Page 1 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

Chapter 1

Ivy

The car's hum is a lullaby. It would almost be soothing…if it weren't for the constant buzzing of my phone. I toss another glance at the offending object. Not today. Nope.

I am not picking up to hear another round of, “Did you see the memes?"or"Is it true he was hooking up with her for months?"

And the request for interviews. So many of them. Nope. Not doing it.

I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want tothinkabout it. Because thinking leads to feeling, and feeling means this whole mess might actually sink in. And I can’t let that happen.

Especially not with the vultures circling, waiting for me to break.

So, I’m doing the mature thing. Running away…

The road stretches out, all curves and dips, leading me further away from the mess I left behind. Maybe if I go a little faster, I can outrun all of my problems.

Or, you know, create new ones.

My bladder reminds me it’s been hours since my last pit stop. I glance at the fuel gauge—almost on E. Great. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.

For once in my "charmed" life, luck is on my side. A gas station sign appears through the pines, and I flip on my signal. Hopefully, this isn't some dilapidated shack, and I can pee without worrying about contracting hepatitis.

I pull into the lot, cut the engine, and step out, my legs aching in relief. I take a moment to stretch out my poor muscles, taking in a deep breath. The air is a mix of pine and gasoline—acidic and toxic, just like my mood.

"Fill 'er up," I say to myself, swiping my card at the pump. Numbers climb as liquid gold flows into the tank. I lock the handle in place and beeline for the restroom.

As I head toward the mini-mart, I’m very conscious of the way my hair must look—a bird's nest at best—and the fact that my face is bare, stripped of its usual mask of makeup.

I’m almost always completely done up—full makeup, designer clothes, every detail curated and camera-ready. That’s the job. My reflection in the glass door looks nothing like that. I’m in faded leggings and an oversized hoodie, with dark circles under my eyes and bare lips. I look like a stranger.

But that’s the point. The entire drive, I told myself that blending in was the safest bet. No high heels clicking on pavement, no signature perfume announcing my presence. If no one recognizes me, there’ll be no pitying glances, no whispered gossip, no strangers shoving a phone in my face to catch my latest downfall in real-time.

I can have a moment of peace for once in my life.

But standing here, stripped of the armor I’ve worn for years, it feels…wrong. Like I’m walking around in someone else’s skin.

Maybe that’s a good thing though.

I tug my hood up and push through the door, the bell jingling overhead. Eyes down, I scurry toward the restroom in the back. The sooner I get back on the road, the better.

It doesn’t help that I’ve waited too long. My bladder is past warning and into full-blown emergency mode.

I move faster, barely glancing at the sign as I shove the door open. Relief issoclose?—

I freeze. My brain takes a second too long to catch up, but when it does, it slams on the brakes.

There's a man.

Not just any man—a behemoth of flesh and flannel hunched over the porcelain. His massive hand steadies him against the wall, and for a moment, all I can do is gawk at the sheer size of him.

Broad shoulders. Brawny arms dusted with dark hair. Worn flannel stretched across his back. Faded jeans slung low on narrow hips. And then, impossibly, between his legs…

Oh.

Oh.

My breath stalls. My brain? Completely offline. Because holy hell, this man isn’t just big in stature. He’s bigeverywhere.

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