by Sara Ney
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Table of Contents
Title Page
About Sara Ney
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Sneak Peak at Jock Row
Other Titles by Sara Ney
About Sara Ney
Switch Hitter
A Jock Hard Novella
Copyright © 2017 by Sara Ney
Cover Design by Okay Creations
Formatting by Uplifting Designs
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Copyright © 2018 by Sara Ney
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner of this book.
First Edition: January 2018
For more information about Sara Ney and her books, visit: www.authorsaraney.com
About Sara
Sara Ney is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the How to Date a Douchebag series, and is best known for her sexy, laugh-out-loud New Adult romances. Among her favorite vices, she includes: iced latte’s, historical architecture and well-placed sarcasm. She lives colorfully, collects vintage books, art, loves flea markets, and fancies herself British.
For more information about Sara Ney and her books, visit:
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Chapter One
Amelia
“I need you to pretend to be me next weekend.”
I stop eating, fork poised above my plate. “Why?”
“I have two dates on the same night—oops.” My twin sister says it in a duh tone of voice, like it should have been obvious.
“No.”
“Please? Come on! It’ll be fun.”
“No.” I ignore the whining tone in her voice, the one that rises a few decibels every time she speaks. “Pretending to be someone else isn’t fun for me—it’s stressful.”
“You’re no fun.”
I laugh. “Exactly my point. If I had to spend an entire night faking it, I would pass out from exhaustion.”
“Maybe, but Dash is so hot, you won’t even care.”
“Is that supposed to be a selling point? This guy you’re dating is hot?” I shove lettuce in my mouth and chew. Swallow. “Lucy, we look nothing alike.”
Okay, so that’s not exactly true. We’re almost identical, I just hate admitting it.
“He doesn’t know I’m a twin. Trust me, he won’t notice.”
This gives me pause. “How does he not know you’re a twin?”
“I mean, it’s not like we sit and talk about you,” she quips.
“Right, but don’t you tell him about yourself? Normally you love to talk, and the twin thing is kind of a fun fact.” And a huge part of who you are as a human being, I want to add, but instead, I clamp my lips shut.
“Of course I tell him about myself. I tell him my favorite foods so if he ever decides to take me to dinner he’ll know what I like, and I tell him my favorite movies so he’s prepared in the event that we go to one. I also show him my best side when I’m taking selfies.”
How are we related?
She twirls her hair. “But we’ve only gone out like, twice—I don’t count seeing him at house parties and stuff. He’s kind of annoying though, always trying to have deep, meaningful discussions.”
My face contorts. “Why would you have a problem with that?”
“Oh my God, Amelia, it’s not like we can have a serious talk in the middle of a party.”
“What did you say his name was?”
“Dash Amado.”
I chuckle into my espresso. “Luce, I hate sounding like an ass, but how deep a discussion could a guy named Dash possibly want to have?”
“That’s kind of a bitchy thing to say. You don’t even know him.” She blows out a puff of air. “Besides, I don’t think that’s his real name.”
I slurp my water to annoy her.
It works.
“How about you try harder to get to know him?”
“I’m trying, but you won’t help me!”
“Far be it from me to judge, but methinks you’re not trying hard enough. Stop trying to make me your stand-in.”
“For the tenth time, he won’t even know it’s you.”
“I am not going on this date for you! It was cute trading places in high school, but it’s not cute now.” Not to mention, it’s immature.
“You used to think it was fun.”
“Remember the time we both ran for student council? It was exhausting and embarrassing and the whole mess was completely your fault.”
“What are you even talking about? The whole thing was not a mess—everything turned out great! We both got elected.”
When we were freshmen in high school, Lucy and I were both running for class officer—president for her, vice president for me. The election speeches were during an assembly during the school day, but rather than showing up, Lucy spent the entire period making out with some football player in a supply closet they’d found unlocked en route to the gymnasium.
In a panic—because I was always so freaking responsible—I tried covering for her. Pulled a speech out of my ass, gave it in front of the entire student body, then borrowed a shirt from our friend Clarissa, changed, came back as me to give a speech for myself.
It was exhausting, and the entire time, she was shut in a closet kissing some boy.
My sister gives me a dull look over the rim of her glass, waving her hand in the air dismissively.
“Amelia, that happened five years ago, or whatever the math is. Why do you keep bringing it up? We were in high school.”
“I keep bringing it up because I was terrified we were going to get caught! Just like I am now!”
“You’re so dramatic. We both won, so I don’t know what your problem is.”
