Misadventures with a Twin Read online

  “Performing a one-woman monologue on feminism for the talent show?” She covered her eyes and then lifted her hand to peek at me.

  The memory made her blush even more, and I knew why. Zara and I hadn’t run in the same circles. Mine had revolved around parties and motorcycles, while hers had focused more on woodwind instruments and Hi-Q competitions. I’d always felt like she’d looked down on me a bit, but it wasn’t like I’d had any desire to hang out with her either.

  “I was gonna say a brunette.”

  ZARA

  CJ and I talked for at least forty-five minutes—mostly about unimportant topics like the bartender’s resemblance to Neil Patrick Harris and the horrendous choice in music that we presumed was also chosen by our class president, whose name we finally figured out after some cyber-research.

  Looking into those dark-green eyes that stared back into mine, I silently thanked myself for not leaving earlier when I’d spilled red wine on my dress. It wasn’t that people could necessarily see it—the dress was dark and so was the room—but I’ve always been someone who believed in subtle signs. Like an umbrella not opening right when it begins to rain or charcoal toothpaste leaving black marks on my teeth before a date. They were the universe’s signals to me that I should stop what I’m doing and turn back or not even leave my house to begin with. That it was time to retreat because the mission was compromised.

  Abort, abort, my brain had screamed after my wine spill. Tomorrow was another day, and I could try again. Or not, because my ten-year high school reunion only happened once, and there was no way my friends would have let me ditch them.

  Truthfully, this whole reunion thing wasn’t exactly my scene, but Becca and Trinity had begged me to go. In high school, it had always been the three of us, and they said the thought of attending an event like this without me would be akin to TLC performing after Left Eye’s accident. I’d pointed out that they did, in fact, perform again after the singer’s death, but my friends weren’t having it. I wasn’t sure my absence would’ve had quite the same effect, but nonetheless, I acquiesced. And I was glad I did.

  “You remember Mr. Simpkiss, right?”

  He thought for a few seconds. “The physics teacher?”

  I nodded, smiling. “Did you hear why he left the year after we graduated?”

  “No. I didn’t know he left at all.” CJ seemed interested, his head resting on his palm as he leaned casually on the bar, waiting for me to continue.

  “Yup. He got Mindy Tatum pregnant.” I expected his eyes to go wide and his jaw to drop, but he looked confused more than anything.

  “I’m not sure I know a Mindy…”

  “You don’t remember Mindy? She was in Mr. Simpkiss’s class with us senior year.” Still nothing. “She had to use that emergency shower thing because her lab partner combined the wrong chemicals or something one day.”

  “I must’ve been absent that day,” he said, his expression falling like he was sad he’d missed it. I’d have sworn he was there, but it was impossible to be sure about something that happened a decade ago.

  “Well, anyway, Mindy posted a picture of her ultrasound during her first semester of college and tagged Mr. Simpkiss in it. Turns out they’d been”—a shiver ran down my body with the thought of the divorced forty-year-old—“dating since right after graduation.”

  There was the openmouthed stare I’d been hoping for. “No shit. That’s crazy. I didn’t think Simpkiss had it in him.” He paused for a second. “Wait, do you think he was…they were… Did he get fired because something happened before Mindy graduated? That’s so messed up.”

  I shrugged. A part of me felt guilty that I was using Mindy’s story as entertainment, but CJ seemed interested, so I continued. “The heart wants what the heart wants, I guess.”

  “I guess.”

  I laughed, but it was more out of embarrassment than humor. “I’m horrible at small talk.”

  “Everyone’s that way sometimes.” Whether it was because of the overhead lights or because I wanted them to, his eyes twinkled when he smiled.

  “Not you,” I said, my voice more serious than it had been. “You could always talk to anyone. You’re naturally friendly.”

  He was quiet as he ran his fingers over the condensation of his glass. “I try,” he said. “But sometimes it’s just good acting.”

  “Are you acting now?”

  His mouth parted, but he didn’t speak right away. Instead, the left side of his lip quirked up in that way that made me imagine what it would be like to kiss it.

