Flirty: An Enemies to Lovers/ Single Dad Romantic Comedy (Unexpected Lovers Book 1) Read online

  Flirty- An Unexpected Lovers Story

  Copyright © 2020 by JB Heller

  All rights reserved.

  Published by- Author JB Heller

  Cover Design by- JeBDesigns

  Editing by- Creating Ink

  Proofreading by- Jenn Lockwood Editing

  Formatted by – JeBDesigns

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Starfish- Chapter One

  Also by JB HELLER

  About the Author

  I blink, then blink again, hoping like hell I am not seeing what I think I’m seeing.

  However, three seconds later, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt my eyes are going to need a bleach bath—pronto. But first, I need to kick my son’s ass.

  “Arlo!” I boom. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  My sixteen-year-old spins in my office chair to face me, his hand still down his pants and his face the color of his white T-shirt. “You’re n-not supposed to be h-home yet.”

  I arch a brow and cross my arms over my chest as I lean against the doorframe. “And you’re not supposed to be jacking the beanstalk to porn in my office. But here we are.”

  His hand slowly slides out from under the waistband of his sweat pants, then he crosses one leg over the other in what I’m sure is an attempt to cover the remnants of his boner.

  Pushing his hair out of his eyes, he clears his throat and has the audacity to say, “It’s not porn.”

  “So, what would you call the hottie still parading around on the screen behind you in a slutty maid outfit?”

  Arlo peers over his shoulder at the video playing on my desktop. “I call her Sadie, and one day, I’m going to marry that woman.” He sighs dreamily at the screen.

  And that’s my cue to close the distance between us and whack him upside the head. “You’re not marrying a porn star, son. Now, go wash your hands before you touch any more of my stuff, you miscreant.”

  He jumps out of the chair and heads for the door, only to call over his shoulder, “She’s not a porn star. She’s your future daughter-in-law. Get used to it, Daddio.”

  I pick up the first thing my hand lands on, which just so happens to be a stapler, and I pelt it in his direction, but he’s already gone. Little bastard knows I hate it when he calls me that. I drop down into my chair and move the mouse to shut down the browser, but something catches my eye.

  With her back to the camera, the tattoo on her neck is in clear view, and I just about swallow my tongue. I know that tattoo. I know who this Sadie is. And she lives in our building.

  My brain kicks into overdrive. Is this woman trying to seduce my son? As the thought runs through my head, Sadie peers over her shoulder, right at the camera, and bites down on her full bottom lip before she goes back to dusting a bookshelf.

  I narrow my eyes at the screen. If she thinks she can get something out of my kid, she’s out of her goddamn mind. I bookmark the site so I can get more information on her operation later, then I close the window. It’s time Arlo and I had a little chat.

  I flop down on the couch and kick off my heels. Today was a big one. My feet are aching, and I’m so damn tired I could fall asleep right here. But it’s my night to cook dinner. Damn it. With a dramatic groan, I get up to grab a quick shower before my roommates get home.

  Fifteen minutes later, I walk out of my bedroom in a pair of black yoga pants and a yellow tank, ready to tackle dinner, and run into a flustered Emory. “Hey, you okay?” I ask.

  Her big blue eyes blink at me a couple of times before she shakes her head, adjusts her huge glasses on her nose, then says, “Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, just wrapped up in this book.” She holds said book up in front of her face to show me.

  “Ah, I see,” I tell her, because this is not an unusual thing for Em. “I’m about to start dinner. Wanna give me a hand?”

  She frowns and glances at her book, then back to me. “I’m at a really good part. Just let me finish this chapter, mmkay?”

  I chuckle and shake my head. “I’ve heard that before.” She doesn’t even hear me, though; her nose is tucked back in her book as she continues down the corridor to her room.

  In the kitchen, I bend over, gathering all my hair on top of my head, and use the band on my wrist to secure it in a messy bun, then I get to work pulling out ingredients for dinner. I’ve just plonked the packet of chicken on the bench when Lennon swings open the front door, a scowl on her face.

  She throws her keys in the silver bowl on the small table by the entry, kicks off her boots, then stomps over to me. “Why are men such dicks?” she asks.

  I scrunch my nose. “I don’t know. Maybe because they have one, so they assume they should behave like one?” I offer while grabbing a knife from the block beside the oven.

  “How many times do I have to say no for them to take the hint? I’m a one-and-done kind of girl. They know that before we get down and dirty, but no. There’s always that one guy who tries to push for more. Then he gets all butt-hurt when I throw his roses in the trash and acts like I’m the biggest bitch in the world.”

  My head bobs as she speaks; this isn’t the first time I’ve heard this speech or a version of it. So, I do the good-friend thing and let her get it all off her chest without interrupting or reminding her that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to, maybe, give one of these guys a chance someday.

