Chapter 8
Samantha
He said his name was Ethan. He was tall, with muscles he was obviously proud of because he wore a T-shirt in the cool May air. He had tattoos on his arms. He wore artfully ripped jeans and a belt with metal studs in it, and I was supposed to sleep with him.
Emma had placed herself at the bar, where she pretended not to know me. This was in case Ethan was a creep and I needed an escape. If I gave her a nod, she’d move in and extract me. If I left with Ethan, she’d leave me be.
“Hey,” he said in greeting as he sat down across the table from me. I was still in my work clothes, so we looked… incompatible. Though of course that could be a turn-on sometimes. Ethan had dark blond hair in a short cut and scruff on his jaw. He was good-looking, I supposed, or at least good-looking enough to get a lot of dates on Tinder.
Damn Emma and her need to fix everything, including my sex life. I hadn’t asked her to get me a date—I’d only wanted to drink some wine and bend a sympathetic ear. But my big sister, who spent her entire career training people to make things happen, had just jumped in and taken over without asking me. Now I had a strange man sitting across from me, and I didn’t know what to do.
No, that was a lie. I knew what I was supposed to do.
And if I was honest with myself, having a good-looking guy waiting for the cue to hook up with me tonight wasn’t the worst problem to have. I was still young, I was healthy, and I was sitting in a nice bar, considering relieving my considerable sexual frustration.
“Hi,” I said to Ethan. I smiled. He smiled back.
“Thanks for inviting me out,” he said. “I know we’ve been messaging for a while. I’m glad you decided to meet me.”
Great. That was just great. Emma had hooked me up with one of the guys from her own Tinder account, and he thought I was her. I darted a glance toward her at the bar, but she was innocently sipping wine and scrolling through her phone. I was going to kill her.
Still, this guy’s IQ couldn’t be that high, since Emma’s hair was dark red and mine was dark blonde. We looked like sisters, but we weren’t identical. “I’m surprised you recognized me,” I said.
He shrugged. “Your photo is kind of low-res, but I can tell it’s you. Though I’m not surprised you recognized me.” His grin was knowing, which meant one thing: he’d been sending my sister selfies. Probably naked ones. Maybe even dick pics.
I cleared my throat. “I, um…”
“I did send a few of my face. Or weren’t you looking at those?” He grinned again.
Oh, God. “I don’t remember all of the pictures, I guess.”
“You don’t remember?” His eyebrows went up. “It was just last night. You get that many guys sending you pictures?” He waved a hand before I could answer. “Never mind. You’re hot. The hot girls on Tinder always get the most guys. I get plenty of girls, myself. It’s the muscles.”
Yes, he had muscles. I shouldn’t have any objection to those. So why did I think that this guy—who dressed and acted tough—was actually soft compared to my boss in his sleek, expensive suit? Why did I think Aidan Winters could probably break this guy in two? I took a hefty sip of wine. “I’m glad you’re successful,” I managed.
“So am I.” He leaned back in his chair and looked me up and down. “I can see why you didn’t send me any pictures back, even when I asked for them. You’re a classy girl.”
“I’m not a girl, actually.” The word was starting to grate on me.
“Oh, right.” He rolled his eyes, and then he grinned again, as if that made it okay. “It’s fine. I’ll call you whatever you want. Do you want to come to my place? I’m on the Lower East Side.”
Right. We were supposed to be hooking up for sex. I was supposed to be having sex with a real man instead of with my hand for once. That thought wasn’t supposed to annoy me, make me think about my boss yet again. “Do you have roommates?” I asked.
“No, I have my own place, so it’s private. Unless you’d rather go to your place.”
His own place in Manhattan? What did this guy do for a living? It was probably in his Tinder profile, but since I’d never actually seen it, I had no idea. Besides, what did it matter what his job was? This was supposed to be anonymous sex. The hot kind. The less I knew about Ethan, the better.
“So, Emma,” he said, grinning at me. “What do you say?”
There was something about that—him calling me by my sister’s name—that did me in. I could have sex with a stranger. I could even do it if he didn’t know my real name. But I honestly couldn’t fuck a man who thought I was my sister. It was just too weird.
This wasn’t going to work.
“I have to confess something,” I said to Ethan.
His eyebrows went up. “Confess what? You’re into kink? I’m open to anything.”
“I’m not actually Emma,” I said. “I’m her sister, Samantha. Emma is over there.” I pointed at the bar, where Emma was sitting. Ethan looked, too. Emma’s lips parted and she stared back at us, busted.
Ethan still didn’t get it. “You want me to fuck both of you?”
Jesus. “No,” I said. “My sister was trying to set me up, but I don’t think it’s going to work.” I pointed. “She’s the one who has seen your pictures, not me. I think she’s the one you should work on.”
He could have been mad. I wouldn’t have blamed him; he’d been brought here on false pretenses. Instead he stared at Emma without glancing at me again. Emma stared back.
“Okay then,” Ethan said.
I sighed. I was going home alone.
As Ethan stood and walked over to the bar, I put money on the table and gathered my purse. It was a little humiliating, even though the entire situation was absurd. I’d just been dumped for my sister, even though she should have been out with the guy in the first place.
I took one last glance at the bar. Ethan was leaning against it, talking. Emma was her usual cool self, but she was smiling.
Everything was so easy for her. Have a problem? Fix it. Want to start an uber-successful company? Do it. Need to get laid? Message a guy whose dick you’ve already approved and get on with it.
I wouldn’t even be able to hold a grudge against her for tonight, which she knew perfectly well. Despite this annoying stunt, my sister was the one person I counted on in this big, heartless city. Truly, she was my only friend.
As I walked out the door onto the cool, dark street, now lit with lights from signs and traffic, I thought about Aidan Winters. He was my friend too, perhaps. Someone I counted on. He’d probably find that absurd, which it was—he was my boss, and I was self-reliant anyway. I could see him now, giving me one of his wry looks and saying I think I’m flattered, Samantha, but I’m not sure.
I still didn’t know if I was fired for derailing the Egerton deal.
I didn’t know if Aidan was my friend or not.
I didn’t know where he was right now. With a woman, maybe. Talking, laughing. Fucking her. Maybe a woman he saw regularly, maybe one he’d just met. I didn’t know what was in the blank parts of his schedule. It was none of my business.
I turned and walked up the street toward the subway, wondering if he was ever as lonely as I was.