My dad looked to each of us, his eyes holding an appreciation that I knew he’d never be able to verbalize. “I can’t ask you guys to do that. That’s why I’m doing this. You get that?”
“What I get is that we’re your family, and you need our help,” Corey said before looking over to me. “Tell him, Colt.”
“Cor’s right. We can get this place fixed up. Couple of days, tops. You don’t have to sell it if you don’t want to.”
Dad stood, grabbed some color swatches off one of the nearby tables, and walked over to the wall. He turned around to where we were both now standing, our faces no doubt holding the same baffled expression. “Gray or tan?” he asked. “Mom was never too fond of blue.”
We spent most of the day helping at the restaurant, choosing colors for the walls, tearing down the rest of the wallpaper, ripping up the carpet that hadn’t been replaced…well, ever. We’d get someone else to install a new one—we weren’t delusional enough to think we could tackle that ourselves—but we figured removing the old carpet might bring the cost of the job down some. By the time we finally left, we’d actually made some decent progress.
And not just in regard to the repairs. It took a while, but Corey and I tried our best to understand where our dad was coming from. He’d been running a restaurant on his own for years when it hadn’t been meant to be his alone. Not only was it physically taxing, but the emotional strain it must’ve put on him wasn’t one I’d ever considered before he’d explained it to us.
It was like a fucked-up version of Groundhog Day. No matter how much my dad hoped and prayed that things would be different—easier—when he opened the restaurant each day, it was the same shit all over again. He was struggling to add variety to a menu that had been the same for over a decade, and when the head chef left for a more upscale restaurant a year ago and Dad hadn’t been able to replace him, business had slowly declined.
The realization made me feel guiltier than I cared to admit, because when it came down to it, I should’ve known he needed help, and I should’ve offered to provide it.
“You wanna move up to the ladies’ tee so you have a chance to hit the green this time?”
Corey’s question pulled me back to the moment—the one where it was my turn on a par three.
“There’s a group behind us,” Corey said, nodding toward the last hole. “You gonna play, or you gonna stare at the clouds all day?”
“I’m not staring at the clouds. I’m strategizing my next shot.”
My dad laughed before turning to Corey. “Water or rough?” he teased as he gazed up at the sky. “What do you think, Cor?”
Corey chuckled, and even I couldn’t help but crack a smile. Corey and my dad always busted my balls when we got together, especially when it involved golf.
“It’s a tough decision,” Corey said. “He could always put it in the sand too.”
“I’m not gonna get it in the sand,” I said, as if the possibility was a ridiculous one.
My dad walked over to the cart and put his driver back in his bag. “I don’t think you will either,” he called. “Bunkers are too close to the hole, and you like to stay away from there.”
“I hate both of you,” I said dryly. “I’m like the Tiger Woods of Massachusetts.”
“Yeah, Tiger Woods without the skill or women,” Corey replied with an amused smile. “Well, to be fair, you do have a woman. Kind of, anyway.”
As I leaned down to put the ball on the tee, I saw my dad’s eyebrows raise. “Kind of?”
Sighing, I backed away from the tee to look at him. “Corey’s kidding. It’s nothing.” That’s when it occurred to me that I’d promised Zara I wouldn’t say anything to anyone but then told Corey. Maybe I was still the dick she remembered I was in high school.
“Oh, all right,” my dad said with curiosity in his inflection that I wasn’t going to indulge. “If you say so.”
Then I set up and hit the ball right into the trees on the left, causing my brother and Dad to laugh hysterically.
My dad got into the driver’s seat of the golf cart. “Maybe you should consider driving the ball with an actual driver.”
“I like my three wood. I have more control with it.”
“Sure, sure,” my dad teased. “I got it. Control put that ball over in the leaves.”
“Listen, old man, we have four holes left. It ain’t over ’til it’s over.”
“I’m ten over par. You’re thirty-eight, Tiger.”
A few minutes later, we finished the hole, and my dad didn’t miss the opportunity to tell me that I was now forty over.
“Keep bullying me, and I won’t buy you the hot dog and beer I promised.”
“Who the hell eats just one hot dog? You’re buying me two,” he said.
“You’re tough.”
“And you’re cheap,” Corey chimed in from the back seat.
I turned around to smack his leg, but he pulled away like he knew the assault was coming. “I don’t see you offering to pay for anything.”
“I paid for the round of golf.”
Shit. “I forgot about that. Guess I’ll buy you a hot dog and a beer too, then.”
“You’re too generous,” he said, his voice flat with irony.
When we finished the round, I accepted my defeat and we headed into the clubhouse to grab a bite to eat. I handed my dad his two dogs first and then set Corey’s down on the table in front of him. I dumped condiments in the center of the table and went back for the beers. “Thanks for your help,” I said when I returned.
Corey shrugged. “It’s my reward for putting up with you.”
“What do I get?” Dad asked. “I’ve had to deal with both of you for twenty-eight years.”
“He’s got a point,” I said before washing down the dog with some beer.
