Page 101 of How to Win the Girl

That was a visual I didn’t need.

…I wouldn’t mind being in a Drew and Drake sandwich.

Why’d she have to go and say that?

Not that I’d ever entertain the idea of sharing my girlfriend—least of all with a brother, least of all my fuckin’ twin.

I can’t get Daisy or her smart mouth out of my mind; not while we’re at the gym, not while I’m in the shower getting ready for this party, not when Drew leaves the house early to fetch her.

Not when I’m yanking a navy blue tee shirt over my head, pulling it down over the waistband of my jeans.

Staring in the mirror, I curse myself.

“You just had to meddle in his business, didn’t ya?”

Yup.

’Cause that’s what I’ve always done.

No changing me now.

* * *

This was a terrible idea.

Because I hate these freakin fraternity parties and

I have to watch Daisy smile up at my brother, who also hates these freaking parties.

People keep trying to talk to me, which makes it difficult to spy on Daisy and Drew, who have managed to keep their hands off each other.

Then again, we’ve only just arrived, and none of us are drinking (yet). The keg on the back porch seems too far from where I’m currently standing, doing my best to look like I’m minding my own.

I’m not.

I’ve been hovering like a chaperone at a middle school dance, bumping into Drew and interrupting their conversation since the second I arrived; Drew, who happens to also be wearing a navy blue tee shirt almost identical to mine.

Happens sometimes.

Would have been great had it not been tonight. The last thing I need to do is mingle and be confused for my brother while I’m trying to forget this entire mess is because I pretended to be him.

Still.

The first few minutes after I walk through the door are spent correcting classmates who think I’m Drew or that he is me, eyes homed on his back as he guides her through the massive ground floor of the house.

Daisy looks a way I’ve never seen her before, all bare shoulders and golden cleavage and heels so tall I could almost look her in the eye if she wanted.

Hair down, it falls in shiny waves.

Stop staring at her, for fuck’s sake. You’re standing in a room full of young women, most of whom would be willing to go home with you tonight.

I don’t want to go home with any of them tonight; I want to go home with Daisy.

The words pop into my brain as quickly as I accept the beer being thrust into my hand by an eager frat pledge, the word PLEDGE written in black script across his forehead.

Idiot.

Who would subject themselves to that?

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