Wrong Twin

1. August

1

“ C ome on. Come on.” I rapped my heel on the footrest of the bar stool, watching the screen—or rather, several screens. As if something remarkably different would happen on another TV, as Troy Hartman missed yet another easy shot.

“The hell is up with you tonight, bro?” I muttered under my breath, my teeth clenching with nerves. It wasn’t an easy game to watch. It was downright painful watching my brother play as though this were an unscheduled scrimmage as opposed to the opener of the new NHL season.

“All that fame gettin’ to his head?” Finn asked, pouring another Guinness for the patron to my left.

“Maybe.” Somehow I doubted it. My brother would’ve known to bring his A-game tonight. This wasn’t just any game for the Brooklyn Blades; it was their chance at redemption. After coming in third in the Stanley Cup finals last season, the team was being booed before they hit the ice. Which, in the big picture, meant nothing to anyone except the fans . The fans wanted to see you bust out of the gate and kick some ass. They were here because they wanted you to prove them wrong. To see you turn it around.

Tonight's performance set the tone for the rest of the season, and it was hard to get them back off a bad opener.

Which this—clearly was.

And it was Troy Hartman killing it for them. And not in a good way.

Since the season opener was in New York this year, at Brooklyn Arena—home of the Brooklyn Blades—I was summoned to attend the absurd festivities at Finnigan’s Pub in downtown Manhattan, which wasn’t set to start for another hour. Since I worked on Wall Street—and late most nights—I headed straight from the office. Safe bet, knowing it was unlikely I’d come back down this way after the game if I watched from home—or even from Troy’s special guest seats at the arena.

Today kicked off Troy’s second season playing with the Blades. He was good. Not amazing, but just good enough to survive his rookie year. That and the sheer rush of his first pro year ultimately got him to the point of being decent enough to make it look like he belonged—not make him legendary.

The game ended tragically. The Blades lost by six with Hartman as center. And since the cameras were all pointing at my brother, it was clear where the blame was. Between the trip-ups and the penalties, this wasn't his best. It may have been his worst

I watched Detroit take the triumphant win and winced at the crushing close-up of my twin. I shouldn’t have looked, but against all my internal warnings, I did it anyway.

I watched my brother stride past the mocking signs and banners, the bangs against the glass and inaudible shouting from angry fans. A walk of shame as the camera trailed him.

Beads of sweat trickled down his face, and despite his efforts to hold back, his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his jaw tight as ever, matching my own when I dealt with tough clients. His dark hair was slick and streaked back from multiple frustrated sweeps.

There wasn’t much of a difference to us. Barely one at all. Even our green eyes were identical. The only difference was so faint that our own parents couldn’t tell us apart sometimes.

Finishing off the smokey amber liquid Finn had poured me as soon as I walked in an hour ago, I placed the glass down and waved goodbye to my favorite bartender.

“Should’ve watched from home,” I told him, without an ounce of humor in my tone.

Finn shook his head and pointed to my seat. “I was told to expect at least fifty people tonight for the season opener party—win or lose. Sit your ass back down.”

“Fine, I’ll have a glass of water while I wait for the Hartman fan club.”

Correction. The Troy Hartman fan club. Not to be confused with August Hartman—yours truly—the other twin.

The one who continued to swear, I intended on a career in finance over sports. Hockey was fun for a while, and I was alright, I suppose. But I didn’t need it.

Not the way Troy needed it.

“Why didn’t you go to the game?” Finn asked.

“Work.” The simple word poured out of me without a thought. Because it was always my reason.

Finn nodded and glanced at the screen. He never questioned how much I worked or that it came before anything else. How else would one get promoted to senior hedge fund manager in less than two years? I was in the top five percent of the nation’s youngest portfolio managers. You didn’t get that without living and breathing the damn job.

Troy and I had many happy hours at Finnegan’s over the last year and a half, but we didn’t do much outside of having a few drinks and the occasional weekend at our parents’ house in Staten Island—not by choice. And despite living in the same apartment complex by the Brooklyn Bridge, my brother and I lived very separate lives ever since we graduated.

But Finn was right, there was no way I’d get away with not showing tonight. Not with the reunion Troy’s fan club planned for him here after what was supposed to be tonight’s big win. Gina Malone, our old high school head cheerleader, had arranged for a gathering to celebrate and sing the man’s praises. If you asked me, the girl had been trying to sink some claws into the famous NHL player ever since he was drafted.

