Dirty (Unexpected Lovers #3) - J.B. Heller Page 0,45

for Bates being a pushy bastard. Lennon is mine. And I’m done being an oversensitive asshole. If she needs more time, so be it. I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as I have to as long as it means she’s mine.

Immediately after the ceremony, we are dragged off for photos with the setting sun as the backdrop. I try to keep my mind in the moment, on the present, but it keeps drifting back to Archer.

What is he doing here?

“Lenny, I’m beginning to think I’ve lost my touch,” Arlo says, clapping his hands in front of my face.

I jerk, blinking a few times until he comes into focus. “What?”

He smirks. “I’ve been trying to make you smile for the last ten minutes. You’re off in freakin’ la-la land, babe. What’s up?”

“Oh, my bad, kid. Just a lot on my mind.”

Arlo arches a brow and crosses his arms over his ridiculously-broad-for-a-seventeen-year-old chest. “You haven’t been your snarky self lately. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. It’s man troubles, isn’t it? Hit me with it—this is my jam. Just ask the old man. I’d like to think I’m primarily responsible for him and Kins getting freaky.” As if realizing what he just said, he cringes. “Ugh, fuck. That’s gross. But you know what I mean. Let me have it.”

With a snort, I pat his shoulder. “Kid, you’d have to be a fucking miracle worker to solve my relationship woes.”

“Try me,” he says, a confident gleam in his eyes.

I shrug. What the hell. It couldn’t hurt. “Okay, I’ve worked my ass off my whole life, striving to achieve one goal: being the best agent in the city. It required certain sacrifices that I had no problem making. But now. . .” I swallow. “Now things have changed. My goals have shifted somewhat.”

Arlo nods, seemingly following along so far.

Licking my lips, I glance at Kins as Atticus slides one hand around her neck, into her hair, tipping her head back and dropping his lips to hers in a possessive, protective, passionate kiss. It’s beautiful and everything I thought I’d never want or need. How wrong I was . . .

“And . . .” Arlo prompts.

I return my gaze to him, a sad smile tipping my lips. “I messed it up—in a big way. And I don’t know if I can fix it.”

His brows furrow, and he tilts his head. “Seriously? That’s it?”

I nod. “Uh, yeah.”

“Babe, if you love this dude, and he’s part of your ‘new goal,’” he says with air quotes, “then why aren’t you working your ass off for him the same way you did to become the kick-ass agent you are?”

It’s my turn to frown. “I tried,” I murmur.

He steps to my side, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Lenny, you didn’t try. If you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’re Lennon Handler—ball-busting queen of the sports world. You want something, you make it happen. This is no different.”

I twist my neck, looking up into his serious gaze.

Then, the little shit smirks. “So, drop the bullshit excuses. ‘Cause that’s what they are—bullshit,” he says then plants a kiss on the top of my head. “And go get your man.”

Freaking hell. The kid is right. A genuine smile curves my lips. The kid is fucking right. I have never let anyone stand in the way of something I want. Yet, here I am, standing in my own damn way.

“Thanks, kid,” I say, pushing onto my tiptoes. I press a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re the shit.”

He waggles his brows. “Don’t I know it.”

“And modest, too,” I joke, hip-checking him.

We laugh as we’re called to pose for a couple more group photos before walking over to the large white tent in the middle of the field where the reception is being held.

As soon as I step through the opening to the tent, I scan the small crowd in search of my man. My eyes are drawn to the bar where they meet with his penetrating stare. An electrical current sweeps through me, and just like two magnets, we’re drawn toward each other.

We stop in the middle of the empty dance floor, a mere foot of space separating us. “You came,” I murmur, unsure of what else to say.

He swallows then nods. “I told you I would.”

The gravelly tone of his voice after two weeks without it is a balm to my soul. It gives me the strength to extend my hand to him and ask, “Can we talk?”

His hand engulfs mine,