“You’re right. You are totally, one hundred percent right.” I can hear the revelation taking over her speech and brace myself. “I should break it off. I like Hudson way better. He gave me two orgasms last night, Amelia—two, with his mouth.”

My mouth falls open, at a loss for words. “Lucy, how can you do that? That’s cheating!”

“Calm down, Miss Priss. It’s not like I knew I liked Hudson better before I double-booked myself. I had to sample the goods first.” She laughs cheerfully. “And thanks to you, I know how I feel! So no, it’s not like cheating. I’ll text Dash as soon as we hang up and dump him.”

My mouth falls open. “You’re going to break up with him over text?”

I can hear my sister studying her nails, bored with our conversation, maybe even picking at the split ends of her long hair as she stands out on the sidewalk. “Well it’s not like I’m going to see him any time soon, and I don’t feel like going on another date with him.”

Why doesn’t she like him? Why would she do this? This superficial young woman is not the sister I know. It’s those damn sorority girls she’s hanging out with.

She’s being callous and insensitive, and I don’t like it.

Stay out of it Amelia, my inner voice shouts. This is none of your business. Stay out of it before you say something you’ll regret, like how Dash is a great guy who smells amazing, is sweet in an unassuming way, and is too handsome for his own good.

And yet I can’t help but add, “He’s a nice guy—don’t you think he deserves to be told in person? Isn’t that what you would want if someone was breaking up with you?”

There’s a long pause, then the loud sigh my sister is famous for in our family. “Honestly? No, not really. If someone was breaking up with me, why would I want to see their face?”

“Because—”

Whatever I’m about to say gets cut off when Lucy interrupts me. “Look, I have to start my run if I’m going to finish on time and keep my day on track.”

“Fine,” I huff.

“But if this is so damn important to you, why don’t you break up with him for me? That saves me the trouble of doing it.”

“Going on a date with him was bad enough. I did a terrible job pretending to be you, and there is no way I’ll be able to look him in the eye and dump him for you.”

She pauses. “Hold on, someone just texted me.”

“Lucy! We’re in the middle of a conversation!”

The phone is silent as she pulls it away from her ear to check it. “That was Dash—again. I just texted him back and told him I’d meet him at Zin downtown tomorrow night at seven. You can break up with him then.”

“Lucy!” I shout, beyond exasperated. “I’m not breaking up with him for you!”

“Suit yourself.” Her voice is flippant. “I have no problem texting him.”

My stomach drops, a lead weight of guilt burdening me. “Don’t hang up! Okay, okay, I’ll do it. I’ll break up with him for you.”

She smiles on the other end of the line; I can hear it from here. “Thank you sissy. You won’t regret this.”

But she’s wrong.

I already do.

Chapter Six

Amelia

I can’t decide: what does a person wear to break up with their sister’s boyfriend? A sweatshirt and jeans? A flirty top? Something dressier, because technically this could be considered a business meeting?

Khakis?

I stand in front of my closet, mid-panic, discarding one unsuitable shirt after another onto my bed, when what I should have done was force Lucy to choose a breakup outfit for me, like how she dressed me for the concert, since theoretically, I’m posing as her again.

Floral blouse? Way too fun.

Hot pink sweater? No—I’d die from heat stroke before I died from mortification.

No, no, and no—three more shirts join the others then out of the corner of my eye, I spot a dressy black turtleneck and impulsively yank it off its hanger.

Hold it up, inspecting it.

Prim. Proper.

Black.

Serious.

The perfect shit to wear if I was attending a funeral.

I slide it over my frame. It’s fitted, hugging all my curves, and yet, the perfect metaphor: my attendance at the death of my sister’s relationship with Dash Amado.

Don’t get me wrong, I might be on my way to give the guy his marching orders, but I don’t want to look like a complete frump.

Still.

I need to look and feel businesslike, and this onyx turtleneck is textbook professional. I’ll appear efficient, organized, and…

Now I sound like a lunatic.

With a sigh befitting my twin, I shimmy and stumble into a pair of dark wash jeans, feet sliding into black half boots, give my hair a quick tussle, swipe on some gloss, and—oh my God, I’m primping. I’m trying to look nice.

Which is so not the point!

“Stop it, Amelia, this is not a date,” I chastise myself, glaring into the mirror, angry. Rest my hands on either side of my dresser, looking my reflection in the eye. “Why are you doing this? You like him. You cannot pull this off.”

I rise to my full height, puffing out my chest. “Yes you can. You can do this. You’ve broken up with guys before. Hell, you’ve broken up with Lucy’s boyfriends before.”

Twice, in high school.

I felt braver back then than I do now.

What’s done is done; Lucy is out with Hudson tonight, and I’m on my way to meet Dash. There’s no turning back.

I can only move forward.

***

He’s late.

At seven o’clock sharp, I watch, engrossed as a large figure emerges through the door of Zin. I’m waiting with baited breath, watching when he tosses his head to get the hair out of his eyes.

Everything about Dash Amado is dark: his black quilted jacket, his jet-black hair, his complexion.

He flashes a friendly grin to the bartenders when he walks past, toward me, his pearly whites a stark contrast against his skin. Dark. Smooth. Handsome.

Through the dim lighting in the wine bar, I watch him peel off his jacket, sauntering his way over, surveying the crowd. There aren’t many people here tonight so it’s not long before our gazes connect.

In a few strides he’s at my side, sliding onto the barstool next to mine, kissing the top of my head. “Hey. Sorry I’m late. I had to see the trainer—he was showing me a new way to wrap my wrists.”

I can’t stop my eyes from glancing down. I raise my brows, curious.

“They’re not wrapped right now, just for practice.” He cuffs his wrist with one hand, rubbing it. “Have you been here long?”

“I walked in just a few minutes early, so no. It’s no big deal, the bartenders were keeping me company.” Totally something Lucy would say, only she’d add a flirtatious smile, maybe touch his sleeve.

“Speaking of which, I’m thirsty.” His lean torso leans across the bar, long arm snatching a drink menu before flagging down one of the bartenders. His eyes flicker to the water glass in front of me. “Do you want anything else or are you sticking with water?”

“Water is good.” I’m here to do a job and need a clear mind. Drinking would be a horrible idea, though I may need a drink at the end of the night, maybe a shot or two, or three.

Dash nods down at my beverage, speaking to the guy behind the bar as he strolls over, drying a glass. “I’ll have what she’s having, and an iced tea if you have it? Thanks.”

Whatever words I’m about to say get caught in my throat when he spins in his seat to face me, chugging down almost all of his glass of ice water, Adam’s apple bobbing. Shaved neck, dark sideburns.

Dear Lord he’s good-looking.

His eyes slide up and down the front of my shirt, landing briefly on my breasts. Lips quirk. “Nice turtleneck.”

I can’t decide if he’s being sarcastic.

“I like turtlenecks. They’re warm,” I croak out, body blazing like an inferno, wanting to hook my index finger in the collar of my shirt and give it a tug. Yank it off, up over my head. Get it off my body, hating it.