Unexpected Lovers Box Set by J.B. Heller
I needto leave for an early-morning training session in less than an hour, and I haven’t slept a wink.
All night, I tossed and turned in a futile effort to get comfortable. In the short time Lennon and I have been sharing a bed, I’ve gotten used to sleeping with her cuddled beside me, her vanilla-and-roses scent lulling me into the ultimate state of relaxation with every breath I take.
My frustration morphed into anger when I left the restaurant. I tried to walk it off. But facing her again last night wasn’t an option. I didn’t want to say something I might regret, so I opted to stay in this hotel.
Lying on the bed, I stare up at the ceiling, endeavoring to convince myself she’ll get past her irrational fear that our relationship will tank her career. But her actions speak pretty damn loudly, and I can’t keep ignoring them.
I knew this would be hard for her, but if she loves me the way she says she does, it shouldn’t be such a big deal to be seen with me. I can’t wrap my head around her reluctance. It’s not like it’s unheard of for athletes to date their agents.
After rolling out of bed, I pad to the shower. I’m so fucking tired I can’t see straight.
I stand under the scalding-hot spray, thinking about the look on Lennon’s face when I walked away from her.
It was a dick move. But one I can’t bring myself to regret. I’ve pursued her with everything I’ve got, inserted myself into every aspect of her life in an attempt to show her just how easily we fit together, how right we are for one another.
I gave her my heart on a silver platter, and she couldn’t even handle one night out with me.
Maybe it’s time to back off.
Maybe it’s time for me to move out . . .
I’m woken by the. . . Jonas Brothers . . .
What in the ever-loving fuck?
Prying my eyes open, a dark comforter comes into view. A moment later, last night’s events hurtle to the fore. Archer. A lump immediately forms in my throat. He didn’t come home, and I fell asleep in his bed.
Slowly, I push onto my elbows, glancing at the alarm clock on his side table. It’s nine. I sigh then slide out of bed and pad toward the door. The music gets louder with each step I take.
My brows furrow as I walk along the hallway, pausing in Bates’ open door. His room is spotless, bed perfectly made. There’s not so much as a dirty sock on the floor, which is super weird. He’s not a complete slob, but he’s no clean freak either.
Then I hear it—a woman singing along to “What A Man Gotta Do.”
I scurry toward the sound and come to a screeching halt at the sight of Tia, Bates’ old housekeeper, scrubbing the kitchen sink.
“Uh, Tia?” I say.
Her head bobs as she sings her lungs out—surprisingly well—and scrubs at what must be a particularly tough spot.
“Yo, Tia!” I yell.
She jumps, her sponge flying into the air as her hand grasps at her heart. Her big, brown, Bambi eyes land on me, and she sighs, her body relaxing. “Lennon . . . you scared the crap out of me. I didn’t know you were here,” she says, grabbing the remote to the sound system and lowering the volume.
I quirk a brow. “I live here. What are you doing here?”
She frowns. “Umm, cleaning . . . That is my job.”
“But . . .” I close my eyes, rubbing at my aching temples. “How long have you been cleaning here?”
“Ah, since Bates moved in,” she says, eyeing me cautiously.
I smile and shake my head. Of course she has. How stupid of me to think Bates would actually tidy up after himself. “Such a man-child,” I grumble, stalking into the kitchen to retrieve some Tylenol and a bottle of water.
Tia snorts. “You got that right. I swear I’ve never met anyone as helpless as that man in my life.”
I nod my agreement. “He’s a work in progress. I taught him how to do his own laundry the other week, so that’s something.”
Her eyes widen. “No shit? I was wondering who was doing it for him.”
“I told him it’ll get him laid,” I admit, shrugging. “Just call me the Mr. Miyagi of the laundry world.”
She chuckles, then a crease appears between her brows as she eyes me. “Are you okay? You don’t look so great.”
I knock back the pills then lean my butt against the edge of the counter. “It’s just a headache. I didn’t sleep well.”
She grimaces. “Sorry I woke you. I wouldn’t have had my music so loud if I knew you were here.”
“It’s all good. I should have been at work an hour ago. Looks like I’m pulling a sickie today,” I say, waving her off. After unscrewing the cap on my water bottle, I take a long drink then smirk, asking, “The Jonas Brothers, huh?”
She grins wide. “Hey, don’t hate.”
I give her a half-hearted smile in return, shaking my head. “I’ll catch you later, Tia. It was good to see you.”
