“The problem is, you’re always doing this. Remember that time I dressed up as you to meet Kevin Richards at the movies so you could go do God knows what with Dusty Sanders? The entire movie Kevin kept trying to put his hand on my thigh because you’d let him get to third base the night before.”
“And you whacked him in the balls,” she deadpans dryly. “Yeah, who could forget that?”
“Whatever,” I mumble. “He had it coming.”
“Can we focus on Dash here, please?”
“We are twenty-one years old—don’t you think we’re a little old to be pulling tricks on people?”
“Um, no? There’s a reason God gave us the same face.”
That makes me laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But you love me, don’t you?” She bats her sooty lashes. “You’re totally going to help me out—I can tell by the look on your face.”
“What look?” I pretend I don’t know what she’s talking about. “I have a look?”
My sister claps her hands, excited. “Yes, you totally do, and you’re totally doing this for me!” She lifts her brows and quirks the corner of her mouth into a cocky grin that mirrors the one I have on my face right now.
Shit. She’s right.
My twin leans in, hands folded on the table like she’s just entered negotiations in a business meeting.
“What’s it going to take for you to help me out?”
I mimic her pose. “I don’t know, Lucy. You tell me—what’s my time worth to you?”
She stares for a few long moments, lost in thought, trying to measure my sincerity through narrowed eyes. She’s trying to gauge if I’m being flippant or sincere about helping her. The thing about my sister is that everything always come so easy for her. She’s beautiful and relies heavily on her looks, uses them to her advantage. She’s outgoing and uses that, too.
Not that I’m not—I’m all of those things, but I’m not a user.
My sister is.
She doesn’t do it on purpose; she just…wants what she wants, when she wants it.
Lucy isn’t mean or malicious, goodness no, nor has she ever stood in the way of me being happy. She’s never pulled any deviant twin crap or made me feel bad about our differences.
She’s just…Lucy.
When I continue eating my salad and ignoring her hard stares, she sighs loudly, resigned. Pushes a carrot around its plastic container and sighs again.
Drama is my twin sister’s middle name.
Her hair is too big, her lips are too red, and her personality is too wild.
Around campus, in certain circles, we’re called the Barbie twins. It’s not because we have blonde hair—which we don’t—but because of Lucy’s bombshell appearance. We’re tall and slender with thick, wavy hair. My sister has hers shorter by a few inches, layered around her face, and it’s a rich chestnut color. Mine is longer and darker.
“What’s your time worth to me? I’ll buy you an extra gift at Christmas—”
“Which Mom and Dad will pay for.”
She sighs at me a third time, this one ending with a little drawn-out groan.
I throw her a bone, rolling my eyes. “So what’s up with this guy—what does a Dash person do?”
This opening perks her up considerably, and she immediately sits up in her seat, enthusiastic. “He’s on the baseball team—the catcher.”
“The catcher, ooh la la! Exciting.” I’m such a sarcastic jerk sometimes. “And why are you saying the word catcher like that, all whispery?” My head gives a shake. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
I bet he’s the captain or something cliché. Lucy only dates the most handsome, popular guys she can sink her long, manicured claws into. These days, those claws are painted hot pink, and when she’s impatient, she taps them on the laminate tabletop to irritate me—like she’s doing now.
“Let me guess”—I smirk—“they call him Dash because he’s soooo so super fast.”
Her smile fades. “You’re a smartass, do you know that? But also, you’re correct.”
“What else does he do quickly?” I joke.
“I don’t know.” She chomps down on her vegetables. “We’ve only made out once, but I’m hoping to find out soon. He’s giving me blue balls.”
“What do you mean you’ve only made out once? He’s a flipping baseball player. Forgive me for sounding confused or for buying into stereotypes, but aren’t most athletes major horn dogs?”
“Dash isn’t like all those guys, Amelia. He’s a gentleman, and honestly, it’s kind of getting annoying.”
I thought the point of her dating these guys was to be seen with them, not to form emotional attachments and actually spend quality time with them.
“It’s just frustrating. I’m trying to change his mind about the whole not sleeping with me yet bullshit. He’s all weird because we’re not committed, doesn’t want to get any girls pregnant or whatever.”
My brows shoot up, straight into my hairline. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means he doesn’t want to risk sleeping with any gold diggers who might trap him. You’d be surprised by all the baby mama drama surrounding athletes.”
I stare, shocked. No, I did not know that happened. “He told you that?”
“Yeah, when he was drunk once at a party.” She stops chewing, shaking a limp carrot stick in my direction. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Have you ever dated a guy because you genuinely liked him, or do you just date them for their status?”
Her hesitation is a brief flicker. “Both?”
At least she’s being honest.
I roll my eyes. They’re a touch darker than hers, the left one with a fleck of amber in the corner. Our eyes are one of the few things that set us apart—a fact that she hates—and I also have a dimple in the corner of my lip.
“Name one guy you really liked.”