“The problem is, you’re always doing this. Remember that time I dressed up as you to meet Kevin Richards at the movies so you could go do God knows what with Dusty Sanders? The entire movie Kevin kept trying to put his hand on my thigh because you’d let him get to third base the night before.”
“And you whacked him in the balls,” she deadpans dryly. “Yeah, who could forget that?”
“Whatever,” I mumble. “He had it coming.”
“Can we focus on Dash here, please?”
“We are twenty-one years old—don’t you think we’re a little old to be pulling tricks on people?”
“Um, no? There’s a reason God gave us the same face.”
That makes me laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But you
love me, don’t you?” She bats her sooty lashes. “You’re totally going to help me out—I can tell by the look on your face.”
“What look?” I pretend I don’t know what she’s talking about. “I have a look?”
My sister claps her hands, excited. “Yes, you totally do, and you’re totally doing this for me!” She lifts her brows and quirks the corner of her mouth into a cocky grin that mirrors the one I have on my face right now.
Shit. She’s right.
My twin leans in, hands folded on the table like she’s just entered negotiations in a business meeting.
“What’s it going to take for you to help me out?”
I mimic her pose. “I don’t know, Lucy. You tell me—what’s my time worth to you?”
She stares for a few long moments, lost in thought, trying to measure my sincerity through narrowed eyes. She’s trying to gauge if I’m being flippant or sincere about helping her. The thing about my sister is that everything always come so easy for her. She’s beautiful and relies heavily on her looks, uses them to her advantage. She’s outgoing and uses that, too.
Not that I’m not—I’m all of those things, but I’m not a user.
My sister is.
She doesn’t do it on purpose; she just…wants what she wants, when she wants it.
Lucy isn’t mean or malicious, goodness no, nor has she ever stood in the way of me being happy. She’s never pulled any deviant twin crap or made me feel bad about our differences.
She’s just…Lucy.
When I continue eating my salad and ignoring her hard stares, she sighs loudly, resigned. Pushes a carrot around its plastic container and sighs again.
Drama is my twin sister’s middle name.
Her hair is too big, her lips are too red, and her personality is too wild.
Around campus, in certain circles, we’re called the Barbie twins. It’s not because we have blonde hair—which we don’t—but because of Lucy’s bombshell appearance. We’re tall and slender with thick, wavy hair. My sister has hers shorter by a few inches, layered around her face, and it’s a rich chestnut color. Mine is longer and darker.
“What’s your time worth to me? I’ll buy you an extra gift at Christmas—”
“Which Mom and Dad will pay for.”
She sighs at me a third time, this one ending with a little drawn-out groan.
I throw her a bone, rolling my eyes. “So what’s up with this guy—what does a Dash person do?”
This opening perks her up considerably, and she immediately sits up in her seat, enthusiastic. “He’s on the baseball team—the catcher.”
“The catcher, ooh la la! Exciting.” I’m such a sarcastic jerk sometimes. “And why are you saying the word catcher like that, all whispery?” My head gives a shake. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
I bet he’s the captain or something cliché. Lucy only dates the most handsome, popular guys she can sink her long, manicured claws into. These days, those claws are painted hot pink, and when she’s impatient, she taps them on the laminate tabletop to irritate me—like she’s doing now.
“Let me guess”—I smirk—“they call him Dash because he’s soooo so super fast.”
Her smile fades. “You’re a smartass, do you know that? But also, you’re correct.”
“What else does he do quickly?” I joke.
“I don’t know.” She chomps down on her vegetables. “We’ve only made out once, but I’m hoping to find out soon. He’s giving me blue balls.”
“What do you mean you’ve only made out once? He’s a flipping baseball player. Forgive me for sounding confused or for buying into stereotypes, but aren’t most athletes major horn dogs?”
“Dash isn’t like all those guys, Amelia. He’s a gentleman, and honestly, it’s kind of getting annoying.”
I thought the point of her dating these guys was to be seen with them, not to form emotional attachments and actually spend quality time with them.
“It’s just frustrating. I’m trying to change his mind about the whole not sleeping with me yet bullshit. He’s all weird because we’re not committed, doesn’t want to get any girls pregnant or whatever.”
My brows shoot up, straight into my hairline. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means he doesn’t want to risk sleeping with any gold diggers who might trap him. You’d be surprised by all the baby mama drama surrounding athletes.”
I stare, shocked. No, I did not know that happened. “He told you that?”
“Yeah, when he was drunk once at a party.” She stops chewing, shaking a limp carrot stick in my direction. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Have you ever dated a guy because you genuinely liked him, or do you just date them for their status?”
