by Nia Stephens
“What if the Lakers were playing? Would you still cheer for the Knicks?”
“Maybe.” Her loyalty was definitely torn between New York and LA, but she wasn’t sure it extended to sports teams. “But I would never root for Boston. I don’t even watch sports and I know that Boston is the enemy!”
“That’s just baseball. Did you see that sweet pass?”
Bree sighed, then told Justin she was going to the restroom.
“So go home,” Kylian suggested when she called him from the crowded, chaotic ladies’ room.
“I can’t! I left my scarf and gloves in his room!”
“Why did you do a stupid thing like that?”
“I didn’t want to lose them at the Garden.”
“And what were you doing in his room, young lady?”
Bree laughed. “I just met him at his dorm before going to dinner.”
“Just met him, or got to know him better?”
“Just met him,” Bree insisted with a laugh. “Seriously! He didn’t even try anything.”
“What’s wrong with him? Do you think he’s gay?”
“He’s not your type, Kylian,” she giggled.
“You said he was hot. Hot is my type.”
“No, skinny, geeky boys are your type. He doesn’t even know what a wormhole is.”
“Really?” Kylian sounded shocked. “You’re right. Not my type. And not your type either! Screw the gloves and go clubbing with me and Lucas and Sutton.”
“Sounds like fun,” she said wistfully. “But I can’t bail on Justin in the middle of the game. Listen, I’ll call you once we get back to his room and see where you are. Keep your phone on vibrate.”
“Roger, captain. Try not to be too miserable, okay?”
“I’m not making any promises,” Bree insisted before hanging up. She sighed again, then fought her way to the mirror.
“Excuse me, Ms. Knowles?” said an older woman, completely decked out in Knicks gear from her baseball cap to her socks. Definitely a tourist. “Can I get your autograph?”
“Sure.” Bree smiled and wrote Briona Black on the woman’s baseball cap. The woman thanked her effusively, and a few of the other women in the restroom looked a little jealous.
No one pays attention to the details, Bree thought, shaking her head in amazement as she rejoined Justin on the floor.
“Can I get you a drink?” Justin asked, unlocking the door to his suite. He had one of the nicest dorms Bree had ever seen, complete with a common room and a miniscule kitchen.
“Just one, I think. Then I’m headed home.”
“Home? But it’s not even ten o’clock!” Justin sounded amazed, as if it was unimaginable that Bree wouldn’t want to spend the rest of the evening with him. She supposed he hadn’t even noticed that she barely said ten words on the cab ride back to his dorm.
“Yeah . . . well . . . I don’t know. I feel like making it an early night.” Bree was hoping he wouldn’t make her say, I think you’re boring, so I’m going out with my real friends, but he didn’t seem to be catching the hint.
“Well, let’s see if a cosmopolitan won’t change your mind.” He smiled down at her, but it had lost its knee-weakening effect from the night before. He was still cute, of course, but he babbled on and on, as if Bree were a reporter doing research on a story about his fascinating life.
“I don’t like sugary cocktails,” Bree said, scooping up her petal-soft hat and gloves, hand-knit the previous winter by her grandmother. “What else do you have?”
“Pretty much a full bar, actually, except maybe wine.”
“Scotch and water then, please,” Bree requested, sitting on the edge of a leather butterfly chair. She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea by getting comfortable on the futon, but she knew that accepting one drink was common politeness.
She expected him to wedge himself into the tiny kitchen, but instead he disappeared into one of the suite’s three doors. Figures, she thought darkly. He’s exactly the kind of guy who doesn’t trust his roommate to leave his alcohol alone.
Bree examined the two-day-old issue of the New York Times, since it was the only printed material within arm’s reach of her chair, and quickly became engrossed in a story about a mysterious murder on the Lower East Side. She was so involved that she didn’t hear a door creak open behind her. She paid no attention at all until a voice that was deeper and even more velvety than Justin’s said, “Hello, Briona.”
