Dirty (Unexpected Lovers #3) - J.B. Heller Page 0,39

I’m definitely down with that.

My cell chimes in my pocket—repeatedly. I sigh. “Hold that thought.” I pull my phone out to see what’s so important. Google alerts cover the screen. I click into the top one, my heart seizing in my chest. My cell clatters to the table as my fingers go numb.

Photos of us kissing in the bar are on every major sports site on the net.

“Babe,” Archer says, but his voice sounds far away.

I squeeze my eyes closed. I knew this would happen. I knew it.

“Lennon, look at me,” Arch demands in a firm tone.

My eyes snap open. He’s holding my phone, his gaze lethal.

“What’s the problem, Len? You’re the one who suggested we go out. We both knew something like this could happen.”

Words get stuck in my throat. I want to be okay with it. I really do. But in the back of my mind, all I can see is this whole thing blowing up in my face. My career going down the toilet, resenting Arch for losing everything I worked so hard to achieve, and, in the end, losing him.

“What does loving me look like to you, Lennon?” Archer asks, his face an unreadable mask.

I swallow and rub my sweaty palms on my thighs. “I—” I start, but I don’t know what to say.

He’s so tense. The muscles in his neck strain as he stares at me like he’s waiting for me to say something. “When you figure it out, let me know,” he says, pushing to his feet and walking away.

My eyes sting as I watch him go. I want to run after him, tell him I’m sorry, that I overreacted. Instead, I just sit there, frozen in place.

Why did I do that? What is wrong with me?

By the time I drag myself home, it’s near eleven. All the lights in the apartment are out, and I go straight to my room.

A part of me hopes to find Archer waiting for me in my bed. The other part knows he won’t be.

I strip off my clothes, put my cell on charge, then tug on one of Archer’s shirts that he left in here and climb beneath the sheets. His scent surrounds me, and I let myself take comfort in it. Not that I deserve to after the way I acted tonight.

His words play over and over on a loop in my head. What does loving me look like to you? Emotion clogs my throat, and my eyes burn with tears.

Loving him looks like the kind of happiness I never pictured for myself.

So why the hell are you lying in your bed, feeling sorry for yourself, and not telling him that?

Throwing the covers back, I launch out of bed, yank my door open, and sprint down the hall to his room. I pause with my curled fist raised to knock, a wave of nerves washing over me. But there’s no need to be nervous—this is Arch. The guy who has pursued me relentlessly for over a year. The guy that I want to be with more than anything in the world.

I wish I’d just told him that at the restaurant.

Taking a deep breath, I rap my knuckles against his door three times. I wait a beat then knock again when he doesn’t respond. “Arch, it’s me,” I say, turning the handle and poking my head inside.

It’s dark, and I can’t see shit. “Arch,” I murmur, “can we talk?”

There’s still no response, and as my eyes adjust, I realize why.

He’s not here.

I drop onto the edge of his bed, my heart a heavy weight in my chest as a crushing wave of regret consumes me.

I need to 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