Misadventures with a Twin Read online

  Misadventures with a Twin

  Elizabeth Hayley

  This book is an original publication of Waterhouse Press.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2019 Waterhouse Press, LLC

  Cover Design by Waterhouse Press

  Cover photographs: Shutterstock

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  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  To Meredith, for always being in our corner

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Don’t miss any Misadventures!

  Excerpt from Misadventures with a Time Traveler

  More Misadventures

  About Elizabeth Hayley

  Chapter One

  Colton

  “I can’t believe we’re actually going to this thing,” Corey said as he zipped up his jacket and exited my truck. “Why’s it so cold this weekend?”

  “Um…because it’s Boston in November,” I said. I closed my door and ran to catch up with him on the sidewalk. “We’ve lived here all our lives. You should be used to this.”

  “I’m used to being at home. Let’s go there instead,” he said, turning toward me.

  Except for his pathetic expression that was silently pleading with me to let him off the hook, it was like looking in a mirror. Dark hair with cropped sides—long enough to style on top but short enough that we didn’t have to—and dimples that were noticeable even when we weren’t smiling, causing elderly women to call us cute like they would a baby in a grocery store line. Even after almost thirty years, it was tough for most people to tell us apart.

  “I can’t understand why you haven’t had a date in a couple of months. You’re a blast,” I said dryly. “Aren’t you supposed to be the friendlier one?”

  “It’s just that we haven’t talked to most of these people in years. It’s weird.”

  I rubbed my hands together to get them warm. Corey was right. It was freezing tonight. “That’s why we’re here. We can talk about all the crazy shit we used to do.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “You still do crazy shit.”

  “Okay, so we’ll tell everyone about all the new crazy shit.”

  Corey rolled his eyes and laughed.

  “Come on, you know it’ll be fun.” I wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him toward me to mess up his hair so I would look better than him.

  Corey laughed as he broke free of my hold and put an arm out in front of my chest to stop me. He raised his eyebrows at me, and then somehow—like we used to when we were kids—we telepathically counted to three and then took off at full speed to our destination, which in this case was the hotel hosting our ten-year high school reunion.

  I’d promised Corey we’d have fun, and I’d meant it. We hadn’t made it to our five-year, but it was just as well. Five years ago we were still living at home and working part-time. Corey had just graduated college with a business degree he wasn’t using, and I was spending every cent I made buying and restoring old motorcycles. Sometimes I made a few bucks, and sometimes—most of the time, if I was being honest—my pastime had been more a labor of love than anything that might have turned into a career.

  It wasn’t until we put our minds together and decided to open a custom bike shop about forty minutes outside Boston with a buddy of ours that our lives really began.

  Stepping through the door to the hotel ballroom where our reunion was being held, I scanned the room for familiar faces. Whether it was to find ones I wanted to avoid or ones I wanted to talk to, I wasn’t actually sure. When we didn’t recognize anyone right away, we headed to the bar. “What are we drinking tonight?” I asked Corey.

  “We are at our high school reunion, so let’s throw it back to 2006.”

  “You’re going to tell Ava Blaine you’ve loved her since the second grade and then pass out on the hood of Dad’s Sentra?”

  Corey’s eyes grew serious, like they were lost in the memory of that ridiculous moment. “That was a bad night. I didn’t drink for a full year after that,” he said with a shake of his head. He put his hands on the bar and called to the bartender, “Two Captain and Cokes, please.”

  “Ahh,” I said, tossing some money onto the bar after we got our drinks. “I forgot about your Captain phase.”

  “Me too,” Corey said. “I don’t think I’ve even had one in almost a decade. They were my go-to for most of junior and senior year, though.” He craned his neck and scanned the room. “You think Ava’s here? I heard she’s divorced now.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  I looked at him, but he avoided eye contact. “Facebook.”

  “Seriously? You’re such a stalker.” I laughed. “If you plan to talk to her, you should probably make sure it happens before your seventh drink this time.”

  “You’re a wise man, Colton,” Corey said with a smile before taking a sip.

  I shrugged. “Well, I am your older brother.” I loved making this distinction, but the truth was, Corey and I shared everything. We always had. From our birthday to our group of friends to our clothes and cars. Growing up, nothing belonged to only one of us.

  Well, everything except girls. That was a line we would never cross. If one of us was into someone—or especially if one of us had hooked up with someone—she was off-limits to the other brother. Forever. That rule limited Corey’s selection of females greatly when we were in high school, but I couldn’t be blamed for taking opportunities as they arose just because it made his potential dating pool smaller.

