I want to be the reason for that. I know I am, right now, but I want to be the reason for that in the future, too.

I’ll be fucked if I’m gonna let her go without a fight, and fight I will. I swear to God I’ll fight my ass off for this gorgeous girl who’s barreled into my life like a whirlwind and obliterated anything I thought was real and replaced it with her.

The relationship is fake, but my feelings sure are starting to feel real. Really fucking real.

I step off the bottom stair and make a turn into the kitchen. Kye is standing in front of the toaster, and it’s the first time we’ve been alone together since our fight. If he were Tate or Conner, I’d turn and leave, but I know it’ll make me look like a dick, because he knows I’m here.

It really sucks being a twin sometimes.

I grab a coffee pod from the jar next to the machine and throw the old one out. Switching it over and grabbing a mug at the same time, I cut my eyes to Kye. Shit, this is fucking awkward. Mostly ’cause I know he’s thinking the same thing.

“Good grief,” Mom says, walking into the kitchen. She stops just behind us, and I glance at her as she lifts her hand and slices down the middle of us.

“What are you doin’?” Kye asks, looking over his shoulder at her and pausing in buttering his toast.

“Cuttin’ the tension.” She gives us the look that warns us not to laugh, although she knows it was stupid. “Y’all are gonna send me to an early grave if you keep fightin’ like you’re six.”

“We’re not fightin’,” I argue.

“But you ain’t talkin’ either, are ya?”

“No, but we still ain’t fightin’,” Kye replies, turning and tearing a bite off his slice of toast.

“That’s because you aren’t talkin’,” Mom sighs. She eyes the coffee machine as I pour cream into my cup, but ultimately holds her hands up. “Dang, I spent just about half your lives sortin’ out your fights. Y’all are on your own, my boys.”

She turns away with a heavy sigh and a longing look at the coffee machine, and I roll my eyes. “Here,” I say, holding the mug out. “Have this one.”

“Well aren’t you sweet?” she muses, lips pulled into a smugly sweet smile. “Thanks, darlin’.”

Kye and I both snort. I turn back to the coffee machine and repeat the process. The tension grows steadily, although it doesn’t reach the breaking point it did before Mom came in and “cut” it.

“Still seein’ Jessie?” The cold emphasis he puts on the word seein’ pisses me off.

“What’s it to you?”

“More than it is to you, clearly.”

“I’m not gonna fight with you, Kye.” I grab the cream and pour it into my new mug of coffee. “So if you have somethin’ to say, get on with it so I can go back upstairs.”

“Said it all already.” He shrugs.

I shake my head and grab the mug. “I know you don’t agree with what we’re doing, all right. But it ain’t what you think it is. I like her, you know? She’s not the bitch I thought she was.”

Kye smirks. “Nah, she is. She just hides a bunch of awesome under that and fully embraces her bitchy side.”

Can’t argue with that. “True.” I smirk, too. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter how this started, because I’m determined not to let it end the way it was going to.”

“I know. That’s why I got pissed at you,” he admits, throwing his crusts in the trash. “If any of us could pull off a fake relationship, it’s Tate. Not you. Saw right through it, man. Just don’t let Marc dictate the rest of it. The man is a good manager, but a total asshole.”

Can’t argue with that, either. “And then some,” I agree.

“Does she know your fake relationship isn’t all that fake anymore?”

“No. I figured I could, you know, surprise her.”

Kye raises his eyebrow. “In other words, no, and you have no fuckin’ idea how to tell her.”

“Nailed it, bro.”

“I’m no Romeo, so I can’t help you, but make sure you tell her before you get too caught up in your lie. ’Cause if that happens, I don’t know if she’ll let you fight your way out.” He pushes off. “Are you taking her to the party tonight or meeting her there?”

“The Halloween party? That’s tonight?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Shit. I guess I should call her and find out.”

“Oh man,” Kye mutters, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I hear him laugh as he goes upstairs and I yell “Asshole!” which just makes him laugh harder.

I follow him up and shut the door to my room. Grabbing my phone and setting my mug down, I dial Jessie’s number. When she doesn’t answer, I text her.

Party tonight?

Her response is quick. Specific . . .

Hush. Why didn’t you answer?

Working. Can’t take a private phone call behind the counter.

Make me a coffee. I’m on my way.

Oh goodie.

I laugh and pocket my phone, leaving my hot coffee on the dresser, and grab a T-shirt. I throw it over my head and run downstairs, spinning off the end of the banister in the hall and out to my truck. It’s blocked in by Tate’s, so I grab my bike instead, wheeling it between the cars to the end of the drive.

I start it up, and since it’s still early, I make it to the café in record time. I pull up in front of the building and look in the window. Jessie’s behind the counter, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The café is empty, but her lips are moving, and the way she’s bobbing her head side to side tells me she’s singing. I smile, watching her.

God, she’s beautiful.

I swing my leg over the side of the park and put down the stand, tucking my helmet beneath my arm. I push the door open quietly, hoping to avoid the ring of the bell. It dings quietly as the middle thing hits the edge, but she doesn’t hear. Her back is to the door now, and her ponytail is swinging with her enthusiastic head movements.

It takes everything I have to fight my laugh, especially since the song she’s singing to is one of ours. Half of me wants to tell her she isn’t alone anymore, but the other half just wants to watch her when she thinks no one is looking. To see who Jessie really is when she’s all by herself.

And who she is, is carefree.

And really, really beautiful.

“You and me breathe the same lie,” I sing, gripping the edge of the counter. “It’s our time, I’m all yours . . .”

She freezes and stops singing as the music continues to play through the radio. It’s an old one, but one of my personal favorites, as it’s one of the more upbeat tracks we’ve recorded and released.

And, ironically, incredibly applicable to this situation right now.

Assuming, of course, that Jessie is lying about this relationship the way I am.

“Enjoy the show?” she sasses, but I can see that the color of her cheeks closely resembles her hair.

“You were shakin’ your ass. What do you think?”

She turns, the color disappearing, and purses her lips. She places a mug of coffee on the counter and slides it to me, and I can’t help but grin when she says, “Two fifty.”

I hand her a five, and when she gives me change, I drop it into the tip jar.

“You don’t need to tip me.”

“Way I see it, sunshine, I can give you my money as long as it’s not immediately before, during, or after sex.” I smirk when she rolls her eyes.

“Good to know I’m more than a whore to you.”

“So much more.”

“What did you need?” She raises an eyebrow when I don’t reply. “Aidan? Hello?”

“Sorry. I was trying to think of the least sexual thing I need, but never mind.” I sip my coffee. “The Halloween party tonight. I’ll pick you up.”

“You will, will you?” She stops wiping the counter and her eyebrow arches even higher.

“Well . . . yeah.”

“You’ll pick me up,” she echoes.

“At nine.”

“At nine.”

“Yeah.”

Jessie takes a deep breath and drops the cloth in the sink behind her. “Here’s an idea. How about I go, you go, and then if we see each other, great.” With that, she turns. “I’m on my break.”