“That he does,” Corey agreed. “A morning of golf with your two favorite people good enough?”
Putting down his food, our dad smiled. “It’s better than good enough. The best.”
Chapter Seven
Zara
Waking up this early on a Sunday wasn’t something I was used to, but after a Thanksgiving weekend, a long class at the gym was a necessity. And there was no better burn than a spin class. I tried to go to Transform at least once or twice a week to sweat out some of the calories I regularly consumed. Being in the culinary industry didn’t make it easy to always eat well. And recently I’d been working on some new recipes.
After swiping my membership card at the desk, I grabbed two small towels from the nearby shelf and headed to the spin studio. I could usually claim a bike toward the back because classes in the afternoon or mornings on weekdays tended to be less crowded. But the Sunday after Thanksgiving proved differently, and I was disappointed I hadn’t thought of it beforehand.
I glanced around the dim studio to see the only two free bikes were in the front row. I walked over to the one closest to the door and put my towel over the handlebars, but the person next to me spoke. “Actually, that one’s my wife’s.” He pointed to the door. “She just went to refill her water.”
I apologized and then headed to the other bike farther down, only to be told that that one had a broken pedal that hadn’t been fixed yet.
“Take mine,” I heard a familiar voice say, though I couldn’t place it right away.
I looked toward it and saw CJ getting off a bike toward the back and already wiping it down.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He smiled. “Good morning to you too.”
I probably blushed, and I was thankful the dim lights meant he probably hadn’t noticed. “Sorry,” I said. “Good morning.” I headed over to where his bike was, but I had no intention to take it. “Seriously though. Why are you here? At this gym, I mean. You don’t live near here.”
“I’m not going home until later today, so I figured I’d just come to this gym instead. I’m more of a morning workout person, I guess.”
“I’m not a morni
ng person at all,” I replied.
“Well, you’re here now.” He gestured to the bike. “All yours. Enjoy your workout.” He smiled before heading for the exit.
It wasn’t long before I was behind him, telling him I wasn’t going to take his spot in the class. “You were here first. I’m not going to steal your workout.”
“You’re not stealing it if I give it to you,” he said. “I’ve already been biking for twenty minutes, and the class would’ve been a warm-up anyway. I have other stuff I can be doing.”
My eyes widened in what I’m sure looked like awe. Because it was. “A spin class is your warm-up?”
He shrugged and then ran a towel over his hair, which was slightly damp in the back. “Yeah,” he said, like it was no big deal.
I could barely move after one of those classes, and this fool basically used it as an intro to…something that was no doubt much harder than riding a bike for forty-five minutes.
“You wanna work out together?” he asked.
Not particularly. Because my idea of a workout was definitely not equivalent to his. At least according to his biceps, which were clearly visible in his fitted T-shirt. The observation caused me to make other—lower—observations. Particularly below the waist. He was sporting a pair of those shorter exercise shorts that guys could only pull off if their quads were built enough. CJ was certainly one of them.
“Don’t get too excited.” His joke reminded me he was waiting for an answer.
“Oh. Um, yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Sure I’m sure.” I didn’t know when it was that I got better at sex than conversation, but I was definitely more self-conscious now than when I’d been naked with this man. I gave him a smile I was hoping would reassure me as much as it did him. “You sure you can keep up with me? I’m surprisingly strong. Like a petite superhero.”
He laughed. “I’ll take my chances.”
It wasn’t clear who decided to begin with a three-mile run, though I’d like to think I wasn’t to blame for that mistake. I tried not to look at his treadmill when I finally reached the three-mile mark on mine, huffing and puffing as I came to a stop.
“Okay, so maybe you’re the superhero,” I said, finally allowing me to eye his monitor, which showed just under four and a half miles.
“No way I’d ever wear one of those tight costumes.”
I looked at him like he was a dessert I couldn’t wait to get my mouth on. “Well, that’s unfortunate for the rest of the population.”
Letting out a loud laugh, he said, “I like to save all this for special occasions.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Like weddings and baptisms and stuff?”
“Or class reunions. You’d be surprised how many women wanna dance with you when you’re wearing a cape.”
“You’re a lunatic.”
“You’re cute.”
I was sure I blushed, but I hoped he couldn’t tell since I was probably still beet red from my run. He led me over to some free weights, which looked intimidating.
“I can’t lift that,” I said.
He set the pair of thirty-five-pound dumbbells near the mat I’d grabbed and then walked over to pick up two fifteens. “Catch,” he said, pretending to toss one in my direction.
Knowing he wasn’t actually going to let it leave his hand didn’t stop me from flinching. “You’re a gym liability.” I gave him a playful shove. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin, and he smelled like salt and that masculine body wash.
And then, as if one CJ wasn’t enough, another one appeared in the distance.
COLTON
Snap! My leg stung like fire from the whip of a towel. “What’s up, asshole?” Corey said behind me.
I turned toward him and glared. I will fucking kill you if you fuck with me right now. I suddenly wished I was a superhero—like Cyclops, who could shoot lasers out of his eyes and eliminate someone from the earth with a single look.