When I’m back in my bedroom, I collapse face-first on my bed then slap a hand around my nightstand until my fingers curl around my cell. I shoot Clay a quick message, telling him I’ve got a migraine, so I won’t be in and to reschedule my meetings for the day.
A migraine isn’t far from the truth. Pain pulses at my temples and behind my scratchy eyes. Last night was the first time I’ve ever cried myself to sleep. I feel pathetic and weak. Curling into a ball, I tug the blanket over my head and squeeze my eyes closed.
I need to fix what I’ve broken. I just don’t know how.
I’ve never felt so powerless and unsure.
My whole life, I’ve known what I wanted and what to do to get it. I wasn’t ever afraid of hard work. But when it comes to all this love and relationship shit, I’m completely and utterly clueless. And I hate it. I hate feeling anything less than being in total control.
That’s how I fall asleep, wallowing in self-pity like the pathetic loser I’ve apparently turned into.
I’m gettingreal good at this wallowing shit.
Eight days ago, I walked out on Lennon, and I haven’t had the balls to speak to her since, despite her many attempts to call and text me in the first few days. What could I possibly say to her? You broke my heart, and I can’t bear to face you or hear your voice right now?
I’ve been in a perpetually bad mood ever since. I don’t see it changing anytime soon, either.
I’m scrubbing myself down under the almost-scalding spray of the locker-room shower after a particularly grueling practice when Jonesy struts in, a shit-eating grin on his face as he chats to Fitzy. I ignore them, turning off the water then grabbing my towel and wrapping it around my hips.
I’m almost clear of their bullshit chatter when the sound of her name has my head snapping in their direction.
“Bitch is so fuckin’ hot, but she’s cold as ice,” Jonesy says, continuing their conversation like I’m not even here. “I’d fuck her if I wasn’t afraid she’d freeze my dick off.” He laughs, and I snap.
I’m across the room before I make the conscious decision to move. My hand curls around Jonesy’s throat as I slam him into the wall. “Say that again, fucker,” I seethe, getting in his face.
“Fuck off, Austin!” he spits. “You know it’s fucking true.”
“Wrong thing to say, motherfucker,” I growl, my fist flying into his face. His head snaps back, cracking against the brick. I’m about to land another when I’m yanked away from him. “Get the fuck off me,” I bellow, launching myself at a dazed Jonesy again.
“Stop!” Bates booms, wrapping his arms around my heaving torso from behind, locking my arms at my sides.
I squirm and fight his hold. “Let me go, Bates! The little fuck-stain’s talking shit about Lenny. I’m gunna kill him!”
Bates stiffens, his arms dropping immediately, only to clasp a hand on my forearm as I step toward the gutless wonder leaning against the wall for support. I peer at Bates over my shoulder. His jaw is tight, a vein pulsing in his throat. He tugs me backwards as he propels forward. I stumble a little from the force of the motion.
Bates slams a fist into Jonesy’s stomach, dropping him to the ground where Bates kicks him twice as Fitzy and a couple of other guys try to drag him away. He throws his hands up in surrender, shrugging the guys off as he steps away.
He points at Jonesy before turning in a slow circle, taking the time to make eye contact with every man in the room. “The next one of you fuck-sticks to say one fucking word about my sister is going to be eating through a tube and shitting in a bag for the rest of his life,” he says calmly then stalks from the room, pausing at the doorway to look at me. “You comin’?”
I nod, striding after him. I stop at my locker, throw on a fresh set of clothes, then we head for the parking lot. Bates halts beside my car, training his gaze on me. “What the fuck is going on with you and Lennon?”
I’ve been wondering when this conversation would happen. I’m honestly surprised it took him this long to bring it up. Running a hand through my hair, I sigh and lean against the side of my SUV. “She can’t handle being with me. I love her, man. I really do, but I don’t think she can love me back.”
His brows furrow, and he scratches the side of his neck. “What does that even mean, man?”
I swallow and close my eyes. “It means, I’m fucked.”
Archer doesn’t come backto the apartment or sneak up on me at my office for the next ten days. Ten long freaking days.
I can’t believe I’ve become the girl who actually counts the days since she last laid eyes on her man—yet, here I am.
“Stop scowling. Kins is going to think you don’t like the dress,” Em whisper-hisses as she elbows me in the ribs.
The wedding is two days away, and we’re all gathered for a girls’-day-slash-hens’-party. One of the activities on the list for today is Kins’ final dress fitting. I offered to drink Kins and Em’s share of alcohol if they’d move this thing to an actual bar or something of the like, but nooo. Pregnant chicks take the fun out of everything.