Bree looked up and froze. She had heard of love at first sight, but she didn’t think it happened outside of soap operas. Especially not instant, head-over-heels-in-love-with-your-date’s-identical-twin-brother. But there was no doubt in Bree’s mind, or, more importantly, her heart, that Jason, not Justin, was The One.
It wasn’t even his looks, which were practically identical to Justin’s, after all. It was his look: the way his brows furrowed thoughtfully over gold-rimmed reading glasses; the way his hair stood out in wild, crazy twists; the way his red sweater was rolled up to his elbows, as if he had been working hard on a play at ten o’clock on a Saturday night; the way his jeans were smudged with dust on the knees from crawling around backstage at a theater. Okay, Bree was jumping to conclusions—maybe he was just looking at porn online or something—but she just knew that Jason, who was in the middle of directing one of the best plays of the last twenty years, had better things to do on a Saturday night. Serious things to do—like talk to her.
“Hi. You must be Jason,” Bree said, a little faintly. She was glad she was sitting down. Her head felt too light, like a balloon that might blow away.
“I’m surprised he mentioned me,” Jason said, smiling ruefully as he settled onto the futon. “He likes to pretend I don’t exist.”
Bree shrugged and said, “Sibling rivalry.” Then she wanted to slap herself on the forehead. The last thing she wanted to do was make Jason think she wanted them to fight over her. It was just so . . . melodramatic. Almost trashy. Part of her wished that she had never met Justin, but what if that meant never meeting Jason?
Listen to yourself, Bree told herself sternly. This isn’t a movie. This isn’t Romeo and Juliet or The Tempest. Jason might be just like every other guy you’ve ever met. Maybe this is all in your head.
Jason cocked his head to the side, almost as if he could hear what she was thinking. Then he smiled, a very small smile. “Justin and I don’t actually fight much. Not without a very good reason.”
“That’s good. That’s . . .” Bree forgot what she was going to say, distracted by the beauty of Jason’s hands, huge, as befit his height, but also rather delicate. An artist’s hands.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, holding his hands, palms out, to her. “I would shake, but I’ve been writing, and my pen leaks.”
“Oh? What kind of pen is it?” Once again, Bree wanted to hit herself. What kind of question was that? Was there a more boring question in the universe than what kind of pen do you have?
“It’s an old Mont Blanc I picked up at the flea market my first weekend here in New York. It feels lucky, somehow. And I love the craftsmanship. It’s so well made, it’s got to be eighty years old, and it’s only got this slow leak.” Jason paused, then laughed at himself. “I must be boring you to death.”
“Not at all,” Bree said, completely rapt. “I know exactly what you mean about old things. I have eighty-year-old opera gloves at home that fit perfectly. The stitches are so tiny—”
“Sorry that took so long,” Justin said, interrupting Bree as he came back into the common room with a couple of drinks. “I couldn’t find the scotch.”
“Hi, Justin,” Jason said, not getting up.
“Hello, Jason. I didn’t know you were home.” Justin wedged himself onto the futon so that he could sit between Bree and Jason.
“I was working on my play for Dr. Kirby’s class.”
“How . . . virtuous,” Justin responded, but Bree suspected that virtuous was not exactly what he meant.
“You know, I
really ought to be going,” Bree said nervously.
“You haven’t touched your drink,” Justin pointed out.
“True.” Bree took a gulp of her scotch and water, then hid a wince. Scotch was more of a sipping drink, but she was desperate to leave. This awkwardness was worse than pre-audition jitters.
“Bree really enjoyed the play last night,” Justin told his brother civilly.
“Really?” Jason’s huge smile made Bree’s heart flop uncomfortably in her chest. “Thanks! I’m really proud of the cast and crew. They’ve pulled together better in just a couple of weeks than most people would in six months of rehearsals.”
“I’m sure the direction helps,” Bree said, smiling idiotically, though she tried to hide it behind her drink, even more when she saw that Jason was actually blushing.
“No, it’s having a great cast and technical crew,” Jason insisted. “I was really lucky. And, of course, it’s a great play. Have you read anything else by the playwright?”
