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“I’m not doing it,” I say, then lob the only thing I can think of at her to change the subject. “Timothy’s getting married.”
Elle lets out a delighted squeal. “I’m so happy for him!”
Timothy and Elle dated for a few years, and when I needed a job, he called her up. They’ve always been on good terms, so I’m not surprised she’s excited.
Elle doesn’t get a chance to quiz me—one of her kids urgently needs her so she ends the call asking me to think about the commission.
I already have and my answer is no.
This holiday is not going how I planned.
Last night, though—that was a gift. The image of Nic’s horror-struck face is going to stay with me forever.
So is the image of his body.
Life’s not fair. Even covered in spunk with a flagging erection he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen naked.
It would be a lie to say I didn’t spend a sizable portion of last night and this morning thinking about that dick—and the thing between his legs.
Which makes me want to squirt lemon juice in my eyes and book an appointment with a therapist because Nic Fontana should not be having this effect on me.
This new problem with Nic will go away the longer I’m around him—his personality guarantees my body’s foolish attraction will wither and die—but this thing with my brother isn’t going anywhere.
I need to apologize. I was an asshole last night. He’s leaving soon to pick up his fiancée from the airport. I won’t get another chance like this.
With a sigh, I drop my tablet and stylus on the coffee table and head downstairs.
When Timothy landed his first major job, he had our parents’ basement finished as a gift—a man cave for our father, who seldom sets foot in it. But our parents kept it, I suspect because it keeps Timothy out of trouble whenever he visits.
Nic spots me first, going rigid, cue stick in hand.
“I need to talk to Timothy,” I say pointedly.
The look Nic exchanges with my brother gets right under my skin. They have this whole separate language they developed as boys. Like Timothy and I had when we were little but different. This one is closed off to me.
Nic turns to put his cue stick away. “I should get back to the kitchen.”
We watch him disappear up the stairs, and when Timothy turns my way, his smile is gone.
I lean against the pool table, fingers smoothing over the felt edge. “I’m sorry I ruined your announcement last night.”
“You didn’t ruin it,” he says, taking a quick shot and knocking a couple of striped balls into a pocket.
I watch as he lines up another shot and sinks a few more balls. “You never told me about her,” I say. He’s my twin. He’s been in love for five years and I didn’t have a clue.
Timothy gives me a look, but it’s in that language he shares with Nic and I don’t know what it means. “Do you tell me about your unrequited crushes?” he asks.
“I don’t have any.”
“Okay, liar. Let’s pretend, for a minute, you have this huge crush onsomeone. You’re not telling anyone about this crush because what if they laugh at you or they think you’re shooting for the stars? What if talking jinxes it? What if everyone has watched you pretend you don’t have this crush—how do you tell them?” He gives me a pointed look I don’t understand.
“I don’t have a crush on anyone, so…” I motion for him to get on with it.
Timothy taps his cue stick on the table a couple of times. Holding still was never easy for him. “So let’s say this person suddenly has feelings for you. Am I getting the first call the next day while he’s still snoring in your bed?”
I sigh because it is impossible to get through to him when he latches onto some train of thought like this. Might as well ride it to the end and see where he’s taking me. “If we’re going to make up fictional people, my crush doesn’t snore.”
“Oh, he snores,” he says with glee. “Talks in his sleep too. Have fun with that, by the way.”
