Switch Hitter

by Sara Ney

  “You’re right—I didn’t like you that much.” But I like your sister.

  She gasps, shocked by my bluntness. “Hey!”

  “Don’t act surprised—you’re not my type either.” I’m walking to my car now and climbing in, staring out the driver’s side window while we talk. “That’s not why I called, so relax.”

  “I’m not trying to be rude, but why are you calling? I did just break up with you and don’t want you calling to harass me.”

  “Technically, you didn’t break up with me.”

  “By proxy I did.”

  Is she always this fucking exhausting? Jesus. “Look, just tell me one thing: has your sister said anything about me?”

  She’s quiet a few seconds. “Like what?”

  “Like…” I stare around the empty parking lot. “I don’t know. After we went out, did she say anything about it?”

  “Can you be more specific?” Lucy laughs, and I want to reach through the phone and strangle her. “I’m kidding, but also, no. She hasn’t said anything specific—why would she? It would be breaking girl code for her to admit she had feelings for you.”

  The line goes quiet a second time, and then she sighs. “But if you’re asking me if I got any twin vibes that she likes you, then yes. Between you and me, I think she does.”

  Hell yeah! I fist-pump the night air. “How do you know?”

  “I know my sister, and she’s been weird the past week—really defensive, short with me, and, well, I sense these things.”

  “Is that a genetic twin thing?”

  “Yeah, except she doesn’t have the gift. She doesn’t feel things like I do.”

  Impatient, I keep this conversation moving along. “I’m going to assume you don’t give a shit if I date her.”

  “If you can convince her to date you after I just did, you have my blessing.” She laughs good-naturedly, and I remember the reason I agreed to go out with her in the first place. “I honestly do not give a shit.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “All I’m saying is, my sister has a way stronger moral compass than I do. She’s going to feel guilty—really guilty admitting she has feelings for you. She won’t want to, you know, make me mad or whatever.”

  Oddly, that news makes me feel better; I don’t want to date anyone who would backstab her own sister.

  Lucy interrupts my musing. “Can I ask you something though?”

  “Shoot.”

  “How did you know it wasn’t me?”

  “¿Estás hablando en serio?” Are you being serious?

  “Can you not do that? I have no idea what you just said.”

  “Which would have eventually given you away.” I smirk. “The first thing I noticed, though? You don’t have a dimple near your lip like she does.”

  “That’s true. I don’t.” She’s smiling now; I can hear it. “No one can tell us apart, you know.”

  “Seriously?” I can’t keep the scoffing inflection out of my voice. “I find that hard to believe. I can list at least five things she does that you don’t.”

  There’s another long pause before she takes in a breath. “Wow. I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe what?”

  “Well…” She pauses for dramatic affect. “There’s an urban legend among twins that if you find the person who can tell you apart, that’s like meeting your soul mate.”

  “Uhhh, let’s not go that far.”

  “I’m serious!” Her excitement is palpable. “You might be her unicorn.”

  Getting called a unicorn is where I draw the line. “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Wait!” Now she sounds positively giddy. “Wait, don’t hang up yet! I just want you to know that I won’t make this awkward. You and I barely fooled around, and truly, it was like kissing my brother.”

  Awesome. Just what I wanted to hear. “Gee, thanks.”

  “For real. We had zero chemistry,” she rambles on. “Like, none.”

  “The chemistry between you and me is nothing compared to what I have with your sister.”

  “Ahhh.”

  “One more thing before I let you off the hook for pulling a twin switch on me—I’m going to need you to do me a solid.”

  “A solid? What’s that?”

  “You know, a favor?”

  Pause. “Yeah, okay. Let’s hear it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Amelia

  Lucy: So how did it go tonight? Did you finish the job?

  Me: Do you have to make it sound like I’m a mob hitman with a contract out on someone?

  Lucy: Yes, because it sounds more exciting that way, don’t you think? You know how I fancy the idea of being a mob princess.

