She didn’t even want me telling little fibs about cooking. She’d probably chop my balls off and serve them as some sort of foreign delicacy if she knew I wasn’t Corey. Even the thought made me wince and had me protecting the precious area with my hand as I put away the last of the dishes.
I was drying the counter when the doorbell rang, and I headed over to answer it. “Can I help you?” I asked the woman standing on the other side. She looked professional in a pantsuit and heels, and she was holding two cups of iced coffee.
“Sorry,” she said, looking confused. She leaned back to study the numbers to the right of the door. “I thought I might be at the wrong house for a second. Is Zara here?”
“She is. She’s in the shower right now. Can I help you with something until she comes down?”
She shifted the coffees to one hand and removed her sunglasses with the other. My instinct was to reach out and grab the drinks because I was pretty sure she was going to drop at least one of them, but I didn’t want to make any quick movements that might startle her. She seemed a little on edge as it was.
“You can start by telling me what you’re doing at my daughter’s house on a Sunday morning wearing sweat pants and… Isn’t that called a wifebeater?” She was looking at me like she should be asking me to change her tire.
I was suddenly very aware that my messy hair and lack of real clothing revealed that I’d probably spent the night with this woman’s daughter. It made me feel vulnerable in a way I wasn’t used to—like I’d been caught stealing candy from a corner store and was trying to pretend I’d just forgotten to pay for it. “I’ll grab another shirt” was all I could come up with. “Please, come in.”
As we walked through the living room, I grabbed my shirt from last night off the couch and pulled it over my head, remembering how Zara had ripped it off me just as quickly last night—a fact that made the current situation that much more awkward. Reaching a hand out to Zara’s mother, I tried to sound composed as I introduced myself. Or introduced CJ, at least. I was surprised I didn’t say Colton.
“I’m not sure we’ve ever met before now, but I’ve known Zara for a while. My parents owned the restaurant Maggie’s over on Madison.” If people didn’t know who I was, they were usually at least familiar with my parents’ restaurant.
“I haven’t been there in a long time.”
I’d been hoping the familiarity would make Zara’s mom feel a little better about the strange man in her daughter’s house, but from the look on her face, it didn’t. Speaking of her daughter, where the hell was she? This was getting more awkward by the second. Clearly, Mrs. Pierce had no idea that Zara might be buying Maggie’s, so I couldn’t even pretend that my presence here had something to do with that.
I nodded slowly and then pointed toward the kitchen. “I was just cleaning up from breakfast. Can I make you something? We don’t have any pancakes left, but I can make more or cook some eggs or something.” You dumb fuck. Now she knows for sure you slept with her daughter.
Her expression seemed to soften a bit with the offer. “A man who cooks and cleans. Where did Zara find you?”
I smiled. “High school, actually.”
“Really? I’m surprised I don’t remember you.” She laughed, though I could tell she’d been trying not to.
“It’s okay. I have one of those super-forgettable faces,” I said, making her laugh again.
“You know what? I’ll take a cup of coffee while I wait. I brought these for Zara and me, but you can have mine. I didn’t drink any of it yet.”
“That’s nice of you, Mrs. Pierce—”
“Jane. Please.”
“Jane. That’s nice of you, but I’m really fine.” I held up my mug.
“Suit yourself,” she said. “But it’s a caramel mocha latte. The black stuff you’re drinking doesn’t really compare.”
I looked inside the mug. “You’re right. It’s missing about six hundred calories and forty grams of sugar.”
“Told you,” she said with a smile before bringing the straw to her lips.
We drank our coffee and talked for a few more minutes, mainly about the house she was showing to a couple about a mile or so from here. It made me wonder why Zara hadn’t chosen her mother to be her real estate agent for the restaurant transaction, but I wasn’t going to ask Jane. She didn’t seem to know anything about it, and I was not going to be the one to tell her. And I didn’t plan to ask Zara either because it was none of my damn business. Clearly there was a reason Zara had chosen to keep her mom out of the loop.
A few minutes later, Zara came downstairs, wearing leggings and a fitted white T-shirt. She hadn’t bothered to put on a bra, and as she walked toward the kitchen, I had to force my eyes to meet hers so Jane wouldn’t think I was perving on her daughter right in front of her.
“You want to just hang out here today?” she asked as she approached me. “We can spend the day in bed, and—”
“Your mom’s here.”
As she entered the kitchen, Zara’s head whipped to the island, where Jane sat sipping on her coffee. Zara’s gaze darted between us. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, that wasn’t the greeting I was hoping for.”
Zara shook her head and looked at Jane apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Is everything okay? You never come by without calling first.”
“I thought I’d surprise you. I brought you your favorite iced coffee,” she said, waving the cup back and forth.
Zara smiled and her shoulders seemed to relax a bit. “Caramel mocha?”
“Half almond milk, half cream,” Jane said.
“Thanks.” Zara took the coffee from her mom and sat next to her at the counter. “But seriously, why are you here? You’re freaking me out a little.”
Her mom laughed. “I didn’t mean to. I have a couple who’s looking at a house nearby, and I did a drive-by earlier. I have a little time to kill before I have to meet my clients.”
