Page 19 of Not Just a Trick Play

I roll my eyes. Her matchmaking has hit peak desperation.

“And thing five is…?” I scan the room. It’s possible that she’ll also join the Bash-Jake Brigade, but equally likely she could side with me—after all, not every family has one black sheep, sometimes there are just two brown ones.

“Still working, I think.” Carla shrugs.

“Okay, go wash up. Dinner will be ready soon,” Mom says.

Helena wanders away with her phone pressed to her ear while Mom and Carla return to the kitchen. I see Beatrice and Heidi off then head to the powder room by the foyer.

As I’m drying my hands, the front door slams, followed by the chorus of desperate barking.

Expecting the prodigal sister, I step out, only to freeze at the sight of an all-too-familiar head of dark hair bent over a pair of sneakers. Amelia Stevens.

Excitement wars with uncertainty and suspicion. A surge of thrill clashes with doubt. Did she seek me out? Know who I am? Is she a fan? The thought’s a tad disappointing.

Something must alert her to my presence because her gaze snaps to mine, fast enough to risk whiplash. She looks at me and blinks. And blinks again.

“You.”

Well, that’s not the most flattering acknowledgement.

“Me,” I reply cautiously. Part of me wants to demand immediate answers, but I hold back—she seems harmless enough. And even if she isn’t, I’m not incapable of handling extremists. They come in all shapes and sizes: fans, jersey chasers, sisters.

She slowly rises to her feet, eyeing me as ifI’mthe one who’s crashed the party, before exhaling loudly, as if being in my presence is a real trial. Ooo-kay, so she’s not a fan.

I tilt my head to the side. Not the usual type, anyway. The packaging is off—women don’t usually show up in gray Duran Duran T-shirts and ripped jeans, clutching sneakers to their chests like shields. I sniff. And what is that smell? Amelia’s frown deepens.

Yvonne waltzes in. “Oh good, you’ve met my brother.” In a blur, she snatches the shoes from Amelia and vanishes, leaving us in stunned silence.

CHAPTER NINE

AMELIA

“Her dog—it peed on me.”

That’s what I finally put forward by way of explanation after spending endless seconds staring. Jake Cunningham. Tall. Broad. Here. Complete with a gray sweater and dark jeans topped off with a hint of end-of-day scruff on his jaw.

Green eyes I never imagined seeing again examine me as if I’m oh-so-interesting—green eyes the exact color of Yvonne’s. The woman I spent the last half-hour getting acquainted with.

He’s her brother? My disbelief mounts. Is this still jet lag? Or what are they putting in New York pretzels? How in a city of eight million does one run into the same person twice in two days? I bite my lip and take a quick glance around to confirm I’m not in Fordwich.

“Peed on you,” Jake repeats. There’s no mistaking the incredulousness in his tone. “So, what—it claimed you and invited you here?”

Before I get a chance to clarify that Yvonne did the claiming, he flashes me a grin. “You might as well make yourself at home.” He pivots, then tilts his head inside in a gesture to follow.

I trail him into the house, but stop dead in my tracks when I spot a life-sized skeleton in leather, a choker with spikes,and fishnet stockings casually leaning against the end of the corridor. “What?” he asks when he turns back to me.

“Are you sure this isn’t another one of your adult film locations?” I question, suspicion creeping into my voice. “And is Yvonne really your sister? Or is she a co-star?”

His momentary amusement disappears as he cringes. “Gross. Of course, she’s my sister. For fuck’s sake, people even mistake us for twins sometimes.”

I glare at him some more. “Who knows, you might like your handsome face so much you wanted a look-alike to play kinky games with.”

A small smirk curls his lips. “You think I’m handsome.” Leave it to him to focus on that.

“I think you think you’re good looking.”

“And do you disagree with what I think?”

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