I popped a mint just as the crowd started pouring in and stood again, moving to the back so I could quietly check my emails regarding a new strategy my team and I were working on. Once Troy showed up, I could buy him and all his friends a round, then slip out before I was forced to re-live homecoming. Watching people fawn over my brother ranked right up there with walking barefoot on hot rocks on my list of favorite things to do.

“I’ll keep you covered,” Finn assured, knowing my unspoken plans.

When Troy’s name popped up on my phone in the middle of me drafting an email to a junior analyst, I hit ignore and kept typing, aggravated that I’d lost my train of thought.

Thirty seconds later, a text came through and I swiped down to read it.

Blinking, I read it again. Then again, knowing I had to be reading this shit wrong.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I muttered.

Setting my jaw, I dialed Troy. When he didn’t answer, I shot out my response.

August: No. Fucking. Way. And since you’re not coming. I’ll be going now.

Troy: Dude, I can’t be a no-show tonight.

August: Then don’t be .

I leaned against the back wall, waiting. This was the weaker version of me. The one that wouldn’t just walk out the fucking door now that my only reaso n for being here wasn’t planning on showing. A moment later, another message came through, and I sighed.

Troy: I know you watched. You know why I can’t face anyone today. Please.

All I needed now was for him to tell me that it should have been me . It should have been my season opener they were here celebrating—my chance to live it all up.

August: I’m leaving.

I spoke the words as I hit send and pushed the back door open. Finn would understand. Hell, I’d cover the revenue he lost tonight because of this. But there was absolutely no way you'd convince me to—

A car screeched to a sudden halt in the middle of the street behind the bar and I paused mid-stride. It was a bizarre spot to pull over—so I watched, curiosity getting the best of me.

Untamed, wavy blonde hair was the first thing I saw when she stepped out of the car. Bare legs stepped around the door before shutting it. The woman wore a black sleeveless dress that looked uncomfortably short and high heels to offset her height. She flipped around and reached a hand in the passenger side window, nearly losing balance.

“Oh, sorry, here you go.” She handed the guy some cash and barely stepped back before the man drove off. With her back still to me, she fussed with the strap of her pocketbook before finally settling on carrying the damn thing under her arm.

She looked the exact definition of a hot mess. I scoffed and started to turn but then she moved onto the sidewalk, and I saw her face.

Brown eyes outlined by the longest set of dark lashes. High cheekbones that flattered her round face. Unruly blonde hair. And pouty pink lips I last remembered trembling .

All pointed to the one thing I refused to believe.

It can't be.

There was no way in hell Harper Maxwell would be showing up tonight. But there was no mistaking that wild hair and petite frame as she attempted to strut up the street with confidence that lasted all but four seconds.

I watched as she paused, turned back, released a breath, and then once again, turned on her heel toward the bar—practically forcing herself forward.

It took me a good minute to realize my phone was vibrating. I brought it to my ear as I slowly followed to see if she was indeed here for my brother’s celebration. “Troy,” I answered.

“I’ll pay you,” he stated flatly.

“Technically, I made more money than you did last year,” I muttered as I watched the girl I never thought I’d see again walk into Finnegans Pub. “But I’ll do it.”

“What? Seriously? Bro, you’re a lifesaver. I owe you one.”

I hung up.

You’ve owed me a shit ton more than one.

I loosened my tie and shoved it in one of my pockets, then undid some buttons and untucked my shirt before slipping through the back door and reentering the bar. My eyes immediately searched for her. But with the growing crowd, it was nearly impossible to find someone who barely reached five feet and had a knack for disappearing.

“Finn, pour me another,” I called from the corner of the bar before anyone spotted me.

Finn’s face fell when he turned to me. “Where’s your brother?” His eyes trailed down my disheveled appearance.

I glared back. “You’re lookin’ at him.”

“Ya fecking kidding me,” Finn heckled, walking over to me with the bottle. "This one's on me. You're gonna need it."

“Just tonight,” I clipped before gulping down an overpoured shot of whisky. Finn knew I hated attention more than I hated big crowds.

And people in general.

“There he is,” a brunette hailed from the front of the bar where the unfortunate familiar crowd gathered. I was pretty sure the brunette was Gina Malone in the flesh. Hard to forget the head cheerleader whose sole mission was to screw every senior jock she could before graduation.

