“Not the same,” my brother argues.
“How is that not the same thing?”
“Because it isn’t.” Evan points the mouth of his bottle at Heidi. “It isn’t enough for Kincaid to lose. He has to know who beat him. We have to make it hurt.”
“Cooper doesn’t have to trick her into falling in love with him,” Alana tells her. “Seduce her enough that she dumps her boyfriend. A few dates, tops.”
“Seduce her? You mean fuck her, then,” Heidi says, revealing the real reason she hates this plan. “Again, gross.”
Any other day, I might have agreed with her. But not tonight. Tonight, I’m angry and bitter and itching for blood. Besides, I’d be doing this chick a favor rescuing her from Kincaid. Sparing her a life of misery with a cheating bastard who’d only treat her nice enough to get 2.5 kids outta her before shifting all his attention to his mistresses.
I’ve encountered guys like Preston Kincaid my entire life. One of my earliest memories is of my five-year-old self down at the pier with my father and brother, confused why all those fancy-dressed people were speaking to Dad like he was a piece of dog shit mashed under their deck shoes. Hell, chances are Kincaid’s girl is even worse than he is.
Steph brings up a potential snag. “But if he’s already cheating on her, then how much does he really care about this girl? Maybe getting dumped won’t faze him.”
I glance at Evan. “She’s got a point.”
“I don’t know …” A contemplative Alana reaches over Heidi’s shoulder to look at the phone. “Scrolling through, I think they’ve been together for a few years. My money’s on this one being endgame for him.”
The longer the idea tumbles around in my head, the more I’m into it. Mostly for the look on Kincaid’s face when he realizes I’ve won. But also because even if I didn’t know she was Kincaid’s girlfriend, I’d still try to date her.
“Let’s make it interesting,” Steph says. She shares a look with Alana, coming around to the possibilities of this idea. “You can’t lie. You can’t pretend to be all in love with her, or sleep with her unless she initiates it. Kissing is allowed. And you can’t tell her to break up with him. It has to be her idea. Otherwise what’s the point? We might as well go with Heidi’s plan.”
“Deal.” It’s almost unfair how easy this’ll be.
“Omissions are lies.” Heidi stands in a huff. “What makes you think one of them would step down from their cloud for you anyway?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. Just storms toward the house.
“Ignore her,” Alana says. “I love this plan.”
Evan, meanwhile, gives me a hard look, then nods in the direction Heidi went. “You’ve got to do something about that.”
Yeah, maybe I do. After a handful of hookups, Heidi and I reverted back to platonic and were cool all summer. But then somewhere the tide shifted and suddenly she’s bent out of shape more often than not, and it’s apparently all my fault.
“She’s a big girl,” I tell him.
Maybe Heidi’s feeling a little territorial, but she’ll get over it. We’ve been friends since first grade. She can’t stay mad at me forever.
“Anyway. Final answer about the clone?” Evan eyes me expectantly.
I tip the beer bottle to my lips, taking a quick swig. Then I shrug and say, “I’m in.”
CHAPTER FOUR
MACKENZIE
On Saturday night, our first week of freshman year behind us, Bonnie pulls me out on the town. To get the lay of the land, as she puts it.
So far, we’re getting along great as roommates. Better than I expected, actually. I’m an only child and never lived anywhere but my parents’ house, so I was a bit wary of the politics of sharing a space with a complete stranger. But Bonnie’s easy to live with. She cleans up after herself, and makes me laugh with her endless supply of Southern sass. She’s like the little sister I never knew I wanted.
For the past hour since we left campus, she’s only reinforced my theory that she’s some kind of sorceress. This girl possesses powers a mere mortal could only dream of. The moment we stepped up to the bar in this rowdy hole-in-the-wall place with panties hanging from the rafters and license plates on the wall, three guys practically bulldozed their way through the crowd to buy our drinks. All to get Bonnie to smile at them. Since then, I’ve watched her charm one guy after the other without even lifting a pinkie. She simply bats her eyelashes at men, gives them a little giggle, a hair twirl, and they’re ready to harvest their own mothers for organs.
“You new in town?” One of our latest suitors, a jock-looking type wearing a too-tight T-shirt and too much body spray, shouts in my ear over the blaring music. Even as he chats me up, his eyes drift toward Bonnie as she talks animatedly. I can’t imagine any of them can hear her, but it doesn’t seem to matter.
“Yeah,” I answer, my face glued to the glow of my phone screen as I text with Pres. He’s at a friend’s place tonight for a poker game.
While I pay the least possible attention to this dude, whose job is to entertain the “friend,” his two buddies eat out of Bonnie’s hand all the way to the dance floor. I occasionally nod and glance up from my phone as he valiantly attempts conversation that we both must know is useless against the band’s set list blasting at full volume.
About forty minutes after the wingman has crept away, an arm catches mine. “I’m bored. Let’s ditch these guys,” Bonnie says in my ear.
“Yes.” I nod emphatically. “Please.”
She mimes some excuse to the two guys still clinging to her heels like ducklings, and then we pick up our drinks and take a circuitous route to the stairs. On the second floor, looking down at the live band on the stage, we find a table with a little more breathing room. It’s quieter up here. Enough that we can carry on a conversation without shouting or resorting to rudimentary sign language.
“Not doing it for you?” I ask, referring to her latest victims.
“I can get those meatheads a dime a dozen at home. Can’t throw a rock without hitting a college football player.”
I grin over the rim of my glass. The fruity cocktail isn’t exactly my jam, but it’s what Bonnie asked her suitors to buy for us. “So what’s your type, then?”
“Tattoos. Tall, dark, and damaged. The more emotionally unavailable, the better.” She beams. “If he’s got a juvenile rap sheet and motorcycle, I’m open for business.”
I almost choke on my tongue laughing. Fascinating. She doesn’t seem like that kind of girl. “Maybe we ought to go find a bar with more Harleys outside. I’m not sure we’re going to find what you’re looking for in here.”
From what I can tell, it’s slim pickings. Mostly Garnet students, which skew toward country club types or frat bros, and a few beach rat townies in tank tops. None of whom approach Bonnie’s leather-and-studs daydreams.
“Oh, I done my research,” she says proudly. “Rumor has it, Avalon Bay’s got exactly what I need. The Hartley Twins.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Twins, huh?”