She bites down on her bottom lip. It’s pouty and pink. “This isn’t a fair question, and why is it your business if I’ve never really liked anyone I’ve dated?”
“You’re making it my business—hello, you want me to switch places with you and go on a date with some stranger.” Who, quite frankly, I’m beginning to feel bad for. “If you liked him so much, you wouldn’t be—”
“Dating someone else at the same time,” we both say at the same time.
There is a hamburger on a plate in front of me getting cold, so I take a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I didn’t even know you were dating anyone, let alone two someones. In fact, I’ve never been introduced to any of your boyfriends since we’ve been in Iowa.”
“It never gets to the point where we’re serious,” she counters. “And before you say anything, it’s not my fault I get bored easily.”
“Um, yeah, it kind of is.” I’m talking with my mouth full. “Stop using guys and find one you like. Get to know one of them and maybe you won’t get bored. Stop going out with athletes. Try dating someone with substance.”
“Ew. That sounds like such a mind-numbing idea.”
“Try it once, for me.” I bat my lashes. “Pretty please.”
“No. It’s easy to sit here and judge me, isn’t it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve never dated a jock so you have no idea what you’re missing. Oh my gawd, the orgasms—they are so worth the headache.”
True, I have never dated a jock, but the orgasms I’ve had with other guys have been just fine, thank you very much, even if a bit ordinary.
“So will you do it?”
“What? No!” Maybe.
“Ugh, why are you like this?” my twin sister huffs, throwing her napkin on the table in a mini tantrum. “Help me! Please. You’re the sweet one—maybe if you go out with him, he’ll change his mind about me.”
“Is that what this is about? Do you even have two dates on the same night?”
“Yes! I swear I have two dates next Friday night.”
> “Then how about you do the right thing and cancel one of them?”
Lucy glares across the table. “You’re the worst freaking twin.”
I laugh into my burger, taking a huge chunk off.
“We used to have so much fun, didn’t we?” she tries again while my mouth is too occupied to argue.
I quickly chew and swallow. “Yes, it was fun—when we were twelve.”
“Whatever, spoilsport.”
I laugh. “Eat your lunch, I have class in ten minutes.”
“For old time’s sake? Please? Dash is harmless—really smart and levelheaded. You’ll love him.” Her smile curves innocently.
For the first time tonight, I pause, considering it. Set down my food, fiddle with a napkin, not meeting her eyes. “I’m listening.”
“He’s taking me to a battle of the bands, which you know is something I hate, but you love that kind of thing. My other date, Hudson, is taking me clubbing, which you know I love. I’m wearing that new silver dress I bought for New Year’s Eve.”
Hudson—what a dumb name.
“What if you end up having a date with Hudson for New Year’s and he’s already seen you in the silver dress?”
I smirk at the sight of her crestfallen expression.
“Shit. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Yeah, well…” I shrug through her scowl. “That’s what you have me for.”
“Look, I’ll make it easy: I’ll drop off the outfit I’d planned to wear, and you won’t have to worry about any details. Just get dressed and he’ll show up.”
“Where?” I’ll admit to being a teensy weensy bit curious about where this date she doesn’t want to go on is happening.
“The bar district, to listen to some local band.”
“What kind of band?”
“I don’t know Amelia! Some garage band or whatever. I was only half listening.”
“Hmm.” That sounds kind of fun. “What time?”
“Eight on Friday.”
“And you don’t think he’d notice that I’m not you?”
“No way, not a chance. He’s a guy.” Lucy leans in again. “Does this mean you’ll do it?”
“I don’t want to, but…”
She gets up from the table, comes around to my side, and puts me in a struggle cuddle from behind. “Yes! You are the best! I owe you big time.”
“I know you do.”
She pokes a finger in my direction. “You can’t tell Mom or Dad.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Pause. “I guess…have Dash pick me up on campus?”
“Can’t you come to my house and have him pick you up there?”
“You’re seriously going to push your luck? Have him pick me up on campus. I’ll be in front of the field house.”
“Amelia, he’s going to think that’s so weird.”
“Ugh! Fine, fine. I’ll be at your house at quarter to eight.” I poke a finger back at her. “You better hope he’s not early.”
2
Amelia
He’s early.
Fifteen minutes early, to be exact, strolling up the sidewalk to my sister’s house at the same exact time I am. My house is only a few short blocks away, so I hoofed it over, heels clicking on the cement below my feet.
As if this evening wasn’t already extremely awkward for me, I’m approaching Lucy’s at a snail’s pace when I see a guy I assume is Dash already on her doorstep, poised to knock.
I stop short, halting on the pavement to watch him, the dark shrouding me as I hover under a tall maple tree like a total creep, considering my options while teetering on these heels Lucy brought over.
Stealing a few moments to observe, I have a mere second or two before he rings the doorbell or pounds on the door.
He’s tall, with wide-set athlete’s shoulders. I can see the planes of his muscles flexing beneath his t-shirt, highlighted by the dim porch lights on either side of Lucy’s front door. Jet-black hair gleams when he shifts on his heels, raising his fist, knuckles ready to rap against the storm door.
