Page 2 of Twins with Daddy’s Bestie

He laughs and his face lights up as he flashes me a charming smile. He's ridiculously handsome. Some people really have it all.

“That might not be the case,” he says, raising his eyebrows at me as he leans casually against the doorframe. “I could be a house sitter or a distant cousin coming to steal her family’s fortune.”

“Are you either of those things?” I ask, looking at him with an amused smile.

“No, but you know what they say about people who assume things.” He winks at me and my heart flutters. I hate that I'm melting in front of him just like every girl he probably meets.

He’s clearly here for a romp with Rita, and that makes it much worse.

It's hard to meet men when you only really leave the house to go to the grocery store to restock baking supplies in the middle of the night.

The kinds of guys you run into there aren't exactly the kinds of guys you want to take home to meet the parents. But it's par for the course that after the fiasco that was my last (and only) relationship, the first man who gives me any attention has just finished banging my neighbor.

“Well, it was nice to meet you. Maybe consider throwing on a shirt before you answer the door next time?” I say and start backing away.

I'm already pushing thoughts of him out of my mind as I try to figure out another way to finish baking everything I need to when he steps out of the doorway.

“What did you need?” he asks, watching me as I freeze.

I hesitate, contemplating how desperate I am to get these bagels cooked. In that fraction of a second, I imagine getting the job as a private chef, saving a vast amount of money, shopping for a restaurant space, and achieving my lifelong dream.

“I needed to use the stove,” I say, shoving any semblance of shame to the side. I can afford shame when everything I've worked so hard for isn't on the line.

He nods and turns around. I can see that his back is just as toned as his chest, which annoys me. I force myself to look away as I climb the stairs again and wait patiently.

“Rhea! Someone’s at the door for you!” he shouts, standing to the side.

Rhea? Have I been calling her the wrong name?

I feel guilty and uncomfortable, but when my neighbor storms through the hall, her hands on her hips as she glares at the man, I realize I'm not the one who's wrong.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Rita says with a huff. The man stares at her, confusion plastered on his face. “We’ve been on three dates, and you don’t even know my name?”

Okay, maybe I have some shame. I back away quietly, making myself as small and quiet as possible to avoid being noticed. Whatever this is, it's between them.

“Come on; it's an honest mistake,” he argues, putting a hand on her shoulder to calm her.

“An honest mistake? I'll tell you what was an honest mistake…” Rita says as she pushes him out the door and stands with her arms folded across her chest. “I should have known better than to go out with a guy like you. You're all the same.”

Towel-man is now standing on the porch in front of me, forcing me into the most awkward moment of my life.

I try not to look at either of them, focusing instead on the tray of rapidly deflating bagel dough in my hands.

He tries to argue with her, but Rita is not backing down.

Maybe if I'm quiet enough, they'll ignore me. It wouldn't be the first time I've been able to blend into the background. That was my go-to maneuver for surviving high school.

“The kitchen's free,” Rita says to me, catching my attention. She steps aside, and I stand in place for only a moment, looking at the man one last time.

He shoots me a dirty look, blaming me for the downfall of what I can only imagine was a very exciting tryst. I'm almost about to reject her offer and run back to my apartment when I remember why I'm here.

“Good luck,” I say to the man and rush inside.

If the oven preheats fast enough, there's a chance I can just throw the bagels in and come back when they're done, so I won't have to be here while they argue. But then the front door slams, and I hear Rita stomping through the hallway toward me. She takes a seat at the counter on one of the bar stools and shakes her head.

“Men are pigs,” she sighs, taking a sharp breath. “They make you feel like you're special until they get you in bed, and then they don't even know your name.”

“You kicked him out?” I ask, turning my gaze toward the kitchen window to see the man standing on the lawn in only a towel.