  We talked at the bar for a few more minutes until we spotted a few of our old lacrosse teammates sitting at a table with their wives. We hadn’t seen any of them in person in at least seven years, and time didn’t appear to have been kind to them. Josh Graham and Scottie Gibson sat, their hands toying with beers they absentmindedly brought to their lips every so often, as their wives chatted. The guys didn’t look thrilled, but they didn’t exactly look annoyed either. Just…spacey.

  “CJ!” they yelled as we approached the table, greeting us with the name everyone used in high school. It was easier for people to just use our first and last initials—which were the same—than to tell us apart. I’m not sure what they would’ve done if we’d had different first initials.

  We spent a half hour or so catching up with Josh and Scottie who, it turned out, both had infants at home. Tonight was their first real night out since their kids had been born, and they were exhausted. It had been their wives, Marissa and Sophia, who had really wanted to come, since they we
re both graduates of our school as well. They didn’t look familiar to me, and their names didn’t ring a bell either. Which hopefully meant I hadn’t messed around with them in high school.

  “I’m already dreading getting up in the middle of the night,” Scottie said. “Nicholas wakes up every three hours.”

  “You act like you’re the one who has to get up to feed him,” Sophia joked. “I know you gained a few sympathy pounds, but I’m pretty sure your breasts still can’t feed a newborn.”

  They all laughed until Josh explained that Marissa pumped as well as nursed, and in order for Josh to bond with their daughter, Marissa had gotten him some sort of bra that held bottles so the baby could “nurse” from him as well. The table got eerily quiet, and I realized what had most likely caused Josh’s gray hairs.

  “You’re a good mom, Josh,” I said.

  “And you’re an asshole, CJ,” Josh countered with a laugh. “What’s up with you guys?”

  “Well, I’m not breastfeeding,” I answered. “So nothing too exciting. We live in the suburbs now.”

  Corey added, “We opened a custom motorcycle shop with a buddy of ours a few years ago in Canton.”

  Scottie and Josh looked simultaneously heartbroken and envious. “Oh wow,” Scottie said.

  “They build bikes,” Josh added sadly.

  Marissa rolled her eyes at Scottie and her husband. “You two are pathetic.”

  “Thank you,” Josh said. “That’s what we’re saying.”

  “That’s awesome, though,” Scottie said. “I’m happy for you guys. You seem happy, and you’re both in great shape. Don’t ever get married and have kids. It sucks the life out of you.”

  I didn’t disagree. Why Corey longed for that life—one that would most likely ruin the one he had—made absolutely no sense to me. I would much rather live life as it comes instead of getting attached to something that most likely wouldn’t last.

  “Well, as much as I love talking about male breastfeeding, I’m gonna have to excuse myself for a few minutes. Anyone want another drink?” I stood, waiting to see if anyone wanted to take me up on my offer, but no one did.

  “Captain and Coke, right?” the bartender asked, probably remembering me because there had been two of us when we’d ordered.

  I nodded.

  Instead of heading straight back to the table of desperate housewives—and I wasn’t talking about the women—I decided to hang out at the bar for a bit. It would be a good vantage point to see the rest of the room, and I could skim the event page on my phone to see who was even here.

  All these people looked so different from what I remembered…and from their profile pictures, which all seemed to be taken from a height that indicated the photographer was a drone and not an actual person.

  I couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, and the realization surprised me. I looked back at Josh and Scottie’s table and saw Corey talking to them and laughing with another woman who looked completely unfamiliar to me. Maybe I was getting early Alzheimer’s. For some reason, it had seemed important to go to this thing, to show everyone I actually made something of myself. Though I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, I hadn’t been anything to idolize in high school. I had been an okay athlete with an even less okay GPA.

  I was busy scrolling through the reunion event page when a woman a few seats down the bar said, “You look like you’re having about as much fun as I am.”

  I smiled at her and gave a wave as I mentally flipped through our graduating class in my head. But for the life of me, I couldn’t think of anyone who looked like this woman—shiny blond hair that stopped at her chin in a trendy asymmetrical cut and eyes so blue it was like looking at the sky on a summer day.

  “Yeah.” I laughed to myself about how I must look, sitting at the bar alone on my phone instead of catching up with people I hadn’t seen in ages. “Guess I thought more of my old friends would be here. I’m blaming their absence on the fact that this thing was held on the night before Thanksgiving. Who the hell planned this?”

  “I’m assuming our class president. But I can’t quite remember who that is.”

  When she stopped talking, I realized I’d been nodding absently as she spoke. She was beautiful. Who is this woman?