Her hesitation is a brief flicker. “Both?”
At least she’s being honest.
I roll my eyes. They’re a touch darker than hers, the left one with a fleck of amber in the corner. Our eyes are one of the few things that set us apart—a fact that she hates—and I also have a dimple in the corner of my lip.
“Name one guy you really liked.”
She bites down on her bottom lip. It’s pouty and pink. “This isn’t a fair question, and why is it your business if I’ve never really liked anyone I’ve dated?”
“You’re making it my business—hello, you want me to switch places with you and go on a date with some stranger.” Who, quite frankly, I’m beginning to feel bad for. “If you liked him so much, you wouldn’t be—”
“Dating someone else at the same time,” we both say at the same time.
There is a hamburger on a plate in front of me getting cold, so I take a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I didn’t even know you were dating anyone, let alone two someones. In fact, I’ve never been introduced to any of your boyfriends since we’ve been in Iowa.”
“It never gets to the point where we’re serious,” she counters. “And before you say anything, it’s not my fault I get bored easily.”
“Um, yeah, it kind of is.” I’m talking with my mouth full. “Stop using guys and find one you like. Get to know one of them and maybe you won’t get bored. Stop going out with athletes. Try dating someone with substance.”
“Ew. That sounds like such a mind-numbing idea.”
“Try it once, for me.” I bat my lashes. “Pretty please.”
“No. It’s easy to sit here and judge me, isn’t it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve never dated a jock so you have no idea what you’re missing. Oh my gawd, the orgasms—they are so worth the headache.”
True, I have never dated a jock, but the orgasms I’ve had with other guys have been just fine, thank you very much, even if a bit ordinary.
“So will you do it?”
“What? No!” Maybe.
“Ugh, why are you like this?” my twin sister huffs, throwing her napkin on the table in a mini tantrum. “Help me! Please. You’re the sweet one—maybe if you go out with him, he’ll change his mind about me.”
“Is that what this is about? Do you even have two dates on the same night?”
“Yes! I swear I have two dates next Friday night.”
“Then how about you do the right thing and cancel one of them?”
Lucy glares across the table. “You’re the worst freaking twin.”
I laugh into my burger, taking a huge chunk off.
“We used to have so much fun, didn’t we?” she tries again while my mouth is too occupied to argue.
I quickly chew and swallow. “Yes, it was fun—when we were twelve.”
“Whatever, spoilsport.”
I laugh. “Eat your lunch, I have class in ten minutes.”
“For old time’s sake? Please? Dash is harmless—really smart and levelheaded. You’ll love him.” Her smile curves innocently.
For the first time tonight, I pause, considering it. Set down my food, fiddle with a napkin, not meeting her eyes. “I
’m listening.”
“He’s taking me to a battle of the bands, which you know is something I hate, but you love that kind of thing. My other date, Hudson, is taking me clubbing, which you know I love. I’m wearing that new silver dress I bought for New Year’s Eve.”
Hudson—what a dumb name.
“What if you end up having a date with Hudson for New Year’s and he’s already seen you in the silver dress?”
I smirk at the sight of her crestfallen expression.
“Shit. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Yeah, well…” I shrug through her scowl. “That’s what you have me for.”
“Look, I’ll make it easy: I’ll drop off the outfit I’d planned to wear, and you won’t have to worry about any details. Just get dressed and he’ll show up.”
“Where?” I’ll admit to being a teensy weensy bit curious about where this date she doesn’t want to go on is happening.
“The bar district, to listen to some local band.”
“What kind of band?”
“I don’t know Amelia! Some garage band or whatever. I was only half listening.”
“Hmm.” That sounds kind of fun. “What time?”
“Eight on Friday.”
“And you don’t think he’d notice that I’m not you?”
“No way, not a chance. He’s a guy.” Lucy leans in again. “Does this mean you’ll do it?”
“I don’t want to, but…”
She gets up from the table, comes around to my side, and puts me in a struggle cuddle from behind. “Yes! You are the best! I owe you big time.”“I know you do.”
She pokes a finger in my direction. “You can’t tell Mom or Dad.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Pause. “I guess…have Dash pick me up on campus?”
“Can’t you come to my house and have him pick you up there?”
“You’re seriously going to push your luck? Have him pick me up on campus. I’ll be in front of the field house.”
“Amelia, he’s going to think that’s so weird.”
“Ugh! Fine, fine. I’ll be at your house at quarter to eight.” I poke a finger back at her. “You better hope he’s not early.”
Chapter Two
Amelia