After spending a good hour doing my makeup in the traditional black-and-white KISS style, I slip a coat over my costume to ward against the chill. Then I stride out of my apartment building in the patent leather over-the-knee books that I’ve decorated with silver studs, which gets a thumbs-up from my Uber driver. He blares “Mr. Speed” as we head to the Jack and Jill party.
I’m late, which isn’t much of a surprise. Punctuality was never my strong suit, but Flynn’s assistant told me she would be there early to fix up payment for the party. Plus, I like to make a grand entrance. Most people slip on a kitty headband and call it a day—so Presley and I get a lot of attention for our creative outfits.
The Uber rolls to a stop and I take my time navigating the uneven cobblestone entrance in my platform boots. The old mansion was originally owned by a super-wealthy family who lost the house during the recession, and it lay abandoned for years. Eventually someone purchased it and turned it into an event venue, restoring it to its former glory. It’s a cool spot, and the perfect place for a party.
I head through the main doors, where a table is set up. There’s printed papers and a list, along with a few pens and bottles of water. A gold sign tells me to “please wait here” but nobody is manning the desk. I scan the area and hear classical music floating in from one of the rooms off to one side. Following the sound, I reach the door and poke my head in. There are lots of people around, but all are dressed in suits and cocktail attire. Little black dresses as far as the eye can see.
Perhaps they have another event on at the same time. Before anyone can see me, I walk back through the foyer and check out the other side of the venue. Empty. So Presley’s party must be in a room on the other side of the fancy cocktail party.
Oh, well, I wanted to make an entrance, so I guess I’ll have to make two. I head back into the room with all the people dressed in black. I don’t recognise anyone and heads snap in my direction, so I give a little wave. There’s an archway on the other side. That must be it.
Then I see the banner: The future Mr. and Mrs. Lewis.
She’s taking his name. Interesting. I always thought Presley was going to keep our name.
I stride through the archway and my mouth falls open. Presley stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by people. She looks incredible. Her hair is pinned up with gold leaf-shaped clasps, and her body is draped in yards of black and gold fabric that shimmers as she moves. She looks like a model in a couture fashion show.
But there’s one big fucking problem...she’s not in costume.
None of them are.
Presley’s eyes widen as she turns in my direction and her smarmy fiancé clamps a hand over his mouth. Shit.
Realisation crashes down on me like an avalanche—Flynn Lewis pulled a fast one. How could he have known about the changes I made? All I’d wanted was to give my sister the kind of party she deserved, a party she would have wanted. Not this...stuffy extravaganza.
Presley rushes forward and the room is filled with tittering and snorts and flashes of oh, my God. “What happened?”
“Your future husband’s giant pain-in-the-ass best man is what happened.” I grit my teeth.
Everybody in the room is looking at me. And I mean literally everybody—even the waiters carrying trays of cocktails around the room with gold swizzle sticks are gaping open-mouthed at me.
“Oh, no.” She drops her face into her hands. “This is...unbelievable.”
“His assistant stopped taking my calls, so I went ahead and organised a costume party. But it appears they decided to change everything behind my back without telling me.” I decide to skip over how it was most likely a retaliation, because that doesn’t feel super important to me right now. “I wanted to do something fun for you. I know how much you love dressing up.”
Presley hugs me, not seeming to care if she gets white face paint on her cheek. “Can I say I’m glad that I didn’t come in costume, because I think you would have kicked my butt. This might be your best work ever.”
“Maybe I can pretend to be the entertainment?” I cringe. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Annaleigh, Sherilee and Pauline. Poor Sherilee looks like she’s about to faint. “I don’t want to ruin your fancy night. I’ll head home and change.”
“After you put all that effort into your costume? No way!” Sincerity shines out of my sister’s eyes—she has something sparkly and gold dusted all over her lids and each time she blinks it’s like staring at a cloud of fairy dust. “You look amazing.”
“I’m an embarrassment.”
“You stand out.” She pressed a hand to my cheek. “You have always stood out in a way that I could only hope to.”
I snort. “Yeah, right.”
Mike storms toward us and he looks royally pissed. “What the hell is going on?”
“There was a mix-up,” Presley says. “It seems there was a miscommunication with your cousin. Where is he, by the way? I’d like to finally meet him so I can give him a piece of my mind.”
“He’s running late. Work.” Mike rolls his eyes. His face is red and splotchy, like he’s battling to hold in what he really wants to say. Seriously, what the hell does my sister see in this guy? “But this is unacceptable.”
“Excuse me?” I’m tempted to see how much it will hurt if I swing my chunky, studded boot into his groin. Knowing how much Presley wants to have kids is the only thing that stops me.
“Are you trying to embarrass your sister?” Mike looks at me as though I’m something slimy that he’s accidentally stepped on. “You’ve got quite the reputation for doing that.”
“What? I’m not trying to embarrass anybody.”
People have gathered closer now to watch the drama unfold. Presley’s eyes are shimmering as if she’s about to burst into tears and I am one more nasty comment away from punching Mike in the nose.