  “Gotcha,” I said, ceasing the awkward movement of my head. “What about you?” I asked, hoping to buy myself some time before she realized I had no clue who she was. “Did you see many of your friends?”

  She brought her hand up to tuck her hair behind one ear, even though it was already there. “A few.” Her gaze dropped to the stem of her wineglass, and she spun it back and forth between her fingers like she was deciding whether she should say what she was thinking. She opened her mouth but then closed it quickly.

  “What? What is it?”

  “It’s going to sound stupid,” she said, closing the small gap at the bar between us. “But seeing you actually made a dull night a little better. I was hoping you’d be here, but I didn’t see you post in the group, and you were only a ‘maybe’ to attend. Are you here with anyone?”

  “Just my better half,” I joked, though the statement held more truth than she probably realized.

  Her smile, which had been beaming only seconds ago, faded. “Oh.” I didn’t miss her glance at my hand. “So are you engaged, or…”

  “Engaged?” I asked, confused. “No, I’m not engaged.”

  “So she’s your girlfriend, then?”

  Suddenly realizing where her confusion must have come from, I quickly corrected her. “I’m not here with a fiancée or a girlfriend. When I said my better half, I meant my brother.”

  “Of course,” she said, her voice sounding relieved. “I shouldn’t be surprised. The only time I remember you being apart is when you had separate classes.” She laughed, looking embarrassed, but she wasn’t the one who should have been feeling that way, when I still had no clue who she was. “That’s nice of you to say he’s the better half.” She took a sip of wine and scanned the room for a moment. “Though I’d have to disagree. I always liked you much better.”

  I felt my eyes light up at her comment. “Really?” Why couldn’t I figure out who this woman was?

  “Yeah,” she said, shrugging. “Sorry. I know he’s your brother, but he always kind of annoyed me. You look alike, but your personalities couldn’t be more different. You’re still CJ, since that’s the only name anyone called either of you, but I always knew who was who.”

  “That’s impressive. Even our friends couldn’t tell who was who half the time.” And it’s even more impressive because I have no idea who you are. “And that’s fine about the name. Being called CJ reminds me of home. I like it. So are you here with anyone? Fiancée? Girlfriend?”

  She laughed. “No girlfriend. I’m straight. I’m as boring as I was in high school.”

  “I don’t remember you being boring.” I don’t remember you at all. God, please tell me your name. Please.

  “You’re still sweet, I see.”

  I wasn’t sure what would make her say that, because there weren’t many members of the opposite sex that would’ve referred to me as a sweet teenager. I’d used charisma and popularity to boost an ego I shouldn’t have ever had. “Thanks,” I said, not really sure of an appropriate reply.

  “You’re just as cute as you were back then too. Cuter actually. You look like you’ve bulked up a little,” she said with a flush of her cheeks. We were both quiet for a few moments before she continued. “Sorry. I don’t really speak this directly to men I’m attracted to, but I feel like since we know each other already, it’s not as weird.” Her face grew even redder. “Or maybe it’s weirder. I don’t know.”

  Her comment, combined with the way she bit her lip as she looked at me, made my cock jump in my pants. I cleared my throat and tried not to stare directly at her breasts when my gaze dropped a bit. “I work out.” God, I sound like such a tool. I might as well have said, I pick things up and I put them down in my best Arnold ac
cent.

  “I can tell,” she said softly. She put a hand on my bicep and squeezed. “These look dangerous.”

  “And you look…” This time I couldn’t help but take all of her in. I ran my gaze down the length of her—a petite frame with curves in all the right places, tits that would fit perfectly in my hands, a navy dress that brought out her eyes and clung to her ivory skin. “You look amazing. Like really amazing. God, I’m really great with words tonight, aren’t I?” I said with a laugh.

  “You’re fine. That’s nice of you to say. You have no idea who I am, do you?”

  Shit. Embarrassed, I brought my hand to my forehead. “I don’t. I’m so sorry.”

  She laughed, and then I did too. Despite my humiliation, I felt at ease knowing it wasn’t a big deal that I didn’t recognize her.

  “Are you going to tell me, or are you going to make me guess?”

  She smiled, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her lips—shiny and wet with whatever gloss she had on them. I wondered what it might taste like. “Zara Pierce.”

  I thought back to the girl in braces who’d had a locker across the hall from mine…the one who’d constantly had her books all over the floor between classes…the one who’d worn scrunchies and gave teachers handmade gifts as a sixteen-year-old. It was nearly impossible to believe the woman sitting next to me was the same human being.

  “No shit. Last time I saw you, you were…” I left my sentence unfinished because I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t come out the wrong way.