“You have to stop calling them drive-bys. It sounds like you’re shooting up the neighborhood from the window of your Prius.”
“That’s ridiculous, Zara.”
“I know. That’s why you have to stop saying it.”
I remained quiet as they talked, but when Jane’s gaze went to me, I knew I was about to get involved in the conversation.
“So are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?”
Zara’s mouth opened, presumably to correct her mom, but then she said, “I figured you’d already met.”
“Well, we did. But a formal introduction would be nice. I had no idea you were seeing anyone.”
Zara and I had a conversation with our eyes—one where we acknowledged that the only way we were “seeing” each other was naked but there was no point in explaining the nuances of our situation to her mother. And my guess was that Zara didn’t want to let her mom think she was just sleeping with men she didn’t have any intention of having a relationship with. I couldn’t say I blamed her.
“Mom, this is Corey. Corey, this is my mother, Jane Pierce.”
“Pleasure to meet you again. And you can call me CJ, actually.”
Zara looked at me strangely, like she found my choice of a nickname odd in this situation. As far as she knew, it was only people in our high school who referred to my brother and me as CJ.
“Figured I shouldn’t confuse people. You call me CJ, so your mom can too.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” Jane said with a smile. Then she took notice of something on the counter and picked up an envelope. “Zara, you haven’t RSVP’d for this yet?”
“I kept forgetting to send it. I’m going, though. I called Grandma and told her. You know I wouldn’t miss that.”
“What is it?” I asked, though I knew it was also something that was none of my business.
“My parents’ fiftieth anniversary party,” Jane said.
“Fifty. Wow, that’s”—really long—“impressive,” I said, thankfully finding a word
that didn’t make me sound like an asshole. “What’s their secret?”
“You can ask them yourself. I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”
“Mom, I haven’t asked CJ if he’d go yet.”
“Well, ask him now,” she said. “He’s right here. Grandma and Grandpa aren’t getting any younger. I’m sure there’s room for one more. They’d love to see you with a boyfriend, don’t you think?”
“I’m sure they would, Mom, but CJ’s been swamped at work.” Zara looked to me. “You have a lot happening at the shop now, right? And it’s such short notice. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
I honestly had no idea what she wanted me to say. Why are women so damn complicated? If I agreed that I was too busy, I looked like one of those pricks who chose work over their girlfriend or wife—not that she was either of those—and if I agreed to go…well, then I’d have to accompany Zara to a family function and pretend to be her boyfriend, Corey.
Fuck my life.
“I’d love to go.”
Chapter Eleven
Colton
Even a week after my impulsive decision to become Zara’s fake boyfriend, I’d still failed to come to terms with the clusterfuck my life had become. Zara and I had continued to bang each other’s brains out, because no matter how hard I tried to resist her, my dick was always harder. My intention to slowly pull away from her was easily forgotten with a meet-the-family event on the horizon. I’d promised I’d see this through for her, and I wouldn’t fail her. I knew it wouldn’t atone for being less than truthful, but it was all I had to offer.
I looked around my room to see if I’d missed anything before zipping up my duffel and turning toward my doorway, where Corey was leaning. “What?” I asked as I pushed past him and walked toward the foyer.
“I’m just curious how you do it,” Corey said, his voice full of mock wonder.
“Do what?” I didn’t really want to know.
“Get yourself into such fucked-up situations.”
I dropped my bag by the door and started toward the kitchen to grab a couple bottles of water. “Well, since I’m pretending to be you, I’d really expect no less.”
“No way, man. This is some epic fucking up. I’ve never come close to meeting my fuck buddy’s entire family while pretending to be someone else.”
Rolling my eyes, I opened the fridge and withdrew a few bottles. “I’m not pretending to be someone else. I’m being me but with a different name.”
Corey wagged his finger at me. “I’m liking how delusional you’re becoming. Believing your own bullshit is a new high. Or low. Whatever.”
I grabbed a small cooler and slammed it onto the counter before whirling around on him. “Why are you giving me shit about this? You’re the one who told me to keep lying. And you know how much I hate doing it, so why do you keep harping on me about it? I feel like enough of an asshole without you piling on.” After tossing the waters into the cooler, I stormed back toward the foyer. I’d wait outside for Zara to pick me up. Fuck my fucking brother.
“Yo, Colt. Wait, man.”
Ignoring him, I shouldered my bag and opened our front door, but he stepped in front of me and pushed his body back against the door so it closed again.
“Move,” I practically growled.
“I’m sorry. I was trying to loosen you up. Be the comedic relief. I wasn’t trying to piss you off.”
“Yeah, well, you’re shit at reading a situation.”
“Noted.” He didn’t move.
“Do you need a hug and kiss goodbye or something? Move so I can go.”
“She’s not even here yet.”
“I know, but I don’t want her to come up. Seeing us together might tip her off.”
“It didn’t at the restaurant or at the gym.”
“I don’t want to tempt fate.” I reached for the knob, but he batted my hand away.
“Don’t leave mad, snookums.”
