Dirty: A Brother's Best Friend/ Sports Star Romantic Comedy (Unexpected Lovers Book 3) Read online

  “So, what are you doing here, Arch?”

  “I really was in the area. I had a meeting with my finance guy, Justin. Figured I’d stop in and see my little spitfire while I was here.” He shrugs.

  My gut clenches at his nickname for me. I hate to admit it, but I really like it. It suits me, even if I do say so myself. Before I can stop it, my lips rise into a small smile. Shit. I drop it as fast as it appeared, but the knowing look in his eyes tells me he didn’t miss a thing. He’s too observant.

  I push my loose hair out of my face and clear my throat. “Okay, well, you’ve seen me. Now you can leave.”

  His gaze flits over my face then along my throat to the low cut of my white tank where it lingers far too long. He drags his bottom lip into his mouth, sinking his teeth into the pillowy flesh. And damn him, I want to launch myself across this stupid desk and ravage him.

  I slam my eyes closed as the memory of doing just that assaults me.

  He’d come to see me because his girlfriend of three years was threatening to upload a sex tape he had no idea existed if he didn’t pay her half a million dollars. This came on the tail of him finding her boning down with one of his teammates.

  He was understandably angry and upset. I’d never seen him so broken before. It killed me, seeing how much pain he was in. I wanted to cut her cold, black heart out and feed it to her with a rusty spoon. And I would have, metaphorically, but I couldn’t leave him, not with the desolate look in his haunted eyes.

  I’d closed the space between us, cupped his rough cheeks in my palms, and brushed my lips across his, over and over, until he took control.

  We didn’t fuck that night. No, it definitely wasn’t fucking. It was so much more than that.

  I made love for the first time in my life.

  The glazed look in Lennon’s eyes and the flush creeping along her neck is a dead giveaway that she’s reliving the night we spent together. The one and only time she opened herself up to me, letting me in not just physically—which was awesome—but mentally as well. She dropped her walls that night, and I’ve never experienced anything more beautiful.

  It’s possible she’s still under the misguided assumption that my hurt feelings and sense of betrayal were connected to Jess. And that’s something I need to sort out before I take my plan any further.

  Shifting to rest my elbows on my knees, I say, “Jess and I were over long before things came to a head between us.”

  Lennon blinks at me, her features morphing into a nonchalant mask. It’s a look I’ve become accustomed to these last eighteen months. Any time I bring up us, or the very possibility of an us, she slides it into place.

  But I don’t let it stop me from telling her what I came here to say. “We hadn’t slept together for nearly two months when I walked in on her and Fitzy banging in my bed.” I keep my gaze locked on hers. “I’d known something was off for a long time, that we were off. I could feel it. Whenever I tried to talk to Jess about it, she played it as if it were all in my head. But she wasn’t the same girl I’d fallen in love with. She’d changed, and I didn’t like the new version of her.”

  Len swallows but remains silent, so I go on.

  “The day everything blew up in my face, I’d come home early, intent on breaking things off with her. I couldn’t be with someone I didn’t love—let alone like—anymore.”

  “But you were so devastated. I saw it in your eyes. It shattered you.”

  I nod. “I was pretty messed up, but I wasn’t heartbroken. What hurt was the fact that I’d spent three years of my life with her. Even if we weren’t in love anymore, I thought we respected each other. And for her to pull that blackmail shit? That hurt. Not losing her. She hadn’t been mine for a long time, Lennon.”

  Her eyes are glassy when she whispers, “Why are you telling me this?”

  Straightening, I stand and slide my hands in my pockets. “You know why,” I say pointedly, then I walk out so she can process everything I’ve said.

  Archer turns his back to me and leaves my office just as quietly as he entered, and I have no idea what to think.

  His words play on a loop in my head: Jess and I were over long before things came to a head between us.

  I flop in my seat and strum my nails on the edge of my desk. The rhythmic sound soothes my frayed nerves. All this time, I thought she broke his heart. And all this time, I was wrong.

  My brain has officially clocked off, but it’s after five anyway. I shut down my computer and grab my bag, slinging the strap over my shoulder on my way out the door. Clay is still at his desk, tapping away on his keyboard. “Later, Clay,” I say on my way past him.

  “Later, boss lady,” he murmurs, his focus never straying from his task.

  I need to see about giving him a raise . . .

  Swinging the apartment door open, I’m greeted by a delicious smell. I scan the room. My eyes narrow in on Bates standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot while Emory watches him from her perch on one of the barstools.

  I kick off my boots at the door then make my approach. “What’s going on in here?”

  Em twists her head to look at me, a dreamy smile on her face. “Bates is making me lasagna.”

  I laugh. Like, full-on belly laugh. “What?”

  “It’s the only thing I know how to cook, so don’t go getting any ideas,” my brother says, turning to face me, hands on his hips and a ridiculous frilly apron tied around his neck.