“I don’t think so,” Bree said, trying to remember.
“Let me grab something. Hang on.” Jason disappeared back into his room, and Justin slid over a little, which would mean Jason would be even farther from Bree when he got back.
“Aren’t you going to call your driver?” Justin asked after thirty seconds of perfect silence.
“Um, right. Good idea.” Bree did just that, then gulped down the rest of her drink. “Sam’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t show you a better time.” Justin did sound sincerely sorry, though Bree wondered if that was because she was so clearly interested in his brother.
“It was fine. Basketball just isn’t my thing,” Bree said, though she avoided saying, especially when I’m with someone cheering for the wrong team.
“Would a movie premiere be a little closer to your taste? Now there’s a smile. You’re so beautiful, Bree.”
“Thank you.” Bree couldn’t think of anything else to say to that, and she loved premieres. She went to a fair number with her father in LA, but her mother had always hated the red carpet. It made a certain sense: people paid a lot of money to photograph her walking the runway. Ameera didn’t see the point in letting the paparazzi take free photos of her on the red carpet.
“Mom and Dad represent both of the leads in Heart-Shaped Box, so we’ve got a couple of tickets.”
Heart-Shaped Box was the newest biopic of Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love, which was not exactly the most interesting subject to Bree. But a premiere was a premiere: famous people, fabulous after-parties, and a chance to network. She would love to go—if she could go with Jason. But that was impossible. Of course, if she kept going out with Justin there was a good chance she would see Jason again too. But what kind of girl did that?
The answer was obvious as soon as Jason bounded back into the room, clutching a stack of plays, essays, and short stories that Bree just had to read.
What kind of girl dated a guy just for a chance to see his identical twin? A girl who was crazy in love.
“Crazy is right,” Sutton said an hour later when Bree met her and Kylian at Surrender, a new club in SoHo that wasn’t very careful about checking IDs. Kylian’s new boyfriend was late, stuck in a stalled subway train somewhere under Manhattan, so Kylian was pacing his anxiety away on the sidewalk. “You can’t go out with somebody because you’re hot for his brother. That belongs in A World Apart, not the real world.”
“So what do you think I should do?” Bree asked, tugging at her hair in frustration. “Kick Justin to the curb and then hang around his dorm, hoping that Jason will walk by?”
“Why not?” Sutton slurped the last of her lemon drop martini noisily for emphasis.
“I don’t know,” Kylian said grumpily after a text message from Lucas ordered him back inside the warmth of the club. “Maybe you haven’t given Justin enough of a chance.”
“Are you totally cracked out?” Sutton asked. “She’s already gone out with him twice.”
“But he’s learning. He saw that she didn’t dig basketball, so he asked her to a premiere. That means he’s paying attention, trying to make you happy. I think that ought to count for something,” Kylian said, giving Bree a stern look. “You let Jake take you out three times, and he’s a total rat!”
“I told Justin I’d let him know tomorrow about the premiere, but I don’t know what do!” Bree signaled the bartender for another scotch on the rocks. It was her third of the night, and one past her limit, but she didn’t really care. Her judgment couldn’t get much worse, after all.
“You’ve got all night. Why don’t you sleep on it?” Sutton suggested.
“You just want me to stop drinking and start dancing,” Bree complained.
“I want you to stop whining and start dancing,” Sutton said, pulling Bree from her barstool and to her feet. “Seriously, a few hours of shaking booty, a few hours of sleep, and you’ll know exactly what to do.”
“You think?” Bree said doubtfully.
“She’s right,” Kylian said, giving Bree a little shove from behind. “Dance now, think later.”
“All right.” Bree gave in, losing herself to remixed beats from the early eighties. By the time she got to bed it was almost three AM and her worries about Justin and Jason didn’t keep her from falling fast into an exhausted sleep. She didn’t wake up until her mother banged on the door at eleven-thirty, trying to find her black glitter eyeliner.
“I haven’t seen it,” Bree lied automatically, and slid deeper under her covers. Before she could fall back to sleep, the answer to the Justin/Jason problem announced itself so clearly it might have been a text message from her dreaming mind to her waking self.