  Me: Tonight went well.

  Lucy: WRONG ANSWER! That was a test, and you failed it. Do you know why?

  Me: Um, no?

  Lucy: Because Dash Amado just texted to see if I still want to play darts this weekend. DARTS, Amelia.

  Lucy: Amelia, WHY WHY WHY is Dash texting me about another date? Let alone playing DARTS. You were supposed to DUMP HIM for me.

  Me: I DID!!!! I did break up with him. I have no idea why he texted you, I swear.

  Lucy: You must not have done that good of a job.

  Me: Trust me, I did. When I drove off last night, the two of you were 100% broken up.

  Me: I think?

  Lucy: Don’t do that.

  Me: Do what?

  Lucy: Don’t punctuate it like it’s a question. You were there—this shouldn’t be a question.

  Me: Yes, I’m sure I did. I broke up with him.

  Lucy: Then why do I feel you hesitating?

  Me: You really need to stop doing that. You are not telepathic.

  Lucy: How do you know I haven’t been blessed with the gift? Maybe I’m the twin gifted with that superpower, and it’s finally getting powerful now that I’ve come of age.

  Me: That is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard you say.

  Lucy: But it’s true.

  Me: Fine. What’s MY twin superpower?

  Lucy: I don’t know. You’re good with small animals, being fake Lucy, and fake breaking up with boys?

  Me: Haha, very funny.

  Lucy: So just tell me this: if you for sure dumped his ass, why is he messaging me??

  Me: Can you not say “dumped his ass”?

  Lucy: Does it bother you when I say dump?

  Me: Kind of.

  Lucy: Why? Don’t tell me you feel bad.

  Lucy: How did the dumping go down?

  Me: We were in the parking lot, talking, and I said dating him wasn’t working out, and then I got in my car and he got in his car.

  Lucy: Did you actually see him get in his car?

  Me: No? Wait, why does that matter? The job was over so I drove away.

  Lucy: You had ONE job Amelia, one. He wants to go out again, so…you tell me what we should do. I don’t like him.

  Me: STOP YELLING AT ME, and stop saying WE. He isn’t my boyfriend.

  Lucy: He wasn’t mine either! And why are you freaking out?

  Lucy: Amelia, tell me the truth—do you like him?

  My fingers hover over the keys, thumbs frozen.

  Me: I think he’s nice.

  Lucy: Nice, LOL. I bet he’d love hearing that. Nice is so boring. HE is boring.

  Me: I don’t think he’s boring.

  Lucy: That’s because YOU’RE boring.

  Me: Give me one more night to break up with him. I’ll do a better job, I promise—although I’M POSITIVE I already did. He even said the words “breaking up”. 100%

  Lucy: Darts. Saturday night. 8:00

  Me: Fine. I’ll be there.

  Lucy: Okay, but can I just say something? Darts are SO WEIRD.

  Chapter Nine

  Amelia

  Why did I agree to this?

  I’ve broken up with this guy once already, in what were the worst five minutes of my life.

  So why did I agree to meet
him? Because I, Amelia Constance Ryan, am a glutton for punishment and cannot get Dante Amado out of my damn mind. Is it crazy that he’s all I can think about?

  I’m dying to see him.

  He’s got me longing for things I didn’t know I wanted, and now I completely understand why my sister dates around.

  It’s been fun. And sexy. And a whirlwind.

  Dante is great, and I like who I am when I’m with him.

  It’s true, we didn’t spend that much time laughing, but to say there was no chemistry is a lie.

  I was instantly attracted to someone my sister is dating and I hate it. I’ve never been jealous of her, but I’m jealous now, and I’m an idiot because I walked here, knowing he would be forced to drive me home at the end of this farce.

  Does that make me a terrible human being?

  Or just human?

  He’s easy to find when I walk in, hovering near the door, waiting—for me. Dante straightens to his full height when he sees me. I’m bundled up in my coat because it’s insanely cold out, and he smiles at the sight of it.