  “You want wine? I need wine,” she says, opening the fridge and snatching an unopened bottle from the door.

  “When have I ever said no?” I throw back.

  Lennon smiles and goes about getting the glasses then pauses midway and yells, “Yo, Emory, you want wine?”

  The sound of Em running down the corridor is our answer. Her socked feet hit the tiles in the kitchen area, and she slides in, stopping at my side. “Heck yes!” she says to Lennon, then pushes the sleeves of her oversized sweater up her arms and faces me. “Where do you need me, chef?”

  “You can slice the chicken for me?” I ask, hope pouring from every part of my being.

  She cringes then glances at the packet of chicken breasts. “Umm, how about I do the crumbing and you can cut the chicken?”

  Lennon shoves Emory aside with a roll of her eyes. “You guys are such babies,” she says, handing us our glasses of wine then snatching up the knife I laid out earlier. “I’ll cut the nasty, slimy chicken, and you two can do the rest.”

  “Thank you,” Em and I chirp in unison then
take hearty swigs of our wine.

  Only a true friend would offer to take on the disgusting task of touching raw chicken.

  I quickly set out the bowls of flour and crumbs then make the egg-and-milk mix. The three of us stand in a line. We become a chicken-crumbing machine, each of us with our own task.

  “So, I shared the elevator with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding this morning,” Lennon announces as we work.

  Em sighs. “Oh my God, that man has provided the inspiration for a good chunk of my jill till.”

  I snort and bump her with my shoulder. “I’m surprised you have room for him in your stoke files, girl. I thought all the space was taken up by those book boyfriends of yours.”

  “There will always be room for that man in my fantasies,” she fires back.

  “Anyway,” Lennon speaks up over our giggles. “He was wearing a new suit, jacket open, navy blue, and a matching vest and tie with a crisp white shirt. So. Freaking. Hot. Yo.”

  I swear we all let out a lusty sigh at the same time at the image Lenny’s words just conjured in our minds.

  What I wouldn’t do to see that man naked …

  I sip my coffee while Arlo chomps away at his cereal—with way too much exuberance for this early in the morning—when I bring it up. “So, how long have you known this Sadie?”

  He pauses with his spoon a mere inch from his open mouth then grins at me. “You kept watching after I went for a shower last night, didn’t you? You dirty old bastard. I’ve already called dibs.”

  I scoff. “I did not. And thirty-six is not old, you little prick. Now answer my question.”

  His eyes sparkle, and all I can do is hope that she hasn’t sunk her claws too deep into him, or he’s going to end up hurt when I tell him she’s scamming him for his money.

  Placing his spoon back in his bowl, he laces his fingers together then sits back in his seat. “I’d say it’s been about three months since I first saw her. Isn’t she the sweetest thing you ever did see?”

  A scowl flashes across my face. “Three months? You’ve been going behind my back for three freaking months, Arlo? What the hell? I thought we had a pretty good open line of communication going.”

  He shrugs and reaches for his spoon. “We do. Don’t stress, old man. You and I are solid,” he says as he chews.

  I cringe. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth. It’s disgusting.”

  Arlo rolls his eyes and keeps on chomping. Once he’s done, he speaks again. “Look, what I do with Sadie isn’t something we need to talk about. Ever. But especially over breakfast. Now I’m going to have a chub on the way to school. Thanks for that,” he says, then he pushes out his chair and takes his empty bowl to the sink.

  Slamming my eyes shut, I rub my temples with the hand that doesn’t have a death grip on my coffee. “Arlo, we need to talk about this.”

  He scoops his backpack off the kitchen floor then wraps a hand over my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “No, we really don’t,” he says, and he walks out the door. “Later,” he calls as it closes behind him.

  I curse under my breath as I glance at the time on the wall clock. I should already be at the office, but I couldn’t go in without at least trying to talk to my son about whatever the hell is going on with that woman. I’m the best damn divorce lawyer in the city. I talk to women about their scumbag husbands’ sexual exploits all damn day, but do you think I can have a frank conversation with my own son about sex? Apparently not.

  That settles it. I have to talk to her—Sadie—and make her break things off before she breaks my son’s heart.

  I just have to find her first, which shouldn’t be too hard, seeing as I already know she lives in my apartment building.

  I quickly glance at my watch again. 8:55. Shit, I’m going to be so late.

  Hopping around the entryway, I finish tugging on my Ugg boot then fumble my way out the door. My foot taps an erratic rhythm as I wait for the elevator to arrive, and when it does, my heart takes a nosedive.

  Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding is standing in the middle of the space, and he’s glaring at me. Like, fully at me. As though I’ve somehow wronged him by making the cart pause in its descent. I step inside and quickly turn my back on him then press the button for the lobby.

