wine. “Why?”

“Because I brought you to my place to chill while we get ready for tonight, not so we’d both be scarred by the sight of my buckass naked brother.”

Her lips curve into a small smile. “I won’t hold it against you.”

We spend the next couple of hours getting ready and finishing off a bottle of wine. A soft knock on my door has my eyes narrowing. It better not be Bates again. I swing it open, ready to tell him where to go, but it’s Emory.

She eyes me up and down. “Lookin’ good, girl,” she says, taking in my black miniskirt with gold and bronze sequins that I’ve paired with a simple, black, fitted tank. “Where are you off to?”

Opening the door wider, I let her in then gesture to MJ. “This is MJ. I’m trying to poach her from her current agent.” Then I reverse the introduction. “MJ, this is my girl, Emory. She lives here, too, but not for much longer.”

They smile at each other and exchange polite greetings.

“I’m taking MJ to rub shoulders with some bigwigs in the industry tonight. It’s time to get this girl noticed,” I say, picking up my straightener and running it through my long, dark-purple hair.

MJ is wearing her new wedges with a cute, black, long-sleeved, skater-style dress that ends just above her knees. Her shiny blonde hair hangs in waves, brushing the tops of her shoulders and framing her face. She looks like an adorable badass.

“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” Em says. “I was just seeing what you were up to tonight. It was nice meeting you, MJ. I’m sure you’ll knock ‘em off their feet.” She winks at MJ then leaves us.

Flicking off the straightener, I turn to face MJ. “You ready?”

She smiles shyly. “As I’ll ever be.”

Unsurprisingly, Bates is lurking in the hallway, waiting to ambush MJ, I’m sure.

He’s dressed in a pair of black dress pants and a white button-down that’s rolled to his elbows, exposing his tattooed forearms. He’s even got his eyebrow ring in and a diamond stud in his left lobe.

“Dressed to impress, I see,” I say as I stride past him. “Decide to go out with the boys, did you?”

“Nope,” he says. “I’m going with you guys.”