Switch Hitter

His black brows go up. “I said I liked it. I wasn’t being a dick.”

“Oh. Well…thanks, I guess.”

I’ve never been this nervous in my entire life, not even when I took my sister’s college entrance exam.

He regards me over the top of his iced tea, the lemon wedge moving up and down like a jellyfish in the ocean.

“You look good though. Muy bueno. I think I like this shirt better than the one you wore on Friday night.”

“Really?” I run a hand over my stick-straight hair, which I let air-dry after my shower. I’m hardly wearing any makeup, just some lip gloss—basically, my attempt at looking serious.

“You can’t even see my neck.” You can’t see anything. This shirt is a protective layer between us; I don’t want to feel sexy or attractive or pretty when I’m here to complete a task.

And yet…the goof likes it.

“Sí.”

I like the way he’s staring, taking my measure. I love the way he talks, the sound of his voice, even if he’s not really talking to me.

The thought is sobering, and I gaze down at the shiny bar top despondently, picking at the corner of the white cocktail napkin under my glass of water. Zin, a wine bar in downtown Iowa City – drink old wine, date young men.

I study the slogan, running my fingers over the burgundy embossed writing, the texture of the paper feeling coarse under my fingertips.

Over and over it, around the cursive lettering.

He’s still watching me when I look up.

“Should we have them seat us somewhere? I’m starving.”

Hesitantly I nod, hopping down off the barstool, aware of just how big he is, how imposing.

Chest like a wall of steel, I bump into it inadvertently when I stand, apprehensively gathering my purse and coat from the stool, nerves making my palms sweaty.

I’m about to break up with my sister’s boyfriend.

I already feel terrible for what I’m about to do—not because I think they’d make such a great couple, but because I like spending time with him, and once I tell him it’s over between him and Lucy…

I’ll probably never see him again.

Nonetheless, I trail along after him toward the hostess stand, idly waiting as he requests a table.

For two.

In the back corner.

When we’re seated, Dash leans in, setting his hands on the table, moving aside his fork and knife and the rest of the utensils. “Can I be brutally honest with you?”

Please don’t. “Sure.”

“The first few times we went out, I wasn’t feeling it at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know I only went out with you because you’re the one who asked, right? I never would have asked you out.”

This surprises me, and I rear back in my seat, slightly affronted—and embarrassed—on my sister’s behalf.

What do I even say to that?

“Before you get offended, let me finish what I was going to say.”

Because I have nothing to say, I nod. “Okay.”

“I haven’t dated much. Since you’re familiar with the Latino culture, you’ve probably guessed I come from a really traditional family. Mis padres raised me to be in a monogamous relationship, not sleep around, ¿sabes lo que digo?” Know what I mean? he asks, tan, masculine hands picking apart a napkin, the tiny white pieces like snow on the black tabletop. “Anyway, I figured we’d go out a few times and that would be it.”

“But?” I prod, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

“Listen, you don’t exactly scream ‘relationship type’.” His use of air quotes makes me blush, though I shouldn’t take it personally since he’s not actually speaking about me. “But I had a really great fucking time with you on Friday, Lucy. I thought about you all weekend.”

At the use of my twin’s name, I manage a wobbly smile. “Me too.”

It’s the truth; I did. I had such a great time with my sister’s boyfriend, I actually lay in bed after that date, unable to sleep, seeing Dash’s dark eyes every time I closed my eyes.

“Don’t you want to see where this goes?”

Oh my God, he’s asking if I want a relationship. He wants to date me—I mean, he wants to date Lucy.

This is my chance to break up with him. I won’t have a better opportunity.

I swallow, gathering my courage.

“Date me exclusively?”

“Sí.” Yes. He laughs, my eyes drawn to his throat. “Figured I might as well bring it up now before we waste any more of our time.”

Shit. He must really like my sister or he wouldn’t have brought up the relationship talk before there was an actual relationship.

I’ve never met a guy like this before. Never.

And I’m not likely to again.

He tips his head back and laughs, the column of his thick, masculine throat contracting with the effort. I peel my eyes away, swallowing hard, squirming in the wooden chair.

God his throat is sexy.

“You want to talk about dating me? Now?”

I’m fascinated.

“Can you think of a better time?” His wide shoulders lift into a shrug. “I have no idea what normal guys do in these situations, but I think playing games is a waste of time. I also have no problem telling you what I want.”

“Uh huh.” I scan the perimeter, searching for the closest exit. A bathroom. A place where I can covertly text my sister.

He leans in farther, large body half across the table, only inches from my face. “Te ves preciosa cuando estás nerviosa, do you know that?”

He thinks I’m cute when I’m nervous?

“Am I?” I’m practically whispering.

“So fucking cute.”

He is too sweet. “Gracias.”

Suddenly, breaking up with him feels terribly wrong; all I want right now is to get up from the table and climb into his big lap and kiss his gorgeous face. That beautiful nose.

Those full, sculpted lips.

What the hell is wrong with my sister?

What the hell is wrong with me?

I want him for myself, that’s what’s wrong with me! I might not believe in Insta-love or fairy tales or sparks flying when you first meet someone, but if I did, I’m adult enough to admit that I’m feeling them now.

That I felt them as soon as I laid eyes on him standing on my twin sister’s porch.

“You need some time to think about it?”

“Huh?”

“About what you want to eat, and whether we’re going to keep seeing each other. Be honest.” He shrugs again. Shoots me a gorgeous, brilliant smile.

“Honest…right, for sure.”

“Are you worried I won’t have enough time for you?” He reaches across the table for my hand, but I pull mine back, resting it in my lap, where it’s safe. “My friends fight with their girlfriends about that all the time. I’d say it’s a huge problem for most of them. What are you afraid of, Lucy?”

For one, he can stop calling me Lucy. It’s making my skin crawl, makes me feel guilty. Makes me jealous. Resentful.

Depressed.

What if I’d seen him at the party first? What if I was the type of girl who had the courage to ask someone like Dash Amado on a date? Would things be different? Would it be me he’s looking at the way he’s looking at Lucy?

Lucy.

She’s not just my friend; she’s my sister. We’re blood, and she will always come first.

Always.

***

Dante

Something isn’t right with Lucy.

I can fucking feel it.

Since our date on Friday, nothing is making any freaking sense.

For one, she’s wearing a goddamn turtleneck.

Why is this strange? Because her boobs are always on full display. She’s one of those girls who’s constantly at the baseball house, desperate for attention, letting it all hang out.

I’m a guy, one with a fully functioning set of eyes, and from what Lucy has shown me, she has a fantastic rack—which is why it’s so fucking odd that tonight she’s buried in black cotton up to her chin.

Tonight, her long hair seems longer, windblown and natural. Messy, like she rolled out of bed to come meet me and didn’t spend an hour in the bathroom curling it.