Twins

by Francine Pascal

  And nothing hurt anymore.

  She ran her hand across his stubbly face and his firm shoulder through to the back of his neck. She felt his hand press against the small of her back as he kissed her. His kiss had all those same qualities that she envied so much. It had no guile or inhibition, just the purest, most unrelenting expression of wanting her—of how much he wanted her.

  And somehow she had finally done it. Just like that, she had let herself love him.

  One-Two Punch

  HEATHER HAD NEVER IN HER LIFE stooped this low. Men had been knocking down her door for dates as far back as she could remember, but here she was…

  Staking out Starbucks. Waiting for Mr. Beautiful.

  Shame, Heather. Shame on you. You shall never speak of this night to the Gannis family or to any of your admiring friends, who know full well that you could have the date of your choice at any given moment of your choosing.

  It was true. With the exception of one Edward Fargo, Heather was quite sure she could get a date quite easily without resorting to manipulative stalker rituals that required loading up on lattes and double espressos. It just so happened that Heather did not have a date lined up for tonight or… for the rest of the year, and she wasn’t at all ashamed to admit that she had developed something of a… fixation. Though in her defense she would ask this: Who would not develop a fixation when introduced to the most beautiful man in the world? Who would be that strong?

  Certainly not Heather.

  And certainly there was nothing desperate or lame about committing a few solid hours to that fixation. Though five hours might be pushing it.

  Five hours. Five hours’ worth of overheard inane conversations. Five hours’ worth of InStyle magazine. Five hours’ worth of hair and makeup checks. And most important—that was to say disturbingly—five hours’ worth of caffeine. Heather’s heel had been tapping out extensive Morse code messages for a while now.

  And so of course, ultimately she respected that one couldn’t expect to have the luck of spilling boiling hot coffee in the lap of the same person twice. It wasn’t natural. So finally Heather had packed up her trusty minibackpack and headed for the door. She had obviously wasted her time.

  But halfway to the door she nearly twisted herself into a large, human-size pretzel.

  Holy Mother of Mercy.

  He had returned. Defying all common laws of chance and dating, Mr. Beautiful had returned to Starbucks—this Starbucks—tonight. The one night Heather had decided a stakeout was in order.

  Now, that’s destiny. I’m sorry, but may the big man upstairs strike me blind if that right there is not destiny.

  So her five hours of overcaffeination had proved a worthwhile sacrifice. He was back, and she was ready for him. Now she just needed to look like she didn’t care.

  Heather quickly crammed herself into a visible table and slapped open the InStyle Magazine again, grabbing an empty cup of coffee from the windowsill and pretending to drink from it.

  And in five, four, three, two…

  “Well, look who’s decided to show her face again at Starbucks,” he joked, standing at her table.

  Heather looked up, threw him a little of the I-have-a-faint-recollection-of-you eyes, followed by the gasp into hand over mouth. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t even recognize you!” God, he was beautiful.

  “Without coffee all over my pants, right?”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Can I sit down?”

  Place ounce of hesitation here and…

  “Oh, sure, sure.”

  He sat down across from her, and she quickly rested her chin on her fist. Otherwise she feared her jaw might drop wide open. Most men with the actual title of Mr. Beautiful couldn’t possibly be as beautiful on the second viewing. He was more. Last time he’d gone with “clean-cut, just back from the gym,” but this time he was going with “disheveled and sexy.” The two looks in succession were the ultimate one-two punch.

  “Do you want some coffee?” he asked.

  “I’d love some!” she lied. “I’ll get it.” She shot out of her seat.

  “No, no, I’ll—”

  “Oh, come on,” Heather interrupted. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Coffee, black, please. Just be sure not to spill it on anyone.”

  “Very funny,” she said dryly She tapped him on the back of the head.

  “Ow” he groaned, pulling his head away.

  She stared at him in surprise. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, no,” he said. “Just bumped my head in the shower this morning, that’s all.”

