He Belongs With Me

by Sarah Darlington

  “You should take a breath,” he said in a soft voice. “Calm down for a moment. You're so distracted that you're blind to what's right in front of you. I don't know who your boyfriend is, what the bastard did to hurt you, or why you thought I'd be the solution to all your problems, but you need to calm down before you go inside.” His words were sincere, hardly expected from a big guy like him.

  “Ex,” I corrected.

  “Who cares? A woman in a red dress came into my bar tonight, and never in my life had I seen someone with so much confidence or command over a room. Where is that woman now? Get it together, Maggie. I know you're stronger than this.”

  He stood over me, unmoving, while his relentless eyes continued to hold my gaze. I took in a couple of deep breaths, trying to decide if I should be flattered or angry by his comments. Never before had I been spoken to like that—at least not by a stranger. His honesty was brutal and I finally landed on angry.

  “I'm fine,” I assured him through gritted teeth. “You can let go now. And don't ask any more questions because I'm done answering them. Peaches?”

  “I still don't understand what that means.”

  “It means let go of my arm—please.”

  I yanked away and this time, he let me break free without a fight. It had been a mistake bringing him. A big one, I decided. I couldn't believe Dean had the audacity to grab me in public like that. No one had seen us—everyone was inside—but still. I rushed for the door, planning to leave him outside, but he kept close as if nothing strange had just happened, walking inside with me.

  “Since you're still determined to be my date, there's one last thing you need to know,” I whispered to him as we entered. “My ex, Andrew Wellington, will be here tonight with his new girlfriend. Oh, and just a head’s up…his new girlfriend is my twin.”

  CHAPTER 2

  CLARA

  I hated grass. Loathed it. And everything it represented.

  With his sweaty fingers laced through mine, Andrew Wellington led me down the fairway of the sixteenth hole. If Dad knew I was out here at night—trespassing and trudging all over his precious golf course in my stilettos—he'd shit a brick. Maybe even a whole house. I didn't care. I dug my heels harder into the grass. Except with my luck, I was probably only helping to aerate the damn stuff.

  The only comforting thought at the moment was that one day I'd move someplace far, far away—Arizona, specifically—where the yards were made of pebbles instead of sickeningly perfect grass. I'd leave everything behind and never come back. I didn't necessarily want to cut ties with my family, just everything else that came with being a Ryder. I already had an escape plan in the works, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before I worked up the courage to actually carry it out.

  “It's beautiful out here at night, isn't it?” my sister's ex-boyfriend asked. My identical twin’s ex-boyfriend of four years, to be exact. Whom I was currently dating. Or pretending to date.

  He released my hand from its damp captivity and strolled a few paces ahead of me. He stood and gazed around like a total weirdo, a huge unexplained smile on his lips. It was only a golf course, for goodness’ sake—not freaking Disney World. Maybe I would admit, and only if someone twisted my arm, that most normal people might agree with Andrew. The crickets chirped. The stars twinkled. The overhead spotlights illuminated the course in a way that regular sunlight just couldn't. And something about the stillness amplified everything. Except, I just couldn't see the beauty that I knew was smack-dab in front of my face. Or even if I could see, I damn well couldn’t appreciate it.

  Summer break officially started ten days ago. I'd successfully finished my junior year at Virginia Tech, and while most of my friends were off tackling their first internships, doing the horizontal tango with someone special, taking fabulous family vacations, or simply hanging behind in Blacksburg so they wouldn't miss all the summer parties, I was being held hostage here in the dreadful town of Blue Creek. Secluded, quaint, and nestled along the Blue Ridge Mountains. Population: pitiful. Historical significance: zip. Suicide rate: extremely likely. At least I could take comfort in the fact that this would be my final summer under Dad's thumb. Oh, and best of all, it was the last time I'd be stuck working at his stupid, uppity country club.

  I’d been home from college all of one day before Andrew asked me out. Naturally, I declined. As my sister's ex, the guy was strictly off-limits. It didn't matter that Maggie and I weren't exactly best buds. Hell, these days we were barely on speaking terms. But I wasn't a bitch. No matter what my relationship with my sister looked like, I wouldn't stoop that low.