“I wouldn’t be scowling if I had a drink in my hand,” I hiss right back at Em, who rolls her eyes.
“Girl, you need a detox. You’ve been drinking like a fish for days. What’s going on? Arch not putting out?” She chuckles to herself.
Yeah, so I still haven’t told my girls about my freak-out over the photo and, consequently, his disappearing act. I grimace and look away, focusing on the row of bridesmaids’ dresses hung on the wall.
“Len . . .” Em says, her hand coming to rest gently on my forearm.
I remain silent—not that I could talk right now. My throat swells with emotion, and my damn malfunctioning tear ducts well up, making my eyes sting as I try desperately to keep the suckers at bay. Gritting my teeth, I take a few deep breaths through my nose and squeeze my eyes closed.
When I open them again, Emory is standing right in front of me, her brows furrowed so hard that deep creases slash across her forehead. “Start talking,” she demands.
Shaking my head, I glance over my shoulder to make sure Kins hasn’t caught on to my little meltdown. Thankfully, she’s absorbed in conversation with Hannah and the seamstress. Facing Em again, I smile sadly, not wanting her to make a big deal over my problems, especially not so close to Kins’ big day.
“I haven’t seen or spoken to him in nearly two weeks,” I admit softly.
Em’s big, blue eyes widen. “What the hell, Lennon?”
“Shhh.” I slap a hand over her mouth. “I’m not going to rain all over Kins’ parade, got it? So keep your big mouth shut.”
She glares at me, smacking my hand away. “Fine,” she whispers, her gaze darting to Kins then back to me. Wrapping her fingers around my wrist, she tugs me to the far side of the room. “Why haven’t you said anything?”
I shrug. “The focus should be on Kins right now. I wasn’t going to throw my shit into the mix and have it detracting from her happiness.”
“You could have talked to me about it. I wouldn’t have said anything,” Em says, hurt shining in her eyes.
Hating that I’ve upset her, I wrap an arm around her waist, tug her into my side, and rest my head on her shoulder. Me being the one to initiate a hug must surprise her because she stiffens before sighing and curling an arm behind my back, returning the embrace.
I swallow, trying to keep my wayward emotions in check. “I freaked out on him,” I explain. “We went out for dinner, kissed in the bar, and someone took a photo. It went viral on every major sports blog within the hour.”
“So?” Em says. “I don’t see the problem. I thought we talked about all this, and you were cool with going public.”
“I thought so, too,” I mutter.
Em pulls away enough to look me in the eye. “What did you do?”
“I panicked. He asked me what loving him looked like to me, and I said nothing. Not a freaking word, Emmy.” I sigh, the moment replaying in my head for the millionth time in the last ten days. “I really fucked it up this time. I don’t think there’s any coming back from this. He’s gone, and I’m the one who pushed him away.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears as she pulls me into a big, full-frontal hug, her huge baby belly digging into my own flat one. I sniffle, wanting so badly to let myself cry, but a weird tap and roll kind of feeling runs up my stomach. My eyes widen, and I fly back against the wall behind me. “Uh, Em . . . what the fuck was that?”
“Oh.” She grins, wiping her damp eyes. “That was just the baby saying hi.”
“Well, the little sucker successfully distracted me from my pity party.” I chuckle. “That’s some creepy shit, Emmy.”
She shrugs. “Meh. You get used to it eventually, then it’s kinda cool.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I tell her, eyeing her belly as it shifts and moves beneath her tight tank, shuddering at the sight.
Kins appears at Em’s side, back in her regular street clothes. Her gaze narrows, flicking between Em and me. “What’s going on over here?” she asks.
I smile. It’s fake as shit, and she knows it.
“Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about,” I say. “You ready to go?”
“Sure,” she murmurs, still eyeing me suspiciously.
“Come on.” I link our arms together and tug her toward the door. “Let’s go get you mocktailed.”
Kins looks back over her shoulder at Em then says, “You’d tell me if something was up with you, right?”
I pause, meeting her wary stare, and shake my head. “No, babe, I wouldn’t. Maybe after the wedding and honeymoon, but not right now. Just trust me when I say I’ll be okay.” I keep our gazes locked, letting her see the truth in my words.
I may not be okay yet, but I will be. Of that I have no doubt. Rolling solo was always my preferred way of life, and it will be again.
One day.