“Dash?” I softly call out, testing the nickname on my lips, not wanting him to knock but not quire sure if this is Dash, or Hudson, or whoever my sister’s date is for tonight.
I walk closer, clutching my purse, moving forward into the light.
“Lucy?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m over here.” I walk closer still, pasting on a smile, a knot forming in my stomach.
“Hey.” He backtracks down the steps of the porch, jogging toward me. “What are you doing out here?”
He’s close enough that I can see him better, nothing but strength and swagger. One look at his face and I begin stumbling over my words.
“Um, I was, uh…I had to…oh! I know!” Jesus, Amelia, you’ve seen a cute guy before. “I forgot I’d left my wallet at a friend’s house? And I ran to get it. Didn’t want to forget my ID, nope I did not!” I push out a laugh so fake I want to gag.
He cocks his head to the side, studying me, all high cheekbones and thick slashes of eyebrows. Beautiful dark skin, brawny…God he’s cute. My sister wasn’t kidding when she said he was good-looking.
What she didn’t mention was that Dash Amado is Latino.
Muy caliente—very freaking hot.
“You need to run inside or anything?”
“Nah, I’m good. We can get going.” So I can get this night over with, come home, get into my pajamas—preferably by ten o’clock at the latest—and forget this whole evening took place.
He clicks a remote hidden in his back pocket, unlocking the doors of his black car. Pulls the passenger side open, waits until I’m buckled in before closing the door with a dull thud. Jogs around the front to the driver’s side.
I do a quick visual scan of the car’s interior. It’s clean, no garbage in the back seat, and smells like masculine aftershave and gym equipment. I peel my eyes off the bat bag in the back seat as Dash folds his big body inside.
“Sorry I’m a little early, but the band starts at eight fifteen and I wanted to get a spot in the front. Ready?”
Ready as I’ll ever be, considering I haven’t done the old switcheroo since I was a teenager.
“Yay! So ready,” I reply in my best impression of Lucy.
He starts the engine, throwing on his blinker to enter traffic, overly cautious given there’s virtually no traffic on this street. It is completely deserted.
“Thanks for going along with this.” He glances over, large hands gripping the wheel. “When you asked me out, this was the best I could do on such short notice.”
“Excuse me?”
Wait, did he just say ‘when you asked me out’?
I clear my throat and, as casually as I can, ask, “I asked you out?”
He glances sidelong across his shoulder, dark eyebrows raised. “You must have been drunker than I thought if you don’t even remember asking me on a date.” He chuckles. It’s one of those low, sexy laughs you see played out in the movies, the ones that send a shiver down your spine while watching the romance unfold.
I want to shake that inconvenient shiver out through my shoulders, give my face a small slap.
“Must have been. You know me—fun, fun, fun! Always drunk on the weekends.” Shut up Amelia! Do you want him to think your sister is a lush?
He shoots me another glance, this one slightly less enthusiastic, slightly more unamused. “Right.”
I shift in my seat, the belt across my chest and lap constrictive, Lucy’s tight denim jeans squishing my gut. I give them a tug at the waistband, looping my finger inside the fabric, pulling in an attempt to loosen the already stretchy material.
My shirt—one of her favorites—is off the shoulder, blue with thin white pinstripes and feminine bell sleeves. My collarbone has been dusted with gold, lips a beckoning dark burgundy (her words, not mine).
On my feet? Four-inch cork wedges.
I look sexy enough, I guess.
I’m terribly uncomfortable.
; “You have to wear this shirt Amelia,” my sister insisted, shoving the hanger into my hands. “Unless we want him noticing how much bigger my boobs have miraculously gotten in the course of four days.” She dug through her closet like a stylist on a mission. “Your boobs are bigger than mine—I don’t want Dash to think I stuff my bra.”
“Lucy, no one stuffs their bra anymore.”
When we’re together, it’s like an eye-rolling competition that has no victor.
“You know what I mean. Just put this on and act happy, okay? Smile and make sure you touch him a lot, or he’ll think I’m acting funny.”
I reach across the center console and tap his forearm flirtatiously.
“I remember asking you out, it just took me a second,” I say in self-defense, trying to repair any damage I might have done to my sister’s reputation by word-vomiting all over Dash’s car. “And I do other things besides drink on the weekends.”
His black brows rise again. “Like what?”
“Like…spending a lot of time with my sister. She goes here, too,” I inform him, laying the ground work for Lucy to eventually break the news that she doesn’t just have a sister—she has a twin.
“No shit?”
“We’re real close.”
“That’s cool.” His eyes are trained on the road, and he sounds bored. “What do the two of you do when you hang out?”
“Um…” We do her homework, talk. “Call our parents—we’re from Illinois—and when the weather is nice, we ride bikes or go down by the lake.”
Team Player: A Sports Romance Anthology Page 56
