Chapter 20 – Jordie
CHAPTER TWENTY
The evil twin
Jordie
I drag my carcass from the bed at the ass-crack of dawn and head into the lavish bathroom. The room is done in comforting shades of blue with an enormous mirror over double sinks. I stare at my reflection.
There’s no hope for my hair. It’s a complete wreck, like a bird’s nest… if the bird was high on cocaine and blind in her left eye. My lips are still swollen from Phoenix’s kisses, and my fingertips drift over the puffiness as I recall last night’s events.
“Jesus,” I groan aloud. “Did I really proposition Phoenix Hale like he’s some kind of stud horse?” My wild reflection stares back, mocking me silently.
Yes, I definitely did that. Then—oh god—I felt him up and called him tripod. Tripod! Seriously? But in my defense, that was one long dong… which I then proceeded to use to rub one out. And I’m fairly certain I left a wet spot on his crotch.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Should I offer to cover his dry cleaning bill for his suit pants?
I drop my head to the dark-blue marble vanity with a thunk, considering banging it a few more times for good measure. Maybe if I give myself a concussion, I can retroactively blame it for my behavior last night.
Pulling my head up, I grab a couple aspirin from my toiletries case and swallow them with water from the sink to help with my slight hangover headache. Then I hop in the shower and attempt to wash away my humiliation with the hotel’s fancy body wash.
As I’m riding the elevator down, I study my phone, reading through my workout plan.
My trainer, Diesel, wants me to do cardio before weights today.
When the doors open on the second floor, I step out and locate the sign pointing toward the gym.
The pool is also on this floor, and the pungent odor of chlorine fills my nostrils as I open the gym’s glass door, my eyes once again cast down to my phone.
Cubbies line the wall beside me, and I stuff my gym bag in one and sit on a bench to retie my shoes—custom black-and-purple Jordie McNamara sneakers, thank you very much. Then I stand and turn to the row of treadmills… and freeze.
He may not be wearing one of his suits—or pink bunny pajamas—but I’d recognize Phoenix Hale anywhere, even from behind. Especially from behind. The man has an ass that would stop traffic. It has enough plumpness to put it directly in the cake category.
I realize I’m staring at said cake beneath the light-gray athletic shorts he’s wearing and jerk my gaze upward, determined to get the hell out of here before he sees me. Maybe I can sneak into the gym at the hotel across the street for my workout.
But it’s too late. Our eyes collide in the mirror in front of him like two runaway trains. He acknowledges me with a jerk of his chin, and then he tilts his head to the side to indicate the treadmill to his right is free.
Super. So excited about this little turn of events. But I straighten my slightly damp ponytail and grab my Stanley cup, striding over with my chin held high. I’m Jordie fucking McNamara, dammit, dick humper extraordinaire, and I have nothing to be ashamed of. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
“Good morning,” I say, setting my cup in the holder as I step up onto the textured black belt.
“Morning.” His voice is deep and quiet, like it’s holding some secret knowledge. And I guess it is. He knows what I look like when I come.
Mortification prickles at the base of my neck, but I ignore it and turn on my machine, beginning with a nice jog to warm up. He’s going at the same pace, and our feet find fall into rhythm, hitting our respective belts in tandem.
After a while, during which our eyes meet no less than five times in the mirror, I finally break the silence. “Is there any chance you’re suffering from short-term amnesia this morning?”
His full lips twitch at one corner. “Nope. My memory is just fine.”
I nod. “I’m not sure if you realize, but I have an evil twin who sometimes likes to pretend to be me and do very embarrassing stuff.”
The other corner of his mouth tics. “Really? That’s fascinating. I had no idea you were a twin too.”
“Yeppers. I woke up this morning stuffed in a closet with no recollection of last night, so I’m assuming she drugged me and took my place for the evening.”
Blue eyes twinkle with mirth in the mirror. “That’s horrible, Jordie. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
I wave a nonchalant hand. “I’m used to it by now. One time in first grade, Morticia—that’s my evil twin’s name—passed gas right in the middle of coloring time and blamed it on me. She’s a horrible person.”
“Huh,” he says thoughtfully, lips twisting to the side. “You know all that troublemaking stuff I told you about earlier from when I was a kid? That wasn’t me. It was actually my evil twin, Helix.”
A grin slides across my lips. “So you understand what I’m going through.”
“Completely.”
Our banter is interrupted by the woman walking on the treadmill on the other side of Phoenix when she taps his arm.
