“You think you have a better style than I do? You’re a social worker. You wear jeans and button-down shirts?” I ask her, trying to think back to the last time I saw her wear anything but jeans around me.
“The younger sister always has better style,” she teases, making me laugh, and I look down at her, my eyebrows pinching together and making her laugh.
“You are younger by two minutes and forty-eight seconds,” I remind her. “I don’t know if that counts.” It’s her turn to roll her eyes, the same blue eyes that I have, just a touch lighter because she’s sitting in the sun.
“Which is why you are my older sister, and I’m the younger sister.” She laughs, making me shake my head. “Stop shaking your head,” she says, and I sit down on my bed. They always say when you are a twin, you have a connection, and the two of us are no different. There are times when I feel what she is feeling and vice versa. Or the times I have a headache and call my mother, and she tells me that Julia has a headache.
The two of us are almost identical. The only thing is the way we wear our hair. We both have long hair down to the waist, but I part mine in the middle, and she flips hers to the side. When we were younger, we would try to trick people, and it usually worked except with our mom, who could tell us apart. She always knew who was who. I stop folding the clothes on the bed, picking the phone up again and looking straight at her. “Remind me again why I should do this?”
“Well, for one, it’s been seven months since you broke up with the douchecanoe.” She mentions my ex-boyfriend, Riley. We went to the same high school together, and she hated him even then, but when Julia and I went our separate ways in college, I caved and went out on a date with him. When I finally confessed to her that we were dating, she gave him a chance but still hated him. I should have listened to her because, three years later, I went on Facebook and saw one of my fellow teachers congratulating her sister on her engagement to my man. Or at least who I thought was my man. Needless to say, after I commented on the picture wishing the happy couple nothing but the best, we were done.
“Okay, fine, I’ll give you that,” I say. “But is a blind date really something I should have said yes to?” I ignore the way my head is screaming you need to get out there and socialize instead of sitting on your couch and watching Netflix.
She looks around, lowering her voice. “At this point, you’ve tried it all.”
“I tried Tinder and Bumble,” I correct her, holding up my two fingers. “There is still Christian Mingle and another one.”
“You’re an atheist,” she says, laughing. “At least mom will be happy.” My parents were high school sweethearts and raised us like they were raised, in a Catholic house. My father had a heart attack ten years ago, and Mom has never moved on, no matter how many times we urged her to find love again. The three of us are very close and always see each other a couple of times a week, and our Sunday dinner is always a favorite of mine.
“You went on JSwipe.” I laugh, reminding her.
“I could convert,” she huffs out. “But seriously, are you ready for tonight?”
“No,” I answer her honestly. “Not even a little. What if I get there and we have nothing in common?”
“What if you go and you have everything in common?” she counters, and I roll my eyes. We are similar in so many ways. We like mostly the same foods and have the same work ethics. We have the same taste in music and movies. The only thing we differ in is that I’m a planner, and she is a go by the seat of her pants, which always gives me the hives when we start to plan something, and she does the whole “let’s wing it” thing. I gave in one time for three hours. “Listen, I know it’s scary getting back out there.”
“Now, who sounds old?” I joke with her, and she laughs.
“But the big question is, have you pulled up the carpet and laid down the hardwood floors?”
“What does that even mean?” I get up, going over to the dresser and carrying the clothes over and placing them in.
“It means…” She grabs the phone and shoves her face even closer as she brings her voice down to almost a whisper. “Have you shaved that jungle you started growing in lady town and made it smooth?” She laughs, and I can hear her hitting the table from her side of the phone. “Get it? Carpet means hair, hardwood floors no hair.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” I say, shaking my head. “This conversation was enlightening.” I walk out of my bedroom and toward the bathroom. “But with that being said, I have to go and get ready.” I turn the water on. “Wish me luck.”
“I wish you a big dick,” she says. “And if it’s the nicest you’ve seen, pictures or it didn’t happen.”
“That is never going to happen,” I say. “Now I’m going to go and lay my floors, just in case he shows up looking like Chris Hemsworth and I have no choice but to have sex with him.”
“This is what I’m talking about,” she says with a huge smile on her face. “Call me when you leave the date.”
I disconnect as I turn on the shower. “Here goes nothing.”
Chapter 3
Michael
“Here are the keys to the condo,” Nico says, handing me a square silver key. “Cooper said that the fridge is going to be stocked tomorrow.” I look down at the key.
The last couple of hours have been a whirlwind, to say the very least. I just finished the interview with one of the reporters, and I know the guy was waiting for me to dish all the dirt. I could tell he was trying to slip in questions or would try to reword them. Nico and my father were in the room, and they would have had no problem yanking me out of there. After I walked out of there, my father took off for the hospital to sit with Matthew. He was not handling Erika in labor well.
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I just need the address. I know the building, but I’m not sure of the address.” He nods and takes out his phone and then texts me.
“That’s my number,” he confirms when my phone buzzes in my pocket. “You need anything, you call me.”
I nod at him. “Thank you, Nico,” I say, turning the key in my hand. It’s all a little surreal, and he turns and walks over to his desk, picking up more keys.
“I’m assuming you don’t have a car just yet,” he says, smirking. “You can have my BMW for tonight.”
“I can take an Uber,” I respond, not wanting to put him out more than I should.
“I don’t need it.” He hands me the keys. “Now, get out of here and get some rest. Tomorrow is an off day, but I expect your ass on the ice the day after that. It’s time to put your money where your mouth is.” He smirks, and I nod at him. My head’s spinning in circles.
Walking out of his office, I make my way back to the garage and press the key fob to find the truck. I put the address in the GPS and make my way over to the condo. It’s a four-minute drive to the condo, and I park at the same spot I did the last time. Grabbing my bag out of the back seat, I make my way to the silver door and the elevator. I slip the key into the door, and only when the door closes behind me does my head hang.