  “Since when can you cook anything?” I ask.

  He shrugs, returning his attention to the stove. “When I first started in the minors, money was tight, and I roomed with an Italian dude, Leo Rossi. He showed me how to make it. It’s cheap and easy to do in bulk. Plus, you can load it with vegetables, and you don’t even notice.”

  I nod, remembering Leo. “Why am I only just learning about this now?”

  Bates smirks over his shoulder at me. “A guy’s gotta have some secrets.”

  I scoff. “I’d rather you kept your sexcapades a secret than this.”

  The bastard just laughs. “Yeah, but my sexcapades—great word, by the way; I’m stealing it—keep you in those stupid, expensive shoes you like so much.”

  “I’d happily stop my collection right where it’s at if I never had to hear about another one of your exploits,” I shoot back.

  Em chuckles. “You guys are on fire tonight. Who would have thought pregnancy cravings would result in a real-life sitcom playing out in my very own kitchen.”

  “Pregnancy cravings?”

  She nods and rubs the itty-bitty bump protruding from her otherwise flat stomach. “Yeah, sproglet wanted lasagna, and I just so happened to be whining to your amazingly talented brother here about it, and he offered to make it for me.”

  I frown. “Two things,” I say, holding up two fingers. “What the fuck is sproglet? And second, my ‘amazingly talented brother’? What the hell?”

  Em rolls her eyes at me. “Sproglet is the baby. Bash’s sprog infiltrated my egg and turned it into a sproglet. See how that works?”

  I cringe. “Gross, now I’m going to think about Bash’s come every time you mention the baby.”

  She shrugs, then Bates chimes in, “I think it’s cool, Emmy.”

  “Me too,” she says, beaming at Bates. “And anyone who satisfies my cravings gets massive kudos from me. Bates is my new favorite person.”

  “Right, well, I’m going to leave this little lovefest and have a shower. You two are grossing me out,” I tell them then head for the hall to the sanctuary of my bedroom.

  An hour later, Em knocks on my door, calling out, “Dinner’s ready.”

  “Coming,” I call back.

  I shuffle along the hall in a pair of knee-high socks, sleep shorts, and tank—sans bra—only to come to an abrupt halt at the sight of five of Bates’ teammates lounging around my living room. Their eyes are all glued to my chest.

  I’m in no way ashamed or embarrassed of my body, but I’m not down with all these eyes fixed on my girls. I cross my arms, spin on my heel, and leg it back to my room where I grab a hoody and throw it on over my tank before returning to the guests I didn’t know we had.

  When I reappear, Jonesy offers me a bashful smile. “Hey, Lennon,” he says with an awkward hand-lift-wave sort of thing.

  I lift my chin in his direction. “'Sup, Jonesy?” I ask on my way to grab some food before it’s all gone.

  He jumps to his feet and rushes to catch up with me, snagging a plate of his own and piling a huge serving of steaming-hot lasagna on it. “I haven’t seen you for ages. We should go for a beer some time and catch up,” he says with a hopeful smile.

  I’ve met the guy a few times, and I don’t think we’ve ever had a full conversation. I’m sufficiently weirded out by his sudden interest. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I tell him. Blunt is always the way to go with unwanted attention.

  His smile falters but only for a second. “Oh, that’s right. You’re a wine drinker.”

  I finish serving my food then turn to face him. “I drink beer and wine, but that’s neither here nor there. I don’t go out with Bates’ teammates. Ever.” I turn to the fridge, grab a beer, then kick the door closed before I scoop up my plate and leave Jonesy staring after me.

  Bates steps into my space, crouching at my side the second I sit. “Was Jonesy hitting on you?”

  “Meh,” is my only response.

  “Meh? What the fuck does that mean? He either was or he wasn’t,” Bates bites out.

  I shrug. “It’s no big deal. I handled it. He won’t do it again. Trust me.”

  “You sure? You want me to talk to him? Tell him to back off?”

  “It’s fine,” I tell him. “Now go get some before it’s all gone.”

  “Just say the word,” he says with a wink then ruffles my already messy hair and pushes to his feet.

  Archer is noticeably absent from this impromptu dinner party, and I can’t help but wonder why. Maybe he’s giving me space to process what he told me today. Or maybe he’s afraid I’ll punch him in the balls for not saying something to me sooner.

  Whatever the reason, I’m glad for the breathing room—not that my usually spacious apartment feels very roomy tonight.

  I scarf down the suspiciously amazingly tasty food then escape to my room unnoticed. I’m not in the mood for socializing—not with so much on my mind that it feels like it’s about to explode.

  Once in the safety of my own space, I rip the hoody off, toss it over the back of my armchair, and flop face-first onto my bed. With thoughts and memories of Archer swirling through my head, I fall asleep just like that.

  “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 nearly five 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.