  Still, Andrew had been annoyingly persistent. It felt nice being pursued like that, since guys typically steered clear of me. They preferred the nicer, sweeter version of myself—Maggie. But for some mysterious reason, Andrew kept at it. I'd been almost tempted (not!) until I discovered from my friend, Leah Longerburger that persistence and charm were just part of the Andrew Wellington playbook. Apparently, he got around and not just recently. When I found out the slime-bucket had been cheating on my sister—with Leah and multiple others—that's when I finally agreed to go out with him.

  Come hell or high water, my mission this summer was to make Andrew Wellington regret he ever knew the name Clara Ryder. When Andrew confessed that he had feelings for me—that he'd always had feelings for me—my first thought had been absolute disgust. How could he have dated Maggie for all those years and carried some secret torch for me? But as he made his declaration of love, I hadn't missed the sincerity behind his eyes. That's when I formulated my plan to fake-date him. He'd crushed Maggie's heart and now I was going to crush his. Payback was going to be a bitch.

  But in addition to hurting Andrew, I also had to protect Maggie. My biggest fear was that after I crushed and dumped Andrew, he'd go running straight back to my sister. What if she took him back? My sister let people into her heart so easily, and since she dated the dillweed for four years, I got the impression that she might still be hung up on him. My relationship with Maggie was already broken, no matter what I did. So, my great-big-awesome plan not only consisted of breaking his heart, but also giving Maggie the impression that her “perfect” Andrew was vile enough to bang her sister. Not exactly honorable, but in my deranged mind I saw the plan as brilliance.

  Maybe it would’ve been easier to just tell her the truth, but I doubted she'd have believed me. I needed insurance and my plan offered that. Plus, it gave me something to do this summer. Blue Creek was dreadfully boring. A little scandal sounded fun.

  “Andrew,” I whispered in my best seductive voice. “We're all alone and you're more interested in the golf course than the beautiful girl standing right beside you. I didn't come all the way out here to admire the grass.”

  A smile formed on his smug lips, and then he suddenly closed the distance between us. His hands tangled through my long hair. His mouth smothered mine. His dry lips needed some serious ChapStick, but I kissed him back like I wasn't repulsed. When his slobbery tongue plunged into my mouth, I very nearly vomited, but somehow I managed to keep it together. We'd kissed twice now but never so greedily. Was he trying to eat my face?

  He shimmied out of his suit jacket and glued his body to mine as his hands traveled downward. Then, to my surprise, he yanked me up in his arms, and the next thing I knew he was lowering me down onto the prickly grass I hated so much. His consuming kisses didn't stop there and neither did his hands. He pushed his way between my legs, inching up my dress, and I felt his rather puny erection pressing against me. Can you say awkward? The only thing separating my ‘V’ from his ‘P’ was a couple layers of clothing. Holy shitballs! This wasn't what I had in mind when I'd suggested we take a walk instead of going to the party. I had to stop this before I lost my V-card to the last person I ever wanted touching me.

  “Andrew,” I breathed against his mouth, giving his chest a small nudge, “it's too fast.”

  Putting on the brakes, he wasted zero time shoving his body o
ff mine but took no care in covering the giant sigh that escaped his lips as he plopped down in the grass beside me. Staying still for a moment, I tried to collect my thoughts. I wanted to give Maggie the impression that I'd screwed him—not actually screw him. What if Andrew wouldn't have stopped just now? A jolt of fear shot through me. I normally would have never put myself in such a vulnerable position, and the close call made me want to get the hell back to a more populated area…now.

  “We should go to the party. My dad is expecting me there.”

  “No problem.” Hardly rattled, he sat up and reached for his jacket. While his attention was elsewhere, a glorious light bulb popped into my head. Lots of people liked to get freaky out on the golf course at night, so I plucked a handful of grass and rubbed into my hair. Maggie never missed a single party at the club, and hopefully when she saw it, she would assume I’d been getting hot and heavy out here. Maybe that would help boost her hatred for the skuz-wad.

  Andrew stood to his feet, noticing nothing, and then helped me up.

