Page 107 of How to Win the Girl

I blink, sticking my head out the door. “Where’d Benny go?”

“He got busy.” The low voice is distinctly not my date’s.

My brows raise. “He has the key.”

Drake lifts his arm, dangling the key between his index and forefinger like a carrot.

“Oh! Was I hogging the bathroom?” I babble. “I’ll get out of your way so you can—”

But he ignores me, waltzing inside as if he has an invitation, leaving a trail of cologne in his wake. My nose tips up to give the air a whiff before he reclines against the counter with his arms folded and regards me.

I have no desire to kick him out of the room.

So.

I do the opposite, closing the doorto close us in, then press my back against it, watching him.

He smells so good.

Looks great, too, his firm muscles straining the fabric of his navy tee shirt—the one so similar to his brother’s a person would easily mistake them if they didn’t know what to look for.

The gap between his teeth, for one.

The scar.

I don't have to ask Drake what he's doing in this bathroom with me I already know. He's either in here because he has something to say, or is in here for another reason entirely. I shiver despite myself. His proximity has all my senses tingling.

Unlike most people who talk when they're nervous, I say nothing, waiting for him to talk because surely he's going to say something.

But I'm wrong.

Drake doesn't say anything, not a word.

Instead, his hands go for my waist, and he closes the distance between us by pulling me in so I'm standing between his spread legs while he rests his hips against the counter like a cowboy leaning against a fence.

We stare at each other, my eyes roaming over his face.

His handsome face.

The chiseled jawline; the square chin with the small dent in it.

Unlike Drew, Drake hasn’t shaved in a few days, the stubble on his chin creating a shadow that darkens his features, making him look dangerous and serious. Like the kind of guy who would close the door on a bathroom and have his way with someone…

“I…” He clears his throat. “Missed you.”

The air crackles.

“Missed me?” I whisper. “But I just saw you two seconds ago.”

Drake has nothing to say to that, instead moving his hands from my waist, up the side of my rib cage, then smoothing them down my back.

So this is what we’re going to do then. Pretend I have no idea which brother he is while he stands here pretending to be his twin?

Great.

Fine.

If this is how he wants it to be, so be it.

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