She’s got on a full face of makeup and perfectly styled dark hair that hangs over her shoulders.
She also has boobs that are threatening to bounce right out of her designer sports bra.
“Excuse me, can you tell me what time it is?” she coos, fluttering ridiculously fake eyelashes at him.
My spirits take a nosedive at her beauty and her obvious flirting. I face forward, though I can still see their reflections out of the corner of my eye.
To my surprise, instead of flirting back, Phoenix cranes his neck and looks at her phone, which is right in front of her in the device holder. “Your phone says it’s 6:54.” Then he turns back to me, dismissing her completely. “Tell me more about Morticia.”
Take that, Miss Boobs-A-Lot.
Every cell in my body warms, and it’s not from the light jog I’ve got going on. “Well, like I said, she’s awful, always doing things I have to apologize for.”
Phoenix scrapes his teeth against his bottom lip, which is more swollen than the top one, and that reminds me I also freaking bit him last night in the throes of my orgasm. Just one more thing to add to my list of mortifying shit.
“It’s a good thing Morticia didn’t do a single thing last night that you have to apologize for.” He lifts one eyebrow meaningfully. “Not a single thing.”
“Really? But I—I mean, Morticia—called you…” I lower my voice and whisper, “tripod.” I’m sure my face is all shades of red at the memory, but Phoenix just laughs and tugs at his sleeveless gray T-shirt, pulling it away from his sweat-slicked skin.
Mmmm, sweaty man. Is there anything more delicious?
“Trust me, sweetheart. There’s not a man alive who would be offended by that description.
” He cocks his head to the side and lets his eyes drop down my body.
“In fact, I think I’d like to spend a lot more time with…
Morticia.” He doesn’t do air quotes around my fake sister’s name, but his tone implies it.
A sense of giddiness washes over me, but I hide it by cranking up the speed on my treadmill, and Phoenix does the same. He matches me stride for stride as we pump out three miles.
He finally slows to a walk while I push through my final mile and then crank down my speed to cool off.
Phoenix turns off his machine and leans back against the arm of the treadmill, facing me as he polishes off a bottle of water.
I recognize the brand from the hotel room, one of those fancy ones they charge you over twenty dollars for if you take it from the mini-bar, whereas I filled my cup from the kitchen tap.
He lifts his shirt to wipe sweat from his face, giving me an excellent view of his stomach.
Holy abs of steel. The man is stacked, and the dusting of hair that tapers down into his gray shorts makes me want to bury my nose there.
A spark ignites between my legs, and I look away swiftly because apparently the mere sight of an eight-pack turns my vagina into a whore.
Phoenix crosses his arms over his chest, and I mentally pat myself on the back for not gawking at his muscular biceps and forearms. I simply glance as I walk. Occasionally. Six or seven times. The suit, as Kam called him, apparently does not skip arm day at the gym.
Sweat dampens my sports bra between my breasts and runs down the crack of my butt. The swamp ass struggle is real.
“Question,” Phoenix says. “Are you and Morticia identical twins?”
“Oh yeah. Completely identical. Not even our family can tell us apart.”
He leans forward, folding his forearms on the support arm of the treadmill as his voice deepens. “So does that mean your pussy is as hot and wet as Morticia’s was when she rode my cock last night?”
I stumble and barely catch myself on the support bars as my legs paddle out behind me. I swear, this man is constantly turning me into a character straight out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
“Phoenix Hale,” I hiss, pressing the button to stop my treadmill.
He makes a tutting noise with his tongue. “It’s really more effective if you scold me using my full name. My middle name is Anthony, by the way.” His smirk is simultaneously infuriating and sexy.
“Phoenix Anthony Hale,” I try again, and he gives me a nod of approval, the smartass.
“You can’t just say stuff like that.” My eyes dart around to see if anyone is listening, but all the treadmills and ellipticals are currently empty.
Not sure where Miss Boobs-A-Lot went. Probably trolling for another unsuspecting victim after Phoenix’s blatant rejection.
“Why not?” he asks, still bent slightly at the waist and leaning toward me.
“Because… you just can’t,” I reply, unable to come up with a reasonable excuse.
“My answer is yes, by the way.” At my look of confusion, he clarifies in a whisper. “To the cherry issue we discussed last night.” Then he puts his index finger in his mouth, placing it against his inner cheek before flicking it out to make a popping sound.
I burst into laughter. “You are completely unhinged.”