to the redhead and wraps a too-familiar arm around her shoulders, winking at her. “Ready for round two with the hotter brother?”
I wish he would shut that mouth. Being the older and more responsible brother, I have this sentiment often. Red looks utterly confused and glances from me to Parker. She makes no move to push him off her, and a moment later, her eyes stop on his muscled arms. Of course they fucking do.
“You should probably go,” I offer lamely, feeling like a total douchebag. “I’ll order an Uber or something.”
She doesn’t object as she disappears into my bedroom. Parker flips a burnt-looking piece of dough, all the while shooting me meaningful glances.
The girl comes out of the bedroom in time to catch him sniffing a very blackened and inedible-looking pancake.
“That looks delicious,” she mutters sarcastically. But the way her eyes devour my brother speaks volumes. She thinks he’s hot. That’s probably why she’s still lingering in our apartment. She wants a piece of the other twin next.
I guess we are nice to look at. Since we’re identical twins, there aren’t many differences between us at all, until you get to know our personalities.
We’re both six feet four, with naturally broad shoulders and bodies we keep in shape by jogging together and doing weights at home. My dark hair is shaved on the sides and longer on top, and Parker’s is floppier and a little longer all over. Our gray eyes are an unusual contrast to our darker skin and make us appear more intense, or at least that’s what we’ve heard.
“It’s the only thing he can pretend to cook,” I inform the girl (Sarah?) and sit down to enjoy a plate of lopsided pancakes.
Red shakes her head. “You guys are weird,” she declares.
I really want her to go because I’m not about to relive last night, which I’m sure involved a lot of drinking and even more sloppy kissing. This is how my one-night stands always go, anyway. They get a glimpse at Parker, and his artsy-fartsy charm is too much for them to handle.
Sure, they’re attracted to my broody nature at first. Girls love a bad boy, and I’m more than eager to give them what they want if it means burying my cock in sweet, wet pussy. But in the mornings, girls like Red don’t want the brooding, jealous, possessive type. They want a sweet, darling, precious artist like my brother.
“Bye, Sarah,” I say sweetly. Time for you to go, sweets.
“It’s Kara,” she says with venom in her voice. Oops. She looks over my shoulder at Parker and winks at him. “I should’ve at least chosen the hotter brother.”
Parker cracks up again as she finally leaves.
“Your face!” he says between bursts of laughter. “When she said that!”
I roll my eyes and make my way to the fridge to get some milk. I pour myself a glass, but before I can lift it to my lips, Parker’s stolen it, taking deep gulps of the liquid.
After Sarah—or Kara, or whatever the hell her name is—leaves, we sit down to breakfast. Like we’re a normal family and not the sad remains of what we used to be.
Parker proudly presents me with more misshapen pancakes, and I fake enthusiasm as I dig in. Honestly, they’re not as bad as they look, and I desperately need some food in me to fight the impending hangover.
I only remember last night vaguely, and that’s been happening far too often. Booze, drugs, and fucking. That’s what my nights have been about. And then in the mornings, I fight off hangovers with my brother’s greasy concoctions before leaving for work in the hope of making enough cash to get us through the month.
I’m a motherfucking mess.
Parker doesn’t hesitate to tell me so, either.
“You’ve been out every night this week,” Parker complains. “I watched TV without you. You missed our favorite show. It’s like you don’t even want to be my brother anymore. Like we’re not a family anymore.” He glares accusingly at me, which I choose to ignore.
But the man is right. We’re not a family anymore. The Millers and Wildfoxes have gone their separate paths. We lost June, and if I’m not careful, we’re going to lose each other, too.
“And then you drag that back home with you,” Parker continues, jerking his head toward the door where the redhead left through earlier. I keep my head down and eat my pancakes, not saying a word. To fight with him means to let him win