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Heather said, flashing her best puppy dog eyes. “Well, I’ll be right back with the coffee.”

  Heather ordered herself a hot chocolate and his coffee and got herself back to their table as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to lose any momentum. The moment she sat down, she started to stare again. That jet black hair, mixed with those Superman blue eyes. And that smile. That amazing smile.

  “Here you go…. Oh, you know what?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “You know, I can’t believe this,” Heather said with an embarrassed giggle. “I don’t even know your name. How horrible is that?”

  “It’s not horrible at all,” he said, putting out his hand. “Josh.”

  Heather shook his hand officially. “Well, I’m very pleased to meet you, Josh,” she said.

  “Likewise,” he said.

  Josh. She loved it. So manly and concise. Rolled right off the tongue. Josh. It was the perfect name for the perfect guy.

  here is a sneak peek of Fearless™ #20: SEX

  28 minutes

  His lips … what was it about his lips?

  Shivers

  “DO YOU WANT ME TO CLOSE THE window?”

  Ed had pulled his lips away from Gaia’s and brought his head back just far enough to look her in the eyes. His hair was still hanging down on her forehead, keeping them connected, as he smiled at her with the most Ed-specific guileless adoration.

  “Why?” Gaia whispered, doing her best to breathe regularly in spite of the fact that her heart was beating triplets.

  “Aren’t you freezing?” he whispered sweetly. “You’re shivering like crazy.”

  Gaia froze from sheer embarrassment though she was not the least bit cold. Her eyes froze over as well, with a momentary attack of deer-in-headlights syndrome. “Oh … yeah,” she stammered. “The window. Good idea.”

  Ed reached over Gaia in the bed and dragged his bedroom window shut, cutting off what was left of the city street noise at five in the morning.

  She actually would have much preferred to keep it open, but what was she supposed to say? Was she supposed to tell him the truth? That she was shivering from his kisses, and his soft lips on her neck, and the feeling of his palms and his fingertips running along her waist? That the shivering was some kind of involuntary physical manifestation of how inconceivably happy she was at this moment, on his bed, in his arms, in the abnormally bright mix of ocean-blue moonlight and stark white New York streetlight?

  No. That was unquestionably something to be felt and not to be said. Like a million other things she was feeling now, staring back into his eyes.

  The brief window exchange had finally pulled their lips and bodies apart after twenty-eight minutes, and Ed leaned back to his pillow, running his finger along Gaia’s cheek.

  Just twenty-eight minutes. Gaia couldn’t believe it. Twenty-eight minutes since she’d confessed—at least, in her own way—that she loved him. How could this version of them be only a half hour old?

  But that really wasn’t true, was it. Not if Gaia wanted to be completely honest with herself. Not if she wanted to dig past the paper-thin labels and relationship rules set up by the pre-When Harry Met Sally generation. The fact was, that movie was not just for liberal Upper West Side yuppie men and women over thirty. In truth, if all seventeen-year-olds could speak as honestly
as Harry Burns and Sally Albright, then they too would have to confess that there was probably something else going on under their “best friendships” with members of the opposite sex.

  “Friends” may have been the label for Gaia and Ed, but given the particularly honest mood she was in at this moment, Gaia had to admit that in some way, she and Ed had sort of been “courting” for the last year. In spite of all the love and tragedies they’d experienced apart from each other. In spite of a million other things, Gaia and Ed were a constant.

  Maybe that was why, once she’d admitted what she was feeling, it was suddenly so easy to be so close. Almost as if they’d been together this way the entire time. Twenty-eight minutes into this relationship, and Gaia had found herself with a boyfriend whom she knew inside and out and trusted even more than she did herself.

  Ed cocked his head to the side and searched Gaia’s eyes with a mildly bemused smile. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing,” Gaia responded instantly. Man, did she need to work on the spoken honesty thing.

  “You’re still working on the spoken honesty thing, aren’t you,” Ed said. God, he’s good.