  “No,” he said softly. “I’m enjoying talking to you.”

  “Me too.”

  “Do you want to go somewhere that’s a little quieter to talk?” he asked.

  “I actually think I’ve had enough talking,” I said. And then I did something I never would’ve had the guts to do last time we saw each other.

  I leaned in to kiss him. I didn’t worry if he’d pull away or if he’d tell me it was nice or that he didn’t like me like that or any of the other million reasons I’d used to talk myself out of this in high school. For once, I listened to the beating in my chest that told me just to do it. Make the first move. Be fearless.

  His lips touched mine, and I knew it was well worth the risk.

  Chapter Two

  Zara

  I’d been thinking about this ever since I saw CJ sit down at the bar. The slow but needy grind of our lips against each other’s. And as our tongues tangled, I was thankful I’d grown more confident over the years. I didn’t even stifle the moan that found its way from my throat to his mouth, and when the vibration of it thrummed between us, he reached a hand around to the back of my neck to deepen our kiss.

  My entire body tingled with sensation, like he’d somehow hit every nerve ending with that subtle touch. It had been…well, let’s just say it had been a while since a man—especially one as desirable as this man—had kissed me like this. Every sweep of his tongue across mine and every soft nip of his teeth on my lip had me forgetting, or simply not caring, that we were behaving like this in public. And if I was being honest with myself, the idea turned me on even more.

  But there were things I wanted him to do to me—and things I wanted to do to him—that were definitely not appropriate for public display. The thoughts had me pulling away, breathless. “Would you like to come up to my room? Sorry, is that too forward? Or…” God, I sound like a hussy. “I swear I don’t make out with men at bars like this all the time. Or ever,” I corrected. “But I’ve had a crush on you since high school, and—”

  “So you said.” He smiled wide, as if hearing the comment a second time excited him as much as the kiss. And based on the frustrated groan he’d released when I’d pulled away, I’d have guessed he was pretty excited. “Just for the record, I’m not complaining,” he added before closing the small distance between our lips again so he could part them with his tongue. He tasted sweet, like rum and mint and something spicy I couldn’t identify. “We don’t have to go upstairs if you’re uncomfortable with it,” he whispered against my lips.

  “I want to” was the only reply I could find. My attraction to him was even stronger tonight than the girlish crush I’d had on him years ago. Maybe it was something about seeing him all grown up. The long stubble on his jawline that looked like it might grow into a full beard before the night was over. It had me wondering what it might feel like between my legs. God help me. Or it might have been his casual confidence and how easily we’d talked. Whatever it was about this man, I wanted him.

  “Just know you have my word that I’m not going to tell the guys in the locker room after practice about whatever happens between us. This isn’t high school, Zara. We’re two consenting adults. Two consenting, very turned-on adults. Speaking for myself at least.” He cleared his throat and shifted on the bar stool, drawing my attention to the bulge in his perfectly fitted dark jeans.

  “That applies to me too,” I said, feeling the blush spread across my chee
ks. What had gotten into me? “So before I go back to the old Zara and let my inhibitions dictate my actions, I’d like to formally invite you back to my hotel room, Mr. Jensen.”

  His smile broadened into a ridiculous grin. “In that case, I’d like to accept, Ms. Pierce.”

  And with that, I grabbed my bag, downed the last of my Cabernet, and headed toward the elevators.

  Once inside, our hands were everywhere. Mine slipping down his back to squeeze his muscular ass. His sliding up the outside of my thigh. And as his cock rubbed against my lower stomach, I wondered if we’d even make it to my room before I had him undressed. His chest was firm against mine. I wanted to feel every part of him at once—his lips on my nipples and between my thighs, his cock spreading me wide.

  “God, you’re sexy,” he said against my collarbone. “Makes me so hard.”

  I wanted to tell him that he was sexy too. That I was so fucking wet already, he could use my thong as a Slip ’N Slide if he wanted to. But all that came out of my mouth was something completely unintelligible that manifested itself as an unsteady moan.