  He smiles at the sight of me.

  I blush despite myself, beginning the process of unbuttoning the navy blue wool jacket, the toggles pulling free one by one.

  It slides off like a robe, falls out of my hands and onto the floor.

  Dash and I both bend to grab it at the same time but he beats me to it. We rise slowly, eyes connecting. Faces inches apart.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi yourself.”

  “Thanks for meeting me here.”

  “Uh, sure.” I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, nervous about what to expect. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again after I broke up with you.”

  “Did you though?” His smile is pleasant, placating in an almost patronizing way.

  “Are you trying to make me lose my mind? Because I remember our conversation very clearly, and we broke up, so I guess I’m confused about why you want to see me again.”

  Holy shit—what if he’s some roid-rager, or a psycho who’s going to start stalking my sister?

  “I’m not trying to make you think you’re losing your mind. I’m just questioning whether or not it was you that broke up with me.”

  I sigh. Some guys have such fragile egos. “I’m okay with you telling people you’re the one who broke up with me. That’s fine, however you wanna do it.”

  “You’re totally missing my point.” He winks, lips twisting into a grin—a smirk, really—eyes shining with mirth.

  Something about the way he’s observing me makes my stomach take a nosedive, and I actually lay my hand over my abdomen, pressing down to quell my nerves—to no avail.

  Dante begins the short walk between us. Now he’s standing directly in front of me, hands reaching to grasp my wrists, gently stroking with his thumbs. I glance down between our bodies, at our joined hands, then back up again.

  “Dante, we broke up.” I can barely choke out the words.

  His dark gaze coolly assesses me. “Did we?”

  He is going to make me insane.

  Under the circumstances, I absolutely shouldn’t be here tonight, shouldn’t be seeing him again, the many reasons so numerous I can’t resist tallying them up in my mind:

  He was my sister’s boyfriend

  The boyfriend I broke up with for her

  While pretending to be her

  And ended up liking him

  A lot

  With a stupid amount of lust thrown in for good measure

  He makes me crazy

  I can’t stop thinking about him

  God, look at him staring at me

  He was my sister’s boyfriend

  “I reserved us the dartboard in back but we’re going to make this quick.”

  For real, he still wants to go through the motions of playing darts? Is this guy unhinged? I’m his ex-girlfriend!

  “Uh, okay.”

  “You throw one and I’ll throw one, then we can leave.”

  My eyes narrow doubtfully. “You brought me here to shoot one dart? Is this some kind of ploy to get back together? Because it’s not going to work.”

  Dante busies himself by opening the container of darts, laying two on the table. “I have no intention of getting back together with Lucy.”

  I cross my arms, slightly irritated he’s going through so much effort to win my sister back. “Do you do this with all your ex-girlfriends?”

  “I don’t have any.” He laughs, picking up a dart from the table and handing it to me then grabbing one for himself. “And we both know you’re not my ex-girlfriend.”

  “Uh, okay…”

  He gestures for me to step up to throw. “Ladies first.”

  I’m so confused that I actually move forward without arguing, glancing back to study him before facing the board, the long heavy metal dart weighted in my fingers.

  What the heck is going on?

  Closing one eye to concentrate, I instinctively bite down on my tongue. The dart releases from trembling fingers, heading straight for the red outer double ring. Sticks in and hangs there proudly.

  My hand is still shaking when I lower my hand, stepping off the duct tape on the floor so Dash can take his turn.

  “Looks like someone isn’t as calm and collected as they thought they were.” His mouth isn’t smiling but his eyes certainly are, palms rolling a black dart between them, eyeing the board shrewdly. He points the dart at me.

  “If I get a bull’s-eye with this, you spend the rest of the night with me, and I get to kiss you.”

  “Are you insane?”

  He ignores my question, asking one of his own. “Do we have a deal?”