  “No,” Gaia squirmed. “I just …” Oh, Gaia, cut it out. You’ve got nothing left to hide now. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Yeah, I’m having a little trouble in that category.”

  “Okay,” Ed said purposefully, jamming his elbow into his pillow and leaning his head on his hand, “let’s do a little exercise in honesty, then—”

  “Oh, hell no,” Gaia interrupted.

  “Come on,” Ed laughed. “It’s five in the morning. Who’s going to know? What, are you afraid?”

  Oh, he didn’t want to go there. Gaia didn’t want to go there. That was the question of the hour. The question. Was her uncle’s injection a phony or not? Was fear now a part of her life or was that all a hoax? Was her fearlessness genetic, or part of some governmental excuse for a science project put together by her father and a bunch of freakazoid CIA doctors? No, sir, she would not be going there. Not on this beautiful dark morning in this safe bed with her glorious new “everything” looking into her eyes. Whether she was now capable of fear or not, in this bed, with this boy, she was not afraid of anything.

  “No,” Gaia assured him. “I am most definitely not afraid.”

  “Fine, then you just have to answer a few questions honestly.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine. Okay. Question one: Do you find me … attractive?”

  “Okay, I quit,” Gaia said, turning towards the window.

  “Kidding,” Ed laughed, pulling her back towards him.

  “You’ve got one more shot,” she said, with a comical glare.

  “Okay,” Ed agreed, staring into her eyes again. He shifted onto his stomach and moved closer until their noses were nearly touching. But he really shouldn’t have done that. Not if the goal was to have a conversation. It had already been established in the last twenty-four hours that when the two of them got this close, talking was not the first inclination. “Okay …” he began again. “All right …” Ed seemed unable to produce a full sentence as his eyes had refocused on Gaia’s mouth. “Okay …”

  His mouth was so close to hers, she could feel the consonants rolling off of his lips. And the shivers had started again. First lightly in her toes. Then sudden heavy trembles in her stomach. His lips … what was it about his lips? Before she could answer her own question, she’d found that her hand had drifted up to his mouth to investigate. Without any specific orders from her brain, her fingers had begun to gently trace down from his lips to the corner of his mouth.

  “Um,” he uttered, inching his face closer. “Do you …”

  “What…?” she whispered, doing her best to cover the shivers.

  Ed seemed utterly dazed by her fingers. “Do you want—”

  “Yes.” Gaia pressed her lips against his, channeling all the pent up energy of her trembling into her kiss. Ed responded with equal force, wrapping his hands tightly around her waist. But Gaia’s T-shirt had ridden up slightly when he grabbed her, leaving Ed’s wide palms suddenly pressed against her bare back. This sent another bolt of electricity up her spine that in no way helped to calm her shivers.

  Ed’s shirt had also apparently hiked up slightly, and when Gaia’s hands drifted down to his waist to hold him, her fingers ended up grazing along the bottom of his exposed abs, sliding up along his muscular back and clinging to his bare shoulders under his shirt. It may have been an accident but it only led to higher voltage trembling.

  And with her lips on his lips, and their hands clinging to each other’s backs, Gaia slowly began to realize that the moment when her brain or her body would bring things to a halt did not seem to be coming. She didn’t want to stop. There was no reason to stop. Not when she loved him this much. Not after building a year’s worth of totally untainted trust. All she wanted now was to be closer to him. As close as was humanly possible.

  Her hands on his bare back did not have to be an accident. Not if she didn’t want it to be. So she simply let her hands follow through. Without rushing or tugging, Gaia let her arms continue to slide upward, lifting Ed’s T-shirt higher and higher off of his chest, until he’d raised his arms and let her pull the T-shirt off.

  She slid her hands across his bare shoulders and kissed him again as he returned his palms to the exposed small of her back. Now she could feel just how quickly his heart was beating.