  We broke contact just long enough to exit the elevator and make our way down the short hallway. I fumbled with the key card, playfully swatting his hand away from its place on my hip as he stood behind me, his rock-hard cock pressing against my ass. “If you keep that up, I’ll never get this thing open.”

  He laughed softly, reaching around to place his hand on mine to steady it enough to key us in. Once we were both inside, he spun me against the door, pinning my hands over my head with one of his. I loved when guys took control like this, letting me feel instead of think. And all I wanted to do was feel. Feel his fingers and tongue inside me, feel how thick and hard his cock was in my hand before I felt it fill me.

  “What do you want?” he asked. He waited for the answer like it would not only turn him on, but also so he could ensure he wasn’t doing more than I was comfortable with.

  “Your mouth,” I whispered.

  He released my hands. “Like this?” he asked, and I gripped his hair in pleasure as he made his way to the exposed part of my chest right above my dress.

  “Lower.”

  He reached around to undo the clasp at the top and dragged the zipper down slowly. But he didn’t let it drop. Pulling the fabric over my shoulder enough to gain access to my breasts, he brought his mouth to them, giving each of them his undivided attention. “How about now?” he asked, working his tongue over my nipple softly before giving it a tug with his teeth.

  “Getting warmer,” I said.

  “I was hoping for hot,” he teased.

  “Oh, this is definitely hot.”

  He let go of my dress and allowed it to fall to the floor at my feet. “Not as hot as this though,” he said, sliding his hand over my exposed torso as he admired it. He quirked his head to the side like he was deciding what to do with me. After a few moments that only increased the tension, he lowered himself to his knees.

  He pressed his mouth to the lace fabric of my underwear until it was thoroughly soaked with his saliva and my desire for him. “You won’t be needing these,” he said, slipping them down my thighs and pulling them off my legs. He took a moment to kiss the inside of my ankle before working his way up the inside of my legs. I was practically writhing when he finally slid one finger inside me.

  It wasn’t enough. It didn’t make me feel nearly full enough, and the friction was lacking because of how wet I was for him. His finger was a tease, but his tongue—God, his tongue—was better than any I’d ever felt. And as he sucked on my clit before flicking it with the tip of his tongue, I knew I wasn’t going to last long.

  My legs shook with my need to come, and I moved a hand over him everywhere I could reach—his hair, his neck, his shoulders—to show him how good this felt. He seemed to be enjoying it as much as I was, like going down on me was satisfying a hunger in both of us.

  “I’m gonna come,” I practically yelled, searching with my other hand to grab on to something but finding nothing but the wall beside me.

  It wasn’t long before I couldn’t hang on any longer, and my orgasm ripped through me, making my entire body pulse with its waves. “Oh my God! Jesus, Corey! So fucking good.”

  COLTON

  Nope. This was so fucking bad.

  There was no way I could stick around after a mistake like this. Not that hooking up with Zara had been a mistake. It wasn’t my mistake, anyway. I’d enjoyed every second of it, though she’d definitely enjoyed it more than me. I’d been so fucking hard, aching with the need to come, but as Corey’s name left her mouth, my erection left too. I needed to get the fuck out of here.

  But I couldn’t just bolt. I would look like a complete asshole. Or, more accurately, Corey would look like a complete asshole. Though maybe he’d look generous and giving, unselfish. Like the Mother Teresa of orgasms. I was going to make Corey look like an orgasm saint. He’d owe me big for this one.

  I rose slowly up Zara’s body and thought about how it would be the last time I’d get to witness the sight. Against my better judgment, I kissed her along the way. “I should probably get going,” I said.

  She laughed softly and buried her mouth against me. “You have a curfew?”

  I tried to smile but failed. “Nah. I just… I don’t feel right about asking you to reciprocate.”

  “Who said anything about you asking?”

  My dick twitched, growing slightly but not becoming fully erect. “I’m serious. You don’t need to do anything to me.”

  “How about if I do something with you?”