Oh, no, she groaned silently. This is going to be hard.
Unfortunately, she also knew that it was the right decision.
Soap Opera Love
DOES BREE DECIDE TO KEEP GOING OUT WITH JUSTIN, KNOWING THAT JASON IS A BETTER FIT?
If so, turn to page 85.
DOES BREE DECIDE TO TELL JUSTIN GOODBYE?
If so, turn to page 93.
So you think Bree should say yes to the premiere with Justin? Read on to see what happens!
Chapter 7
Heart-Shaped Box
“Jesus! Do you put on this much makeup before every date?” Kylian asked, his voice shrieky with horror. There was a reason Sutton was Bree’s usual pre-date date. Bree missed Sutton’s snarky comments from her usual place on the bed. Kylian insisted on hovering right behind Bree as she applied her third shade of eye shadow, a highlighting gold dust, just under her brows. His scrutiny would make her nervous even if he wasn’t squawking at her the entire time, which he was. She missed Sutton, but she was afraid to call her. Sutton had barely spoken to her since she agreed to go to the premiere with Justin. Sutton had skipped their runs all week, and had decided to stay after school to work on her college application essays with the guidance counselor instead of walking home with Bree and Kylian.
Bree was crushed. Sutton hadn’t been this mad at her since Bree went to the Rittenhouse freshman formal with Jordan when they were thirteen, and even then Sutton’s anger hadn’t lasted more than three days.
“I don’t know what Sutton’s problem is!” Bree said, slamming down the little tin of gold eye shadow. “She doesn’t even know Justin! He’s not that nice a guy! It’s only our third date anyway!”
“It’s not about Justin really,” Kylian explained, examining Bree’s eyelash curler. “It’s that whole lawyer’s kid thing. Sutton has a bad case of ethics, and she thinks what you’re doing is wrong.”
“So? She’s thought lots of things I’ve done were wrong, but that didn’t make her stop talking to me!”
“She thinks this is a whole different kind of wrong. Come on, Bree—you can’t say you’re all that surprised. Sutton flips out over weird things sometimes.”
“I know,” Bree agreed, taking the eyelash curler away from Kylian. “Remember when Jordan decided to skip his
senior prom and go to Rocky Horror with us? And she wasn’t even his date!”
“Yeah, but she was going to go with Chris Van Allen, so there was a chance she would get to dance with Jordan. So that’s different,” Kylian pointed out.
“True. By the way, to answer your earlier question, this is a lot more makeup than I usually wear. But this is a movie premiere, not another basketball game.”
“So this date will have to be better than the last.”
Kylian sounded so hopeful, Bree caught his eye in the mirror. “Are you still thinking that things might work out between me and Justin?”
“Stranger things happen,” Kylian said with a shrug.
“Not a chance,” Bree said sadly. “I’ve got to return all those books to Jason, and this seemed like the easiest way to do it. My number is tucked into one of them. Maybe he’ll call me.”
“You really aren’t interested in Justin at all? Not even a little bit?” Kylian’s voice was getting even higher. Bree did not like where this was going.
“No. When I think about Jason, my heart slides into my throat and I can hardly breathe. But when I think about Justin, nothing.”
“Oh.”
“What do you mean, oh?” Bree was still watching him in the mirror. There were two bright spots of color on his pale cheeks. It looked like he was the one applying blush.
“I mean . . . if you really are just using him to get tickets to a movie premiere, and to give your phone number to his brother . . .”
“Come on, say it,” Bree said, massaging her temples.
“Then maybe Sutton’s right. Maybe you shouldn’t be going on this date tonight.”
“Thanks, Kylian. You’re a great wingman. Loads better than Sutton.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, but it’s true!” he said, squeezing Bree’s shoulders. “It’s not right!”
“What do you think I should do? Just walk away from my only connection to the man who was meant for me?”
“Um . . . yeah,” Kylian said. “Exactly.”
“I can’t! I can’t break my own heart!”