“Hey,” I finally managed to grit out. “I thought you were lifting in the other part of the gym.” You better get the hell back there, I warned with my eyes.
“Felt like some cardio.” He began jogging in place and then throwing jabs in the air as he dodged an invisible opponent. What a tool. “Zara, right? My brother’s told me a lot about you,” he said without even bothering to stop his pretend boxing match.
She nodded and looked at him like she wished she had laser eyes too. That or a can of mace. I almost laughed, but then I realized the mace would’ve actually been meant for me. I needed to get him the hell out of here. And what the hell would I have told him about her other than that I slept with her? Which was exactly what I swore to her I wouldn’t tell anyone.
This fucker had a death wish, and I’d be happy to help him achieve his dream. “Okay, well, we don’t wanna hold you up. I’m sure you have a workout to get to.”
“I can do some here,” he said, dropping to the ground. “Check this out.” He did a few normal pushups and then threw in a few claps before transitioning to some weird yoga holds.
There was no doubt about it. I would murder him in the parking lot and put his body in the dumpster.
After a few more seconds of his ridiculous show, I nudged—or more like kicked—him in the ribs. “Get moving. We’re planning to exercise here.”
He hopped up and gave me a squeeze on the shoulders before whispering uncomfortably in my ear, “I’ll see you at home later.”
Once he was on the other side of the gym and safely out of sight, I let my muscles relax a little. I hadn’t even noticed how tense I’d gotten with him around. I didn’t plan to keep my real identity from Zara, but the gym didn’t exactly seem like a great place to come clean. And I especially didn’t want it to seem like my brother and I had colluded to deceive her intentionally.
“What’s wrong with him?” Zara asked, seeming almost amused by his antics.
“Must be off his meds again,” I answered humorlessly. Then I picked up the heavier set of weights, and she picked up hers to follow along. I showed her a few movements—some one-leg bicep curls and tricep extensions with bands. But even though my body was engaged, my mind wasn’t.
I wondered if she could tell the difference between Corey and me when we were next to each other. She’d said she could always tell us apart, and I’d believed her. Maybe once she had both of us in front of her, she’d realize her mistake. And maybe she’d never speak to me again.
But she hadn’t seemed any different since Corey’s departure. She was either an Oscar-worthy actress or wasn’t suspicious of anything. I hoped it was the latter.
Once we finished our workout—which consisted mostly of me keeping an eye out for the natural disaster known as Hurricane Corey—I said goodbye to Zara and headed for the locker room. At least there was no chance of Zara running into both of us in there. Though there was a chance that she’d run into Corey without me. I wasn’t sure which was worse. Once inside, I pulled out my phone and texted Corey to get his ass in here.
The last time another guy asked me to meet him in a locker room was when Christian Jeffrey asked if he could see my groin pull.
STFU and get in here!!!
Sigh…be there in two.
I felt every second of the hundred and twenty as I waited for him, and when he finally arrived, turning the corner without expecting me to be right there, I punched him in the stomach. I wasn’t really sure why he wasn’t anticipating it, but it actually made him double over, though he recovered quickly.
“What was that for?”
“For almost messing that whole thing up for me.”
“What thing?”
“The thing with Zara.” God, he was dense sometimes.
“Sorry,” he said. The fact that he sounded genuinely apologetic made me want to hit him again, but I managed to restrain myself. “I didn’t realize you had a ‘thing’ with her,” he added, using air quotes.
“Well, it’s not really a ‘thing.’ It’s nothing really
. Just having some fun. I’m gonna tell her I’m not you, but she stopped me the other day when I was about to, and today wasn’t exactly the right time. You know…since you were standing right next to me.”
“What do you mean? That would’ve been perfect. Then Zara would’ve realized you’re the one she can’t stand, and I would’ve been there to console her when she felt betrayed.”
“You’re like the worst brother ever,” I said dryly, but I was sure Corey knew I was kidding.
“Well, in all fairness, I’m the only one you got, so you don’t really have much to compare me to.”
“I’m pretty sure I would’ve liked Cain better.”
He laughed, and it made me laugh too. “What the fuck were you doing with all those pushups and shit out there, by the way? You looked like an arrogant tool.”
Corey pulled his head back like the question surprised him. “Wasn’t it obvious? I was impersonating you.”
“You asshole.” I laughed again. “I don’t do that shit.”
“Not now you don’t. But you did in high school, and that’s the Colton she remembers. Come to think of it, you should actually be thanking me. There’s no way she’ll think I’m Corey when I just acted like a complete jackass.”
I would never give Corey the satisfaction of knowing that I thought his point was actually valid. “I doubt it took much acting,” I said. I grabbed my wallet and keys out of my locker and tossed the keys at him. “Let’s go. You’re driving.”
Chapter Eight
Colton
“Weren’t you supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago?” Wes, one of my bike builders, asked.
I sighed and stared at the bike I was working on for a second before standing and beginning to put my tools away. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.”
Misadventures with a Twin Page 5