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spoil the moment. I just... I just...” I trailed off, fumbling all over my fake apology. Fake or real, I wasn't sure what the appropriate words were for this type of situation. We began walking back across the fairway toward the distant lights of the clubhouse. Talk about awkward. I tried to come up with something—anything—to say, while ignoring the blades of grass that kept falling from my head. “I'm sorry,” I mumbled.

  “I know,” Andrew said, his words earnest and soft. “I know you're not a slut. I told you before, I've always noticed you. You don't have to explain yourself. We'll get to the good stuff when we get to the good stuff. I would never rush you.”

  For a fraction of a moment, I almost believed the toolbox was a halfway decent guy. Maybe I even saw what my sister had always seen in him. Then the disturbing image of Andrew getting freaky with Leah Longerburger sprang into my head, and I lost my respect for him all over again.

  CHAPTER 3

  MAGGIE

  With my shoulders relaxed and my head held high, I entered the ballroom of the Reed Ryder Country Club, where the party was already well underway. Dad loved to hold these types of events for just about any occasion he could dream up. Tonight, white table-cloths, giant vases of blue hydrangeas, and twinkling lights decorated my favorite spot in the world. I loved this room and the hundreds of memories it contained.

  Quiet and still with his arms crossed over his chest, Dean's pretty golden eyes glanced around. Was he fascinated or bored? He took in the ambiance like a seasoned pro—like these were his people instead of mine. He didn't comment on the argument that had transpired between us moments ago, nor did he ask any questions about my recent revelation that I have a twin dating my ex. But I did find my anger toward him mellowing—I hadn't known him long enough to stay mad. Besides, like it or not, I seemed to be stuck with him for the night.

  I immediately noticed quite a few people I knew. Most of the familiar faces belonged to Dad's golf buddies, their plastic-surgery obsessed wives, and their entitled children. Growing up on a golf course, I spent every hour of my free time around these people. When I turned sixteen, I started working various jobs here too. Dad always insisted good character stemmed from responsibility, so Clara and I were forced to work for him. Unlike my sister, I never minded it one bit. I spent all of my time here anyway and figured I might as well get paid money for it. But of all the people I recognized—employees and members alike—I didn't spot Andrew or Clara anywhere.

  “Are we going to stand by the door all night staring straight into space?” Dean joked. “Or did your plans stop at getting me in the door?” The side he'd presented outside was long gone. Dean had now transformed into the very definition of calm under pressure.

  “Well, my sister isn't even here.”

  “Maybe she's late,” he offered.

  “Or maybe she's already been here and left. That's more Clara's style.”

  Rubbing a thumb across his chin, he let out a small sigh. “I'm sorry about outside. I shouldn't have grabbed your arm. Here's the thing...you were scaring me a little out there and I just wanted to calm you down.”

  “I'm fine. Then and now.”

  “Alright…am I forgiven?” he asked, actually sounding hopeful.

  I sighed. “I suppose.”

  “So what happens next? I'm all yours—what are you planning to do with me?”

  Liking the sound of that, I decided he couldn't be more right. I tracked him down and begged him to come—I couldn't wuss out now. Dean and all his six-foot-five glory was mine for the night. Although we never discussed boundaries, I assumed being his date came with certain privileges so I grabbed his hand from where it was folded against his chest and locked it in mine. My unexpected touch startled him for a fraction of a second before he gave me another relaxed smile and complete control. “I'm going to show you off,” I whispered. “That's the real reason I wanted you here.”

  “I see. I'm only eye candy to you.”

  “Yes, very tall eye candy.”

  Despite my sad attempt at a joke, Dean chuckled. I knew I had a lame sense of humor, which Andrew had no problem pointing out while we were dating. So I reveled in the fact that I'd gotten even a chuckle out of this gorgeous guy. Clara was the funny one—not me.

  “Want to go meet my friend Leo?” I suggested. “He's around here somewhere.”

  Dean shrugged. “Sure, I'm up for anything.”

  “Okay, but be warned. Leo's hard to like.”

  “Don't worry, I can handle myself. Leo Maddox doesn’t intimidate me.”

