He Belongs With Me (3 page)

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?

“Have you seen Clara tonight?” I tried to draw Leo's focus back to me, but his attention still lingered on Dean. Was he
glaring
at him now?

“Negative,” Leo said.

“So...she didn't even bother showing.”

“Thank the fucking Lord for that.” Leo's eyes started to burn a hole through my date's head. “What was your name again? Dan?”

“Dean.”

“Funny. You don't look like a Dean.”

The waiter returned and handed out our various drinks. I sipped my wine, pretending not to notice Leo's odd behavior. God, he was laying it on thick tonight. I never cared when he got drunk and embarrassed me before, but for some reason…I did now.

“Have we met before?” Leo asked, continuing to badger Dean. “You look very familiar. I'm positive I know you from somewhere. Mags, where did you find this guy? He looks an awful lot like—”

“Clara and Andrew are here,” I announced, cutting off Leo's rambling.

My identical twin had just entered the room with Andrew Wellington crazy-glued to her arm like he was Prince Charming. Leaving Leo's side, I slipped out of my chair and quickly shifted over to an unoccupied one next to Dean. Sitting next to Leo—like I always did—wasn’t the impression I wanted to give. Sure, if I wanted to make Andrew jealous, Leo was the better choice. While dating, Andrew had always been suspicious of my relationship with him. But I hadn't asked Dean to be my date for Andrew's sake.

“Um...show time,” I whispered to Dean. “I think she's coming this way.”

Clara wore a tight black dress paired with the most stripper-worthy, neon-pink stilettos I’d ever seen. The heels matched the pink streaks she currently had running through her long, wavy, platinum-blonde hair. Her makeup wasn't horrible, just more than I typically wore. Between the dress, the shoes, and the hair, her style fell somewhere between dramatic and God-awful. I'm not sure if she hated looking like me or enjoyed ticking Dad off, but she never could just let her hair remain its natural blonde color. She changed it constantly and it bugged the heck out of me.

With her head held high, she cut through the crowd like a lioness after her prey. And if she was the lioness, then that made me the water buffalo—too dumb to run away when I had the chance. Now she was coming this way and there was no chance of escape.

My heart rate spiked but I tried not to let my nervousness show, while Leo paled like he might vomit. He and Clara hated each other. Where life had pushed Leo and me closer together over the years, it had the opposite effect with the two of them. They fought like crazy growing up. Nowadays, Clara liked to pretend Leo didn't exist and Leo had gotten better at holding his tongue where my sister was concerned. But from the look on his face, I was willing to bet tonight was about to turn sour very fast.

“Calm down, Leo,” I said in a soft voice. “You're too drunk to get in a fight with her. Let me do the talking. I promise I'll handle it.”

Leo shot me a nasty look before finishing off the remainder of his current drink. He plucked an onion from the empty glass and started gnawing at it like he could suck every last drop of alcohol from it. Oh God, help us all. The only person at the table who wasn't having a mini-stroke was Dean. He looked relaxed, almost amused even, and as I began to turn my attention back toward the ticking time bomb, I suddenly felt Dean rest his hand on my thigh under the table.
Ah. Okay. Whoa!
So we'd touched a couple times now. No biggy. But this...this did something new to me. The simple act of his warm, easy touch on my leg sent a shot of adrenaline straight to my already racing heart. Swallowing down a giant gulp of wine, I sat up a little straighter.
Business. Business. Business,
I reminded myself. That's all this was.

Just when I’d convinced myself of this, Dean's thumb started moving in careful circular motions, stroking the outside of my thigh where the slit in my dress cut. And the thing was, he knew exactly what he was doing—giving me a distraction. I'm not sure if I wanted to slap him or beg him to never stop.

“Hi, Maggie,” Clara said as she approached. “How's it going?”

Hovering over me with Andrew still pinned to her side, Clara waited for me to acknowledge her presence. Startled by her sudden nearness—or maybe it was the gentle squeeze Dean's hand gave my thigh under the table—I leapt out of my seat like I'd been probed in the butt, causing my wine to spill. I tried to catch the glass before it fell to the floor, but I stumbled and almost fell onto Dean's lap. The glass shattered anyway and then I managed to right myself, smoothing out my dress and pretending like I wasn't the biggest klutz ever.

“Glad you decided to show,” I said, my voice shaky. I didn't bother acknowledging Andrew—I didn't see the point. My eyes stayed fixed on my sister, but just looking at her boiled my blood. I tried to play it cool and aloof like her, but I was a horrible actress. “Nice hair. Did you dye it with Kool-Aid?”

Clara let out a bored sigh, my comment rolling off her thick skin. “Seriously? Is that the best you can do? Kool-Aid. No, I found a five-year-old to color it with crayons. He gave me a good deal. Why, you want his number?”