  The odds of him actually hitting the target dead center, on the first try, without warming up, are slim, so I nod my head in acquiescence. Plus, if he makes the shot, I’ll finally know what it’s like to have those lips on mine, even if it’s just once. I deserve it.

  “Yes, we have a deal.”

  “Shake on it?”

  I stare down at the large hand he extends, that calloused palm and the rough pads of his fingers. Glide my hand across his flesh, shivering when our skin connects.

  It’s positively electric.

  We both shiver.

  I give him a limp shake, eager to free myself from his grasp, tucking my hand away for safekeeping, the tingling sensation lingering far too long to be comfortable.

  Far too long to be forgettable.

  Dante steps in front of the dartboard, plucks my small silver arrow off, sets it aside, stands on the marker taped to the floor. Focuses on the target against the wall, homing in on that red, round center, leaning with one leg kicked behind him dramatically. His strong arm draws out the action of tossing the tiny missile.

  My expressive eyes get wider when the dart lands the bull’s-eye, heart damn near having palpitations when his heels pivot and he shrugs his shoulders as if to say, Golly gee, look what I did!

  “Did you just hustle me?”

  His shrug is easy. “Beginner’s luck?”

  “Liar.”

  Dante laughs. “You should talk.”

  We’re staring at one another as if in a showdown, unwilling to bend.

  This is getting awkward. “Maybe we should leave?”

  “Thought you’d never ask. Can you hold on one second?” Removing his cell from the back pocket of his jeans, he taps open the camera. Positions it so I’m in the background of his selfie. Clicks.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking a picture so we can always remember this moment.”

  It’s official: Dante is crazy.

  He plucks his dart from the board, setting it in the box on the table. Grabs my jacket off the nearby chair then clasps my hand, tugging me through the crowded bar, past the throng, until we’re shoving through the front door.

  We stand under the fluorescent light on the side of the brick building. It cast an unflattering, eerie glow.

  I glance around, creeped
out by the stark surroundings, wanting to leave, to go anywhere but here.

  “Where should we go?”

  Dante stuffs his hands into his pockets, shoulders slouching. “I hate asking you this, but would you mind coming back to my place? There won’t be any distractions and we need to be alone.”

  “You want me to come to your place…to talk.”

  “Unless you’re more comfortable at your place? I just think wherever we go, it needs to be just us.” Dante shifts on his heels, shooting me a pointed look. “Don’t you have shit you want to confess?”

  Confess? Why is he putting it like that?

  He thinks I’m my twin, my goofy, carefree sister, who by all accounts doesn’t have a care in the world, who dates two, three guys at once, letting me do her dirty work for her.

  Falling for her latest conquest is not my idea of a good time.

  I’m a fool for standing here, a damn fool for coming.

  “Let me get this straight: you want me to come back to your place even though I broke up with you? What are you, a glutton for punishment?” I let the sarcasm slip.

  “I know I’m an idiot. I’ve done some really stupid shit in my life and chasing you just might top the list, but I like you, so yeah, I guess you could say I’m a glutton for punishment.”

  My nostrils flare, jealously flaring up. “You don’t even know me.”

  “You’re right, I don’t.” His head tilts to the side. “Whose fault is that?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve been lying to me—but guess what? I like you anyway.”

  My mouth gapes open, and I struggle for words. “I…”

  We’re under the glowing neon sign of Mad Dog Jacks, still standing under the bright, fluorescent light, arguing, it would seem.

  “What would m-make you think I’ve been lying?”

  “Let’s not do this here.” His shoulders rise and fall casually.

  “Just say what you came here to say,” I press. Then add, “Please,” for good measure, practically begging.

  His chin goes up. “What’s your name?”

  “M-My what?”

  “¿Cuál es tu nombre?” What’s your name?

  My heart—oh my God, my heart is beating, thumping so wildly inside my chest I actually raise my arm, resting my hand upon it like I’m about to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. I press down, breathing heavily in and out…in and out, grasping to get control of my voice before I speak.