  But Ed pulled back momentarily, bringing his hands up to Gaia’s face and giving her a kind but penetrating stare. “Gaia,” he said between increasingly rapid breaths. “Are we about to do what I think we’re about to do?”

  Murderously Gorgeous

  ONE CRISP SUN-DRENCHED MORNING, two grande lattes, and Josh Brown. There could be no finer combination. At least not as far as Heather was concerned.

  It was what Heather liked to refer to as a “Mary Poppins morning.” One of those mornings where the spirit of Walt Disney had not just taken over Times Square, but all of New York City, even below Fourteenth Street and down to the Astor Place Starbucks. The trees seemed to be politely stepping out of their way for her. All the ruffled unshaven bohemians seemed to lock arms and dance a two-step down lower Broadway, while cartoon birds seemed to flitter down from the bright blue sky and perch on Heather’s finger, winking at her and exchanging whistled melodies as she hovered her way into Starbucks.

  Of course none of the above had taken place, but something far more dreamy and miraculous had: Josh’s unheard of and all-too-daring Morning Follow-up.

  Heather still couldn’t believe it. She and Josh hadn’t finished their last coffee rendezvous until midnight last night. But at the end of that unbelievable evening, Josh had actually suggested that they meet again the very next morning. Nine hours. Nine hours between coffee dates. That kind of dating proximity was generally reserved for either deep insatiable love affairs or desperately lonely people. And considering Josh’s inhumanly beautiful appearance, loneliness was simply not a possibility. Not that Heather thought he’d developed a deep insatiable love for her after one spilled coffee encounter and one semi-impromptu Starbucks chat. But nine hours? Even Romeo could wait more than nine hours to see Juliet. Things were looking awfully good.

  And Josh was looking awfully good. His black T-shirt left no distractions from his perfectly sculpted angular face and arms, and his slightly spiky, still-wet-from-the-shower jet-black hair.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” he said, ducking his head down in disbelief after Heather sat down at their sun-warmed window table.

  “What?” she asked, widening her eyes with concern. Had she done something wrong before she’d even sat down?

  Josh brought his head back up and stared at Heather, his eyes reflecting in the sun like blinding purple neon. “You can’t look this good at nine in the morning,” he said. “No one looks this good at nine in the morning.”

  “Oh,” Heather smiled, feeling her feet melting into her Clergerie shoes.
“Well, I….” She could do nothing other than smile and look like an idiot. Was there any possible response to that? Probably there was, but not when Josh said it there wasn’t.

  “You’re one of those, aren’t you?” he said.

  “One of what?” she replied shyly.

  Josh leaned forward on the table. “You’re one of those girls who looks equally as beautiful when she gets out of bed in the morning as she does on a Friday night at seven-thirty.”

  “Okay, stop,” she giggled, averting her eyes from his murderously gorgeous grin. She silently prayed that he would not stop.

  “No, really,” he went on. Her prayers had been yielding unprecedented success these last twelve hours. First he’d shown up at Starbucks last night after her wishful semi-stalker-like stakeout. Then came his suggestion of Morning Follow-up coffee. And now this. “Really. I bet you look like this the second you climb out of bed.”

  Now her legs had pretty much melted as well. When Josh said the word “bed,” Heather found it somewhat difficult to breathe, let alone put together a verbal response.

  “I’m sorry,” Josh said with an embarrassed chuckle as he leaned back in his chair. “Did that just come out ludicrously inappropriate? I didn’t mean—”

  “No, it’s fine,” she assured him with a nervous laugh. “It’s just not true, believe me. I’m sure you look a hell of a lot better than I do in the morning.”

  Was that the right response? Stay cool, Heather, you’re losing your touch here. Heather considered herself to have something of a Ph.D. in Flirtation, but Josh made it next to impossible for her to keep her feet planted on the ground. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that he’d already melted her feet. And her legs for that matter.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he complained, shaking his head. Heather had no idea what he was sorry about, but she immediately felt her heart droop down into her stomach. Good Lord, this was bad.