“No? You fly in and fly out whenever you please, always with a sob story so people pay attention to you.” He shakes his head. “You can’t even behave like an adult when it comes to your sister’s wedding. Oh, no, you have to turn it into a competition by trying to change everything behind my cousin’s back.”
So he knows. I wonder if my missing invite was an accident after all. Of all the spiteful, nasty things...
Presley looks at me. “Did you do that?”
Shit. “I wouldn’t have had to if Flynn—or rather, his assistant—would even listen to a single thing I said. I was trying to give you something that you wanted.”
“She didn’t want a costume party,” Mike spits out at me. “This is another instance of you thinking about yourself.”
Of all the things that could possibly hurt me, that statement was at the top of the list. It was a cherished thing between us, harkening back to our childhoods. “Is that true, Pres?”
My twin sister avoids my eyes and it’s like a knife to the gut.
“Okay, wow.” My face fills with heat, shame burning like a bright flame inside me. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“You were so excited.” She wrings her hands. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“She’s worried you’ll go off the rails and leave again if there’s an argument.” Mike stands close to Presley in a way that makes me want to shove him. But I know that’s my own issues rearing their head—I’m jealous of her. I always have been.
But the costume party was something I genuinely thought she wanted.
“Can you speak for yourself, Pres?” I ask. The hurt is pouring off me now. “Or are you giving up your voice along with your name?”
Curse my big, bloody filter-less mouth. I regret the words the second they come out of me, because I know they land hard. Her lip quivers and she looks at me like I’ve kicked her puppy. But Presley doesn’t bite back in an argument—she always shuts down when there’s conflict. Every single time.
I
wonder if it’s the same with Mike. Does she let him overpower her in an argument?
I love my sister, but I will never be like that with a man. It’s why I didn’t go back to Vas no matter how many times he called after the breakup. It’s why I won’t ever get into another relationship with a powerful, strong-willed guy like that ever again.
Presley pulls herself up, straightening her shoulders back and sucks in a breath. “I know you’re lashing out because you’re hurt. But that was really unkind.”
If you ever think being screamed at by someone is humiliating, I can tell you this is worse. My sister’s quietly spoken, adult language—that’s somehow still full of compassion even as she tells me, rightfully so, what a shit human I am—is much, much worse.
Mike steers her away from me and I have this deep, irrational fear that he’s going to take her away forever. He doesn’t like me—that was clear from the very first time I met him. Fine. The feeling is mutual. But I don’t want to lose my sister.
I stand in the middle of the room, watched by all these elegantly dressed people, and I don’t think it can get any worse.
Until it does.
A tall, handsome man walks through the doors and Mike immediately rushes over to him. Their eyes drift in my direction, and a smirk tugs at the handsome man’s lips. I know that smirk and I instinctively know this man is Flynn Lewis, best man and giant pain in the ass.
Also known as Mr. Suit.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Flynn
I SHOULD HAVE known that the maid of honour would throw a spanner in the works. But turning up to a cocktail party in costume, even after receiving the invite with the dress code clearly stated...well, that’s plain childish. I should have been more suspicious when I didn’t receive a raging email or phone call from her.
Out of nowhere, however, I’m hit with a jolt of lust. The maid of honour is wearing a catsuit so tight it makes her slender legs look like they go on forever. If this was a costume competition, then she’d be the front-runner. But we’re not at a kid’s birthday party. This is a grown-up event, and she looks ridiculous.
Ridiculously hot?
I shake the inappropriate thought off. My cousin Mike is huffing and puffing about how she’s ruined his fiancée’s night. That she doesn’t care about her sister, only being the centre of attention. I place a hand on his shoulder, wordlessly telling him to calm down. I’ll smooth things over with the wife-to-be and usher Gene Simmons outside so everyone can get on with their night.
Before I even have the chance to ask for an introduction, two women storm up to me. For a moment, my heart fails. Blondie is standing in front of me wearing a gold-and-black dress, looking like she’s about to cry.
“This is my fiancée, Presley Richardson, soon-to-be Presley Lewis.” Mike does his pompous thing and thrusts Blondie toward me. I’m in shock.
How the fuck have I been screwing my cousin’s fiancée?
But there’s no recognition in her eyes. My head is a spinning top. I’m desperately trying to put the pieces together. Did Drew lie to me? Is this some sick coincidence?
“Nice to meet you, Flynn.” She sticks her hand out politely, offering a watery smile that doesn’t feel familiar at all. I don’t detect any hint of connection with her—so either she’s an incredible liar, or I’ve somehow gotten very mixed up.
“Nice to meet you, too.” I shake her hand and feel...nothing.
None of the spark I’ve experienced with Blondie. None of the sizzle and burn.
“We need to talk.” Gene Simmons plants her hands on her hips and purses her lips. Her entire face is covered in paint, a perfect replica of the KISS style. But the second she pulls me away from my furious cousin and his bride-to-be, I’m infused with heat and a wild rush of mixed emotions.
“What on earth are you doing?” I say as she drags me out into the foyer and through to a quiet, unused room.
“I’m wearing the costume I designed for the costume party I planned.” Steam is practically billowing out of her ears.
