Chapter 1
DILLAN
I just heard a girl order a Diet Coke, and when the server told her they were out of diet, she asked for a margarita, hold the ice with extra salt instead. I’m not sure what that says about her life choices. Especially since the girl was me . . .
—Dillan’s Secret Thoughts
Isearch the deep, dark recesses of my mind, trying desperately to locate what temporary lapse of sanity led me to this moment. The one that told me to give in and let my sister set me up on a date.
I don’t date.
Not like I wouldn’t ever, just . . . I haven’t found anyone worth the effort lately.
Or more accurately in years.
Most of the men I’ve met have kind of sucked. And that’s putting it mildly. I guess I was hoping Kevin would prove me wrong.
So far, he hasn’t.
I mean, I could be home in my pajamas, on my couch with a candle burning, a Diet Coke in one hand and a sexy book in the other. Instead, I’m buffed, waxed, and wearing the sexiest underwear I own, already pretty damn sure there’s no chance in hell this guy is going to see them.
What a waste.
Okay, fine. Kevin Kosen is gorgeous, in a master of his universe, music-executive, GQ-model kind of way.
I bet he even has abs—the kind he got from hours of work at a gym with an expensive personal trainer.
His golden-blonde hair is perfectly styled, and if I’m being honest, might just be nicer than my own hair.
Which should be the first red flag. Never date a guy with better hair than you.
But honestly, the fact that it’s also the exact same shade as mine is more like a giant neon warning sign, waving so damn violently in my face, you can’t miss it.
Seriously, if we hit it off and had kids, we’d look more like brother and sister than husband and wife, and my family already has enough incest jokes, thanks to my aunt and uncle also being stepsiblings.
But that’s a story for another day.
Back to Kevin and cataloging why this is a bad idea. Because it really is.
He’s tall enough. I mean, next to me, everyone looks tall, but I’d guess Kevin is at least five-nine or five-ten to my five-one. Although, I am wearing four-inch heels, so I look slightly less Tinker Bell-ish.
Not sure if it’s working, but I figured it was worth a try.
Leaning back against the black pleather booth, I offer the waitress a warm smile as she slides my margarita and Kevin’s scotch onto the table.
I look across at my date and his perfectly pressed blue-striped dress shirt and wonder why there’s absolutely no spark.
Red flags aside, he’s not bad looking, and it might be nice to have an orgasm I don’t have to give myself.
Although I have my doubts as to whether Kevin could find a clit with the help of a homing beacon.
He strikes me as one of those guys who has to make sure his angles are good during sex because heaven forbid he not look perfect.
Christ. I need to get out more.
Kevin clears his throat and lifts his glass. “A toast.”
Seriously . . . A toast?
I lift my margarita, internally cringing.
Who toasts on a first—and only— date?
“To a beautiful woman.” He taps his glass to mine, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been prouder of myself than I am in this very moment because if that even qualifies as a line, it was just about the lamest line I’ve ever heard.
As I sip the sweet, salty goodness, I realize I’m not even sure I’m the beautiful woman he’s talking about.
His perfectly waxed eyebrow lifts as a self-satisfied smile slides across his face.
“Remind me to thank your sister for the introduction.”
I have absolutely no intention of reminding him of anything because that would require me to speak to him again, and I highly doubt that’s happening.
What I do plan to do is torture my sister to get back at her for this setup from hell. She went on and on about how I need to put myself out there . . . But just because Lilah’s happily wifed up doesn’t mean the rest of the world needs to be.
In the forty-five minutes since Kevin honked his horn from my driveway, he’s talked about himself non-stop.
When he made his first million. How he’s helped bring Lilah’s former record label to the forefront of the industry.
And let’s not forget how he hopes to be able to do the same at the new label that just hired him with a seven-figure package.
Pity that’s the only thing he’s probably got that’s a solid seven figures. Men who need to brag about themselves are typically making up for something else, according to my mother.
Lucky for me, his new label is in New York, so it’s at least a two-hour drive from me. Less chance to run into him after this.
“Do you know when she’ll be back in town?
” he asks as he checks his phone for the seventh time since we sat down.
And yes, I know how petty it sounds that I’m counting, but my God, this is painful.
“Lilah, I mean?” Like I didn’t know he was talking about my sister.