  Confusing with a big helping of strange. I hadn't mentioned Leo's last name. Either Dean already knew him or knew of him. Leo Maddox's grandfather, the original Leonardo Maddox, was pretty famous—famous for being stinking rich. A person would have to be living under a rock to have never heard of Leonardo Maddox or his giant empire of hotels scattered across the world. But somehow I got the impression that that wasn't how Dean knew Leo's last name.

  Oh well, I didn't want to pry. If Dean and Leo already knew each other, then I'd find out soon enough. Now I just had to find Leo, but that wouldn't be too hard. Leo Maddox was a creature of habit. By this point in the evening, he'd be at least three martinis deep and sulking in some corner. Despite my big plans for Dean, I had to go rescue Leo first, and Leo was always in need of rescuing. As his best friend, I felt obligated to try my best to protect him from his personal demons, who were constantly attempting to eat him alive.

  Once upon a time, Leo's mom and my mom had been as close as sisters—even planning their pregnancies together. But my mom died young and his mom ran away without a single goodbye. Life can be cruel and random like that. And yet, under those circumstances and maybe because of those circumstances, Leo and I became friends. I'm pretty sure we never would have otherwise.

  At a lone table in the back of the room, with one chair out of eight occupied, I found Leo. Even on his worst day, he never looked anything less than his absolute best and tonight was no exception. He wore a sharp, light gray Armani suit with a white shirt, brown tie, brown belt, and brown Bottega Veneta shoes. And as if he randomly decided to take a catnap in the middle of a crowded party, Leo had his head resting flat on a dinner plate. His jet-black hair—shorter on the sides, longer on the top, and styled perfectly into messy place—contrasted sharply against the stark white china. He wasn't asleep though because the moment we got close, he popped straight up.

  “Dammit, Maggie! Where have you been?”

  His voice came out brusque, but his tired blue eyes shined at me with relief. Several half-empty martini glasses were littered around the table. He reached for one and gulped down the remainder of its contents in one big swallow. He slammed down the empty glass with a loud clunk, causing the drink's onion garnish to go flying.

  “I was beginning to think you'd ditched me.”

  Shooting Dean a glance that I hoped conveyed my sincerest apologies, I turned my attention to
Leo, sitting down next to him. It's hard to guess what kind of mood had led to Leo's excessive drinking on this particular night, or what side of his multifaceted personality we'd be seeing.

  “Do you need to get out of here? I'll go with you right now if you need me to.”

  Leo glanced upward at Dean, his eyes narrowing as he noticed him for the first time. “No, I'm fine. Totally peaches. I wouldn't want to disrupt your date,” he said, heavy on the sarcasm.

  ‘Peaches’ was a code word. Leo and I had lots of code words. Kind of like a twin language we'd developed over the years, which was odd, since I never shared any special words with my real twin. Peaches meant 'I'm not okay, but don't ask again.’ Sometimes we both said it without thinking. Dad used to joke around, saying that he'd had triplets instead of twins. That's how close Leo's always been to me and my family.

  Dean stood still as he watched my interaction with Leo. As a bartender, I'm sure he saw his fair share of heavy drinkers. And right now, Leo was three sheets and then some. I quickly made introductions, hoping Dean wasn't too put off by his behavior.

  “Dean, this is Leo. Leo, this is Dean.”

  “Dean,” Leo said in sharp voice. “Why don't you sit down? Save us from breaking our necks here.”

  I got the impression that Dean wasn't someone who liked being told what to do. Still, he sat without argument. Not beside me, but in a random chair at the opposite end of the table. Leo stretched out a hand for Dean to shake, and it surprised me when Dean took it without hesitation. Then, like an internal radar had just gone off inside his brain, Leo whipped around in his seat, calling over the cater-waiter as he passed by. He ordered a round of Gibson martinis for the table—Gibson martinis were his favorite. Like a regular martini, just sub out the olive with cocktail onions. Both Dean and I refused. Instead, I ordered a glass of Riesling and Dean settled on a soda. As soon as the waiter disappeared, Leo began staring daggers at Dean. Was a soda so offensive?