  Fuuuuck. And now my hard-on had fully reappeared, lengthening when she grabbed ahold of it. I swallowed hard before clearing my throat, a raspy breath escaping from me as I prepared to speak. “I’ll be fine. It was satisfying enough to please you.” I felt like a lawyer giving his closing argument to a box full of doubtful jurors he wasn’t sure would believe a word he was saying because no bigger lie had ever been told. I was the opposite of satisfied, in every way possible.

  It was a toss-up between what I’d do once I got back to our dad’s house. Jerk off? Or cry into my pillow because an attractive, engaging woman only took me back to her room because she thought I was my brother?

  Maybe I’d do both.

  Chapter Three

  Colton

  Stumbling down the stairs of my dad’s house the next morning, bleary-eyed and stomach growling, I wondered how many times I’d descended these steps in the same condition. Though this time I wasn’t so much hungover as exhausted. Last night had been…weird. Really fucking weird. And while I wasn’t necessarily happy with how I’d left things with Zara, I’d left them all the same, and that was the end of it.

  As I walked into the kitchen, my gaze landed on Corey sitting at the island, spooning globs of cereal into his mouth. When he caught sight of me, he arched an eyebrow and smirked.

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked before he could get a word out.

  He set down his spoon and leaned back in the stool. “Now, now, don’t try changing the subject.”

  “What subject? We weren’t talking about anything.” I rummaged around in the fridge, looking for something I felt like eating.

  “What time did you get home last night, young man?”

  Yanking a loaf of bread and some butter out of the refrigerator, I went about making toast, resolutely ignoring my brother.

  But he wasn’t to be deterred. Appearing beside me, he hopped up on the counter and stared at me with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Last I saw, you were chatting up Zara Pierce. My, my, my, how times have changed. She used to avoid you like you’d given her a raging case of the clap.”

  “I was the one who avoided her,” I defended. The words sounded lame even to my own ears. Truth was, until last night, I had thought I was the one who avoided her. But I couldn’t be so sure anymore. Maybe it was a mutual disdain. One that surely wouldn’t get any better if she found out who she really fooled around with after the
reunion. Or during it. Whatever.

  Corey clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Sure you were, Colt. Anyway, back to your disappearing act and late-night reappearance…”

  He let the words hang there for me to pick up, but I stayed strong. For about fifteen seconds. A new record for me. “Okay, fine, I went back to her hotel room. Happy now?”

  Corey laughed, the shit. “I am. I so am. But the question is, why aren’t you?”

  The next part was going to kill me to admit. He was never going to let me live it down, and if I were capable of lying to him, I would’ve. But he knew me too well—knew all my tells and avoidance tactics. Giving up on buttering my toast, I put everything down and gripped the counter, exhaling a deep breath before turning my head and looking at him. “She thought I was you.”

  I’d never seen someone’s jaw drop as far as Corey’s did. “Say what?”

  Sighing, I turned so I was leaning against the counter. “She thought I was you.”

  “Stop it.” His eyes widened as his smile grew. “You seriously pretended to be me to get laid? Jesus Christ, Bill Cosby, I didn’t realize you were that hard up.”

  “Like pretending to be you would ever increase my chances of getting laid. Get real.”

  “It evidently did last night,” he said through a laugh.

  Okay, I guess he had me there. “In my defense—”

  “Oh, am I taking on your defense? Should I grab one of Dad’s legal pads for notes?”

  “Do you want to hear this story or not?”

  He made a zipping motion over his lips and stared at me like I was Santa Claus on Christmas morning.

  “So she came up to me, calling me CJ like everyone else. Then she made a big deal about how she’d always been able to tell us apart and how she’d always liked me—well you, I guess—but couldn’t stand you, though she was really talking about me, and fuck, this is really confusing.” I ran my hands over my face before pushing them through my hair. Grabbing at the longer strands on top and tugging, I tried to get last night straight in my mind. “Basically I thought she was saying she had a crush on me, but she really thought I was you the whole time, and I didn’t realize it until she moaned your name while she was coming.”