She smiles as her hand floats to her belly. “I know. It’s pretty crazy, huh?”
“Did you plan it, or . . .?”
“We talked about it, and Atticus is thirty-seven this year and said he didn’t want to be an old dad. So, I stopped taking the pill, and boom, I fell pregnant pretty much straight away,” she says, a mad blush coating her cheeks.
“What’d the kid have to say about it?” I ask, knowing Arlo would have had an entertaining reaction.
Kins laughs and shakes her head. “He gagged then told us the mental image of us creating life together would forever scar him and to expect a huge therapy bill. Then, he hugged us both and went back to texting some girl.”
“I love that kid,” I tell her, laughing. Arlo is probably the only seventeen-year-old I’d ever willingly spend time with.
“Yeah, he’s pretty great.” A loving smile curves her mouth as she sighs contentedly.
We talk for another hour or so before Kins has to go. I was going to head home too, but I catch a glimpse of the puddle left by Storm beneath the barstools and figure I should probably clean it up for Em.
I dig around under the sink until I’ve found what I need then douse the floor with bleach and disinfectant. I’m thoroughly grossed out as I swish the mop through the mess, but I can’t just leave it here.
When I’m satisfied with the sparkling tiles, I put everything away and finally head to my own apartment. Pushing inside, I’m confused by the presence of more boxes.
“Bates,” I call out. “What’s with the boxes?” He doesn’t answer me, but a loud bang followed by a thunk comes from the room Em just vacated. I stride down the hall until I reach her old room and swing the partially closed door wide open.
“What the fu—”
“Oh, hey, you’re home,” Bates cuts me off.
Archer has Bates in a headlock. They’re both shirtless and sweaty. I blink, then blink again.
“Whose bed is that?” I ask, pointing at the black, king-sized bed that is half-constructed in the middle of the room.
“Mine,” Archer says, smiling widely. “I’m moving in.”
Nope. No way, no how. Archer cannot live here.
I cross my arms over my chest and glare at Bates. He knew about this and didn’t say a word.
Archer releases his hold on my brother and steps toward me. “Len, it’s let me live here, or I’m homeless.”
“Homeless.” I scoff. “Arch, you’re worth millions.”
“But that didn’t stop me from forgetting to resign my lease after I pulled out of the contract on Valentina Drive,” he says, shrugging.
My eyes narrow. “And this all just so happened to coincide with Emory moving out. You expect me to believe that? You two planned this,” I accuse, my pointer finger going from Archer to Bates and back again.
Archer’s grin is downright sinful, and he doesn’t even bother denying it.
“Assholes,” I hiss under my breath as I spin around and stalk to my room where I slam the door shut.
Well, that could have gone better, but it also could have been a lot worse, so I’m not going to complain.
“She’ll get over it,” Bates says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Now let’s finish putting this shit together. I’ve got plans tonight that don’t involve your sweaty ass.”
I arch a brow. “And who are you bestowing the pleasure of your company on tonight?”
“Tami, I think. Or maybe it’s Taylor?” he says, scratching the side of his neck. “It starts with a T.”
“You don’t even know her name? Dude, you gotta slow down with the cleat chasers.”
He shrugs. “I got needs, man. What do you expect me to do?” He picks up the next piece we need for the bed, and we get back to work.
“You could get a steady girlfriend, you know,” I suggest.
His eyes lift to mine. “Look how well that worked out for you,” he says, referring to the disaster that was my relationship with Jess.
“Not all women are like her.”
“Most are,” he shoots back.
I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I could say right now to change his mind. Then, what he said the other night about a chick convincing him he was having a baby comes to mind. There’s more to that story, but now’s not the time to delve into it, so I let it go for now.
We shoot the shit for another half hour while we finish the bed, then Bates disappears into his room to get ready for his date. I flop on the mattress and stare at my new ceiling, my thoughts going to Lennon and the look on her face before she stormed out of here.
This better work, ’cause I’m out of ideas.
When I pry my eyes open again, it’s dark outside. I glance at my watch. I’ve slept the last two hours away. I roll off the bed and rummage around in my duffel. Grabbing a fresh change of clothes, I head for the shower.
This place is freaking awesome. The rooms themselves are huge, and there’s a bathroom in each. After turning on the faucet, I shuck my dirty jeans to the side, then I step under the spray. I press my forehead to the tiles and enjoy the sensation of the water pounding into my shoulders.
I could stay in here forever, but I’m starving, so I wash down then rinse off fairly quickly. Tugging on a pair of gray sweats, I forgo my shirt and head out of my room at the end of the hall. Lennon’s door is open as I pass, and I have to resist the urge to look inside.
Stepping into the main living area, I’m surprised to find her sprawled in her favorite armchair in the sexiest outfit I’ve ever seen. I stop dead in my tracks, gaping at her. “Holy shit,” I breathe.
Her head spins my way, her eyes narrowing the instant they land on me. She wastes no time flicking her gaze back to the TV.
I clear my throat. “What you watchin’?” I ask, unable to stop myself from taking in every inch of her in a simple black tank, tiny bed shorts, and knee-high, black-and-white striped socks. Her hair is in a messy-bun thing on top of her head, and a pair of glasses I’ve never seen her wear before are perched on the tip of her nose.
She doesn’t answer my question, so I ask another as I move toward the kitchen. “Since when do you wear glasses?”
Still, she remains silent.
Great. She’s ignoring me. I tug the fridge open and scan the empty shelves. Okay, Uber Eats it is. Grabbing a beer, I look over my shoulder at Len. “You want a beer?”
Her head lifts, and she glances over to me. “Sure.”
I grab one for her, too, pop the tops, drop them in the trash, then join her in the lounge area. She takes hers from me without removing her eyes from the TV. I pull my phone out of my pocket then drop onto the couch on the end closest to her. “You hungry? I’m ordering in,” I say.
Lennon’s eyes flit to me, and she nods.
I arch a brow. “What are you in the mood for?”
To my absolute shock and delight, her eyes rake over my body in a way that tells me she’s in the mood for me. But just as quickly as the look appeared, it vanishes. “Whatever you’re having is fine,” she says, going back to watching her show.
My mouth curves up in a grin. So, what they say about sweatpants must be true . . .