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I look up in time to see a dark object hurtling toward me. I know I need to move, but I can’t. I stare, frozen to the spot, as an enormous slab of what looks like concrete flies toward me. All I manage to do is drop everything that I’m holding. Shit, shit, shit, I’m going to die.
As the ginormous object gets closer and closer, I do what any self respecting girl would do: I close my eyes and pray for a miracle.
When the impact comes, it’s not from the direction I’m expecting. A wall of solid something hits my chest, winding me, and I fly backward. I land hard on my ass on the sidewalk, to shouts from above and what I think is Batfink going mental somewhere in the background. Phew, at least he’s okay.
“Shit, are you okay?” I blink hard.
“Seeing double,” I murmur, disorientated. I swear the hottest guy known to man is standing in front of me, and here I am seeing two of him. Which isn’t exactly a bad thing, but I don’t want to pass out or vomit on him if I have a concussion.
“Did I hit my head?” I reach up to tentatively touch it, when really what I want to do is rub my ass because I fell pretty hard on it, but that would be too embarrassing.
“No, love, you didn’t.”
“She thinks she’s seeing double,” a second voice chimes in.
“Shall we tell her?” asks the first, sounding concerned.
“It’s more fun if we don’t,” the new, amused voice replies.
“Dick,” the first speaker voices what I’m thinking.
“Erm, excuse me...” I begin. I’m still sitting on the sidewalk, but Batfink has jumped into my lap and, after licking my face to make sure I’m okay, he’s taken to growling at the...wait, two guys staring down at me? “I’m not seeing double?”
“No, love.” Mr Gorgeous Number 1 grins down at me.
“Not at all,” Gorgeous Number 2 adds with a wink. “God really did make two of us this good looking.”
Ugh, gorgeous, yes, but what a jerk. I have no time for arrogance and ego. He holds out a hand to help me up, but Batfink bares his teeth, obviously sharing my opinion on the stranger. I get to my feet on my own and survey the mess around me. Shattered concrete lies all around where I was just standing, and the contents of my bags are scattered everywhere. Thank god I wasn’t replenishing my stock of tampons today. I’d die of embarrassment.
“What the hell happened?” I demand.
“Sorry, we thought the sidewalk was clear, and it was quicker and easier to just aim for the skip than to bring it all down by hand.” Gorgeous 1 sounds contrite and looks genuinely distressed by what has just happened. Good. They could have killed me, they should look sorry.
“That was a really dangerous and stupid thing to do.” I frown, unamused. He may be beautiful but that doesn’t let him off the hook for nearly killing me and my dog. Oh god, what if it had been a child?
“Your accent is cute. Are you British? Don’t you work next door?” number 2 asks.
Seriously, I can’t tell these guys apart. Both are tall, tanned, ripped to hell and shirtless. Wearing jeans, sexy-ass smirks and t-shirts in their back pockets, they’re mirror images of one another. They have matching smirks, dark smouldering eyes and short chocolate locks that are a tad longer on top. Just the right length for running my fingers through.
Damn, where did that thought come from? My cheeks flame and I’m sure they know exactly where my mind just went.
“You sure she didn’t hit her head?” number 2 asks number 1.
“Yes, I’m British, and yes, I work next door,” I interrupt. “Why?”
“Shouldn’t you, like, have seen it coming or something?”
“Ha. Ha,” I deadpan. What an asshole. I get these kinds of jokes all the time from the sceptics and non-believers: “What am I thinking?” Ugh, no-one gives a shit.
“Well surely your voodoo ‘magic,’” (yes, he actually puts inverted finger commas around the word as he says it. Douche canoe.) “would have given you a heads up.”
“You’re giving me shit about magic?” I raise a brow at him. “You, of all people?” I say pointedly.
“What? What do you mean me of all people? Why are you saying it like that?”
“Why are you trying to make out that magic isn’t real, when you have wings protruding out of your back?”
Oh, did I not mention that before? Maybe I do have a concussion. The only distinguishing feature between these two hotties (aside from their polar opposite personalities) is the two pairs of large shimmery and iridescent, beautiful, gossamer-fine wings coming from their backs. If their faces and bodies weren’t distracting enough, their wings certainly are. I cannot comprehend how much I want to reach out and touch them. I don’t though. I would never. But I want to.