“A party you planned behind my back. Unsuccessfully, I might add.” Something is ticking in my brain, an uncomfortable feeling that swells the longer I stand in this angry woman’s presence. “This isn’t my first rodeo, Melanie.”
She stares at me for a long, hard second. Then she pulls off the black wig to reveal a shock of platinum white-blond hair. My stomach is roiling. “Actually, my family and friends call me Drew.”
Drew. My naughty next-door neighbour. An identical twin.
I don’t know whether to feel relieved or sick—at least I didn’t accidentally sleep with my cousin’s fiancée. But my sexy, mysterious Drew is none other than the thorn in my side? None other than the maid of honour who’s been making my life difficult?
“Did you know all along?” I ask, stony-faced. I’m not giving her a damn inch until I know more.
“No! Are you kidding me? Why would I sleep with you if I’d known you were Flynn freaking Lewis, the most irritating, stubborn, stuck-up man on earth?” She pretends to stick a finger down her throat.
“Real mature.”
“Oh, like how you conveniently forgot to send me an invite for the party so I would assume my plans had gone ahead? Yeah, that sounds totally mature, asshole.”
“Everyone who was on the list you provided me received an invite.” I fold my arms over my chest. “So if you forgot to put your own damn name on the list, then that sounds like you dug your own grave there, Blondie.”
“Don’t you dare call me that now.” Her hands ball up by her sides. “Thanks to you, my sister and I are now having a fight and you’ve justified why Mike hates me.”
“I take no responsibility for the fact that you can’t organise yourself.” But even as I say the words, I feel a twinge of guilt. My relationship with my brother is the most important one in my life, and I would hunt down anyone who stood in the way of it.
“How am I supposed to organise anything when all my calls go ignored and the replies to my emails are nothing but shitty single-sentence responses that veto every suggestion I have? And that was before you fobbed me off onto your assistant.”
She looks like she’s about to blow a gasket. And I’m in the weird position of being incredibly ticked off and also extremely horny. Seriously, Drew’s body was made for skin-tight outfits. Her small but perky breasts are encased in faux-leather and the big chunky boots make her look even sleeker. It’s totally hot and I should not be thinking about her like that anymore.
It’s one thing to sleep with someone you shouldn’t by accident, but it’s another to make an informed decision to do it again.
“I didn’t have time to deal with War and Peace every time you emailed me.”
She huffs. “Sorry I give a shit about my sister. I’m not sure why I bothered, because apparently I have no idea what she wants anyway.”
For a brief second, Drew’s tough-girl façade falters. There’s genuine hurt there.
“Look, I didn’t intend for you to miss getting an invite, okay? I thought you were on the list. It was an honest mistake.”
“And switching around my party idea?”
I’m not going to give her an inch there. “That was payback.”
Her jaw twitches. She’s mega pissed. I’m...very unsure what to feel right now. Because my head is telling me one thing, and my dick does not agree.
“You look hot,” I say.
“Screw you.”
“I like it when you’re mean.” I step forward and she backs up, moving farther into the unused room. Her costume is a stark contrast to the fancy old building with its decorative cornices, gold-patterned wallpaper and polished floorboards. “How do you get in and out of that get-up, anyway?”
“File that under things I’ll never tell you.” She crosses her arms and all it does is draw my eyes down to where the leather-like
fabric stretches over her breasts. “So, Flynn huh? That’s kind of an old-timey name.”
“Yep. I’m named after Errol Flynn and my brother Gabe is named after Clark Gable.” I shrug and the casual gesture makes her jaw twitch. “Our mother was a big movie fan.”
“Not exactly living up to your namesake, are you? Wasn’t Errol Flynn a massive playboy?”
“And a reported drunk and drug user, neither of which I am.”
“Would that make you a ‘reported’ stick-in-the-mud?” she teases, her tone softening.
“According to some.”
“Maybe you need to do something more exciting, Flynn.”
“Any ideas?”
Drew’s eyes dart to the doorway and that’s enough to get my blood thundering and my cock jumping to attention. I can’t explain this weird vibe between us—it’s equal parts lust and antagonism, but my God it’s fun. More fun than I can ever remember having—which, admittedly, is not the highest of bars to clear.
“Once this outfit comes off it’s not going back on.” Drew nails me with a hard stare.
“It wouldn’t be wise to head back into the party wearing it, anyway,” I say. “So really, does it matter?”
“If I do that, then what am I going to wear out of here?”
“Tablecloth?” I look to a table that’s sitting off to the side of the room. “It’s kind of like a bedsheet, and we’ve established you’re already plenty comfortable wearing those.”
She snorts and then shakes her head. “Why do I keep wanting to have sex with you? I don’t even like you.”
“That’s a real conundrum.” I lean against the wall and fold my arms, not bothering to hide my smirk. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Drew cocks her head. “This could be a good distraction considering I’m pissed at my sister and her fiancé. But I’m also pissed at you.”
“Ah, but you’re pissed at Flynn Lewis, not Mr. Suit.”
The Fling--A Scorching Hot Romance Page 9