“Jesus Christ, what even is my life right now?” I muttered. “I’m not mad. Now get out of the way.”
“Your words say you’re not mad, but your eyes say you’re plotting my untimely death.”
“I don’t know if ‘untimely’ is the word I’d use. I actually think it’s long past due.”
“Be honest.” Corey’s face was serious, as was his tone. “If I died, would you become me full-time?”
I shoved him as he began cackling. “You’re such a dick.” But my words had no heat behind them because I was trying my best not to laugh along with him. My phone chimed, and I dug into my pocket to pull it out. “She’s here. I gotta go.”
He moved so I could open the door, but he began speaking again before I could get away from him. “Just…if you need me, make sure you call, okay? No matter what time.”
“You make it sound like I’m spending the weekend with the Voorhees family. I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy.”
“Probably even bigger now that you’ve assumed my identity,” he said as he waggled his eyebrows.
“You wish.”
Once I was outside, I spotted Zara’s red SUV and made my way over to it. After throwing my bag in the trunk, I slid into the passenger seat. “Hey.”
“Hey. Ready for the worst family reunion of your life?”
“You really know how to sell it.” I chuckled. “You sure you don’t mind driving?” Truth be told, I’d much rather be behind the wheel, but she’d insisted. Though it couldn’t hurt to ask one more time.
“Nah, I know the way. It’ll be easier if I drive.”
I wanted to argue that it actually probably wouldn’t be easier because I made a shitty passenger, but I kept my mouth shut. “How long of a drive is it?” I asked.
“Just under three hours, so we should be there by noon. Usually when I leave at this time, I manage to miss any heavy traffic, though you never know what Fridays may bring.”
I sank back into my seat. “Sounds good.”
“You can put whatever you want on the radio,” she offered.
“You like Howard Stern?” I asked as I switched to his station on Sirius. “Sometimes music on a long drive makes me fall asleep.”
“Like a toddler?” she asked, a small smile playing on her lips that I wanted to kiss away.
“Yup.”
“Stern’s fine with me,” she said.
We let the talk-radio show fill the silence, making random comments here and there about their discussion.
But about an hour in, Zara switched off the radio. “We should probably talk about how we’re going to tackle this weekend.”
I took a deep breath. All of this premeditated lying was wearing on me. “Okay, shoot.”
“How comfortable are you with PDA? Because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I don’t want it to seem weird that we don’t touch or anything.”
“Considering the places our mouths have been, I’m pretty sure some casual touching and kissing won’t make me head for the hills.”
“I figured but didn’t want to assume.”
“I appreciate that. But PDA away. I’m game for whatever.”
“So I can molest you on the dance floor at the party?” she asked.
“Can you molest the willing?”
She laughed, which was what I’d been hoping for. She seemed tense, and since it was my fault—again—that we were in this situation, I wanted to make it up to her. I’d be whatever she needed me to be this weekend. It was the least I could do.
ZARA
The last half of the drive was spent reviewing our backstory. We’d decided to keep it simple and go with what had actually happened, but with more emphasis on a relationship than two people casually screwing. We had some random “get to know you” conversations, and before I knew it, we were pulling up the winding drive that led to my grandparents’ farm.
“Whoa, this is incredible,” CJ said.
I glanced over at him and smiled at his widened eyes and swiveling head. The land truly was beautiful. The three-hu
ndred-plus acres were mostly taken up by the apple orchard, but my grandparents also grew other fruit and had some animals on the premises. They also operated a market and had seasonal activities, but they closed all of that at the end of November.
Putting the car in park, I sank back against my seat and gazed out the window. “I loved coming up here as a kid. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the family on my mom’s side is…quirky and quick to voice their opinions. But they’re kind too. Solid, dependable people who work hard and love harder.”
“Sounds great,” CJ said.
I turned and found him looking at me sweetly. I smiled back. “It’s completely smothering. But they mean well.”
A commotion had me turning toward the house, where I saw a small crowd of family gathering on the front stoop, shivering as they stared us down. “Ready to face the firing squad?”
CJ pushed open his door. “Your optimism is one of my favorite things about you.”
Laughing, I got out of the car.
“About time you all got here. These nosy turkeys have had their faces pressed to my windows all morning,” my grandma yelled.
“Oh please, Mom. You’re the one who just yelled to all of us that they were here.”
“That’s my aunt Lindy. She and my grandma have been arguing since Lindy emerged from the womb.”
“Lindy the Arguer. Got it,” he said as he grabbed our bags.
“Here, I can grab mine.” I reached for my suitcase, but he pulled it away from me.
“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t carry your bags?” He looked as if the very notion was scandalizing, and I grinned at him. He really was stupidly handsome. My family was going to eat him alive.
“Joel,” Grandma bellowed. “Go help them with their things.”
Even though he was older than me, Lindy’s oldest son didn’t hesitate to obey Grandma’s command like he was a kid. “Hey, Joelly,” I said as he walked into my arms for a hug.
“Hey, Zare-bear.” He extricated himself from me and extended a hand toward CJ. “And you must be the infamous CJ, here to keep Zara from becoming a spinster.”
Misadventures with a Twin Page 8
