Page 42 of Twins For My Bestie's Brother

No response.

And today . . .

I’d asked him if everything was alright. Ifhewas alright.

Still. Nothing.

I am aching over it. I don’t even have an appetite for dinner because of it. I blame it on my upcoming period, but the truth is that grief had been filling my gut for three days now.

He could be busy. He’s a businessman, after all.

He’d never choose you.

I scrub my hands over my face and let out a grunt of frustration. Will can’t be right. I refuse to allow him to be right.

Jackson calls me beautiful. He kisses me like he means it. He looks out for me.

That’s not what your best friend’s brother is supposed to do when he is pretending to be your boyfriend. At least, if there were a handbook on the subject, I’m sure there would be rules on all those things.

Do I have feelings for Jackson? Real feelings, not just the excitable kind that bubble up from a deep kiss and a touch on the waist?

I can’t have these feelings. No. I need to be alone. I need to learn about myself outside of a relationship since I’m single for the first time in my adult life. Jackson can have any woman he wants. In fact, he will. When the month is up, he will be free to date as he pleases. And I am sure he won’t give me another look. Why would he?

But if we are going to keep this up for the next month, I need to clear the air. I need an opportunity to apologize for crossing the line and making him uncomfortable. And I need to get us back on track for the rest of our charade. I wouldnotlet Will Scortello get close to me again.

Jackson had his home designed and built specifically for him on a plot of land off the beaten path nestled into a hillside. It looks like it was ripped off the pages ofArchitectural Digestand plastered into the Michigan countryside. A modern home with wings jutting off the house and sleek, crisp lines. It looks like it was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright himself.

I creep up the driveway in my dad’s car. I haven’t gotten my own yet; I haven’t needed to. But it’s situations like this where a woman needs to have her own car so she doesn’t have to tell her dad she’s on her way to clear up a mess with the man she’s fake dating.

By the time I put the car into park, Jackson has emerged from the house. He stands in the doorway, cast in warm light.

I inhale sharply. He looks incredible. And he’s just hanging out at home late at night. What kind of man wears slacks and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up at ten o’clock at night?

Jackson Roy.

And I’m not mad about it.

As I climb out of the car, Jackson crosses his arms over his chest. “Hey.”

I shut the door, thudding metal punctuating the moment. I cross my arms too, mirroring him. Two can play at this game. “Do you sleep in business clothes?”

“I had a meeting with some business partners over Zoom in a different time zone.”

“And you chose to wear slacks?”

Jackson glances down. “I like to feel the part as much as look it.”

Neither of us speaks. It’s chilly out, a future winter biting at my skin. The sounds of nature rustling at night swirl around us.

He leans on the doorframe. Inside glows behind him. “What are you doing here, Lily?”

I inhale deeply. Gather my strength. “We need to talk.”

Jackson doesn’t respond for a moment.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” I say, trying to keep my breath steady.

Jackson’s eyes fall. “I have.”

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