  The elevator doors seal closed. Heat pours off his body as he steps closer to me. His arm snakes around my side, and my breath catches in my throat. Oh Lordy, this is one of my favorite dreams.

  But then his hand slams the emergency stop button, and I frown. That’s not how this fantasy usually plays out.

  “I know what you’re doing, and it ends now,” he hisses into my ear.

  My frown deepens. This is most definitely a new-to-me fantasy.

  His hand curls around my shoulder, and he spins me to face him as he crowds me against the mirrored wall. Heat rolls off him as he glares down at me, his head dips closer, and his nostrils flare.

  Tilting my head, I examine him. He’s in a light-gray suit; it matches his steely gaze, and it’s sexy as hell. I want to caress his bulging bicep—and the rest of him. He’s very touchable. Not that I’ve ever touched a man like that before, but I want to. And he would be my first choice.

  His eyes narrow further the longer I scrutinize him. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” he demands.

  “Should I?” I inquire. “I’m not sure what the deal is, but you’re the one who stopped the elevator, and I’m running late, sooo …” I draw out the last word, giving him an expectant look. “Either get to the part where you kiss me senseless or hit the go button, man.”

  He rears back. “Oh, so it’s not enough to seduce my son; now you’re trying to get into my pants too? Unbelievable.” He shakes his head, glaring down at me with unconcealed disgust.

  I do the only logical thing I can think of in this situation. I pinch myself. “Ouch,” I mutter. Then, fast as lightning, I reach out and tweak the back of his hand too.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks, slapping my hand away.

  Hmm, so now I’m thinking I’m not still sleeping, and this is not a kinky dream.

  Well, shitballs.

  I couldn’t believe my luck when the elevator came to a halt and Sadie was standing on the other side of the door. Just the little gold digger I was hoping to find.

  But the look on her face is not at all what I was expecting when I got the chance to confront her.

  All the color drains from her cheeks as I rub the back of my hand where she just pinched me. Sweat breaks out across her forehead, and it looks like she’s about to hurl. I take a quick step away from her, just in case.

  “I am so, so sorry,” she says, shaking her head back and forth. “I thought, I mean, I didn’t think—”

  “You didn’t think I’d find out?” I accuse. “You thought you could seduce a sixteen-year-old boy without any repercussions? Well, lady, I’ve got news for you, and you’re not going to like it.”

  She balks. “Sixteen?” she repeats then throws her head back, laughing.

  Jesus, how many personalities does this woman have?

  She’s snickering so hard she’s actually wheezing. “Six-teen.” She chuckles. “Dude, there is no way you could pass for a sixteen-year-old,” she says once she’s regained control of her ill-timed amusement.

  “What the hell are you on about? I’m talking about my son, Arlo. I know you’ve sunk your skanky little hooks into him, Sadie, and it ends now. You’re going to break this thing you have going with him off. Today,” I state as I straighten my tie.

  She sobers immediately, her shoulders pulling back and her eyes narrowing. “What did you call me?”

  “Sadie,” I say cautiously, because clearly this woman is unhinged and liable to attack me.

  Her head tilts to the side, and she unleashes a lethal glare. “Why would you call me that? Are you stalking me?”

  My eyes widen. “What? No.”

  “Then why would you call me Sadie? There are only a select few people w
ho know about Sadie, and you, sir,”—she eyes me skeptically—“are not one of them.”

  I throw my hands up between us as she stalks toward me. She’s not the least bit threatening in her woolly boots, skintight jeans, and oversized sweater, but the look in her eyes, on the other hand … yeah, I don’t want to mess with that.

  “Look, lady, I just want you to back off my son,” I tell her.

  She frowns again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know your son. This is the first time you and I have ever interacted; how would I know your kid?”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. I walked in on him last night stroking one out to the little video of you cleaning in …” I swallow and try not to stare at her tits as I say, “Cleaning in your maid costume.”

  Sadie doesn’t move for a moment, then her eyelids begin to flutter as she blinks rapidly. “How—I don’t understand. There are age restrictions in place.” Her head tilts to the side as she stares at the floor between us, then her face shoots up, and she’s glaring at me again. “How did you know I’m Miss Sadie? I wear a mask over half my face.”

  Hmm, how to tell her I have closely examined that tattoo on the back of her neck more than once or twice in the six months since I first noticed it—and her—in this very elevator? And how do I do it without coming across as a complete and utter psychopath?

  “Well?” She stomps her foot and squeezes her hands on her narrow hips.

  I glance at the ceiling in hopes that removing her from my line of sight will help me come up with a good explanation. Then, the phone beside the emergency stop button rings, filling the small space with a shrill sound that irritates the shit out of me. I snatch up the receiver and tell the tech guy that everything is fine and I accidently hit the button.