“I know she and your brother are hitting a few spots across the country before she gets back into the studio again, and I need to talk to her about a few things.”
I cock my head and blink. He didn’t even bother to look up from the phone glued to his hand. Maybe I should have been counting how many times he’s mentioned Lilah . . .
Shit.
Unfortunately, things click into place.
Kevin sees me as a stand-in for my sister.
Can’t have the pop princess—so let’s go for the next best thing.
I shouldn’t be shocked. We look similar-ish, I guess. At least everyone always says we do, even if I don’t necessarily see it.
Sure, we’re both curvy blondes, but I’m sandy to her golden.
We both have blue eyes, even if mine are more turquoise.
Lilah, the lucky little bitch, was blessed with Mom’s boobs, but I did get her ass.
The one thing we both got was Mom’s vertically challenged legs.
But as far as I’m concerned, that’s where the similarities end.
Lilah’s outgoing and friends with everyone.
I’m . . . not.
Lilah’s a bombshell pop princess who writes songs that helped shape a generation and married her very own prince charming, and I .
. . I tried being her assistant for a few months and hated it.
I hated all the attention being even remotely in her orbit forces on you, and that’s saying something, considering the way we all grew up.
We’re a family full of superstar athletes.
Media and social media attention is nothing new, even if it’s something I’ve always hated.
But Lilah’s level is the kind that bleeds over into everyone and every aspect of everything in her life and yours.
She and our brother Noah have done the music thing together, and thankfully, the interest has stayed on them for the most part, leaving our youngest brother, Asher, and me alone.
At least until I was working for her. The minute that started to change, I was out.
“Dillan . . .”
Oh right. Kevin asked a question.
“No. Sorry.” Not really. “I don’t have my sister’s schedule.” I shrug and smile as I slide out of the booth. “Could you excuse me for a moment. I need to . . .” I point behind me toward the ladies room, but Kevin’s eyes are already back on his phone.
I am going to kill Lilah.
Once I’m locked behind the closed restroom door, I pull out my phone and look for my latest text chain.
Dillan
I am going to kill you.
Asher
What did I do?
Dillan
Sorry. Meant to just text Lilah.
Noah
You texted the group. You okay?
Lilah
Wait. What did I do?
Dillan
You set me up with a guy who I’m pretty sure wants to screw YOU.
Asher
Oh shit. Don’t tell her husband that.
Noah
Who’d you set her up with?
Lilah
I’m sitting across from you on a bus. Why are you texting that?
Noah
Dramatic effect.
Dillan
She set me up with Kevin Kosen.
Noah
Why the fuck would you do that? Pretty sure that dude fucks with his phone in his hand.
Dillan
That sounds about right.
Asher
That sounds complicated . . . but hey, I’m always up for a challenge.
Lilah
I set you up with him because he doesn’t know anyone in town, and he’s gorgeous. He’s also successful, incredibly sweet, and kind to me.
Dillan
Because he wants to screw you.
Lilah
He does not.
Noah
Yeah, he does.
Lilah
Again, sitting across from you.
Dillan
You owe me.
Lilah
I’m so sorry, Dillan. I had no idea.
Asher
You’re too nice, Lilah.
Dillan
Hey!
Asher
Not to you. To everyone else. Five bucks says this guy asked to be set up with you, Dillan.
Lilah
He did.
Noah
Next time, say no.
Dillan
No next times. I’ve got to get back and figure out how the hell to speed this shit show up. Love you guys.
I pocket my phone and catch my reflection in the mirror.
Not bad.
My makeup is on point.
And with a flip of my head, I fluff my hair before straightening and adjusting my boobs so they fill the low-cut neckline of my flowy little boho dress a little better. This date might be a dumpster fire, but I’m going to at least look good while it goes down in flames.
Rome
Condensation slides down my beer as I look over at my little brother at the other end of the bar.
Lucky’s refilling some coed’s drink as she bats her long lashes at him in invitation.
I shake my head, wishing I was anywhere but here, attempting to ignore the man next to me droning on about the fight I won last weekend. Like it was the fight of my life.
Truth is, it was a waste of time. A stepping stone. Something I had to do to get to the next one that leads me to the one after that. The league I fight in forces its fighters to jump through years of hoops before you get to the good stuff.
I should know.
I’ve been asking how high for years.
Waiting for my chance that hasn’t come yet.