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First Zeke abandons me.
Then my twin berates me.
If this is any indication of what the new year will bring, count me out.
Maybe I need to find a nice, cosy nook, preferably in a nunnery, where the males of my species aren’t welcome.
Ooft.
The air is knocked out of my lungs as I collide with a solid body. Our collision knocks them over. As they fall, they grab my arms to steady themselves, but end up pulling me to the ground with them. I land on top of them. Momentarily winded, my body refuses to cooperate and I end up resting on his chest while I try to catch my breath.
“Please excuse me, I am so sorry.” A deep, silky voice breaks the silence. “I didn’t see you coming.”
Lifting my head, I meet the dark gaze of a vaguely familiar face as I brace my hands on either side of his body. Before I can place him or try to crawl back to my feet, his fingertips graze the bare skin between my waistband and the hem of my tank top. When I try to move, he holds me in place. I freeze, waiting for my dad or one of my brothers to magically appear from the ether to punch him for invading my personal space. When they don’t come to my rescue, I try again to push back to my feet, but he refuses to let me go.
“Are you okay? We hit pretty hard.”
His voice is radio-worthy and his rich cologne is almost as memorable as Zeke’s, but his arrogant refusal to heed my autonomy exasperates me. I decide that this conversation isn’t going to happen until I’m standing on my own two feet, so I break free of his grip and clamber upright.
“I’m fine. Are you all right?”
Now that I’m free of his grasp, I feel a little more charitable, so I hold out a hand to him. He takes hold of my hand, his much larger fingers swallowing mine. When he stands at his full height, I take a step back. The clumsy idiot is about the same height as Sander… and gorgeous in a classically handsome way.
“I’m fine as well,” he tells me with a laugh.
The mocking edge to his humour is irritating as is his refusal to let go of my hand when I attempt to tug it free. I search his face for signs as to the source of his mirth until he distracts me by running his thumb over my knuckles.
Once again, he refuses to release me.
“Or I would be if you’d be kind enough to get this crap off my back for me.”
It takes me a second to catch on to his meaning, although he doesn’t really leave anything up to interpretation or give me room to decline since he turns his back to me. His posture is regal, assured in a way that borders on arrogant, yet I find myself swiping the pieces of debris that are stuck to his back without making a snide comment about male entitlement.
“All done.”
My two word acknowledgement spurs him into action. He spins around to face me, a panty-dropping smile on his face. It immediately reminds me of Sander when he’s trying to get into someone’s knickers. Freaked out, my feet have a mind of their own, reacting to his insincere flirting before my brain decides that I don’t like him.
I take two steps back.
The dark-haired man seizes hold of my upper arm to stop me.
“You’re Lilianna Mayberry, aren’t you?”
Lips pressed together to halt my—sometimes—vicious tongue from getting the better of me, I regard him impassively. It takes a moment, but he eventually has the good grace to appear sheepish at his domineering behaviour. In the wake of his metaphorical withdrawal, I shrug my arm out of his grip and nod to tell him that he has my name right.
“You’re Sander’s sister?”
As always, the mention of my reputation as Sander’s sister makes me soften. Before tonight, I took pride in being his twin. My brother is a superstar. He excels at basketball. Exceeds academically as long as he puts the work in. Treats everyone with respect, no matter what they can or can’t do for him.
Which makes his lack of respect for my feelings for Zeke hurt even more.
“That’s me. I prefer to be called Anna, though.” Touching my blonde hair, I add. “I’m actually his twin, even though no one can tell.”
Since I’m blonde and blue-eyed like our mum and Sander has almost black hair like our father and brothers, it usually takes people a little while to twig that we shared the same womb for just under eight months. You’d think the whole boy/girl twin thing would be a clue that we couldn’t possibly be identical, but you’d be amazed at how many people fail to grasp that wonderful piece of junior high science.
“I’m Alexander Kingsley.”
The second he says his name, I realise why he’s so familiar. I went to the same high school as him for a year, but we never really crossed paths. He’s older. Maybe four or five years older. We only went to high school together for a year, then he moved to the city.