As far as I knew, her mission was short of one—me.

But since I was the identical twin of Troy Hartman—who she nailed on prom night—she considered it hitting two birds with one stone.

I shook my head.

I ought to give this girl a piece of my mind—at the very least, tell her to have some goddamn self-respect considering what poor Harper walked in on them doing that fateful night.

But that wouldn’t be Troy-like, would it?

“Come on over here, hot shot,” someone from the crowd called.

I cursed brutally under my tongue, peeled myself off the wall and set the empty glass on the wooden bar before making my way over.

The Brooklyn Blades’ Ryan Flemming walked in, looking every bit the giant he was. He spotted me before being attacked by half my fan club—sorry—my brother’s fan club. By the look on his face, I knew instantly Ryan knew which Hartman brother I was.

I plastered on a smile—the same one I used for my best clients—suffered through some hugs and bumped a few fists. Faces were a blur—could have all been the same person for all I knew. The typical unimpressed expression on my face shouldn’t have been a red flag for anyone, considering my supposed loss tonight.

This’ll be fine .

Ryan finally made his way over to me. “Do I want to know?”

“Just intervene wherever you can,” I muttered. Ryan knew I was nothing like Troy and that this wasn’t my scene—people.

Even less—people I didn’t like back in high school any more than I would now.

“I’ve got your hockey lingo if needed,” Ryan offered, leaning in.

That almost made me laugh out loud. Yeah, no need .

Steve Carp, bigger than me and captain of our old football team, threw his hands up as if to say what the fuck . “What happened tonight, man?” The guy was massive and loud, so of course everyone circled around us to get the story.

Here we go.

Someone slapped me from the back. “Oh don’t feel so bad. Detroit won the Cup last year. You didn’t stand a chance.”

I gritted my teeth.

“Seriously where’d you lose ‘em?” another voice asked—one I didn’t recognize.

Ryan put a hand on my chest to step in for me, and I stiffened.

Don’t fucking touch me .

I held my tongue and put up a hand instead, giving him an easy grin. “Let me. Truth is, guys, I had ‘em in that first round—you saw that. I had a great setup.” That got me a few nods of agreement. “Then I lost it up at the board, trying to get that puck in defense…” I cringed, remembering the attack. “I just couldn’t get it back fast enough. They planned that move in advance, I tell ya. If I’d just turned to my right a second earlier, I’d have seen him coming and swerved. Still learning, my friends, but bottom line, they didn’t play fair tonight.”

Ryan's brows shot up, impressed.

A few guys shook their heads in regret. “Aww, but what a way to start.”

I winked. “I’ll get ‘em next time. You can count on it.”

“We’re with you all the way, Troy.” Someone slapped my back and I turned with a glare sure to make him second guess touching me again.

“Thanks for coming out tonight. All of you, really, you don’t know what this means to me—your support, now and back in Coach Rosinski’s late practices. All those laps he used to make us do,” I chuckled.

“All the cheerleaders who stayed to watch,” Gina chimed in with firm hands on my bicep.

“Yeah. Them too.” I didn’t bother looking down at her when I spoke. Instead, I looked around. “Although I don’t see too many of my favorites around tonight.”

A few of the guys around us laughed.

Gina slapped my chest playfully. “You’re such an ass.”

Ryan shook his head with a slight grin. “Okay round of shots for my boy Troy here for being…earnest tonight…despite all else.” He winked at me before walking over to Finn.

Ryan was one of the few players on the Blades I admired. As alternate captain, he was a good player. And kept my brother in check for most of his rookie year.

After a quick shot with the crew, I managed to slip away to see if I could find her. Was she hiding? Had she come to her senses and left?

I turned back to my usual spot at the end of the bar before dealing with anyone else and stopped dead in my tracks.

Harper Maxwell was in my seat. And staring right at me. A slow, confident grin formed her lips.

Nope. Not a chance. I wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole.

God, was she always this sexy? Or had my dick just matured since I was eighteen? The body-hugging black dress had a slight slit on one side. My eyes stretched down her toned, bare legs crossed at the ankles.

I cringed at the gnawing feeling of knowing she was waiting for me to approach her.

This was a whole new level of low for you, Harper. Have you forgotten prom night already? How you skipped out on just about everything but finals just to avoid seeing him—and everyone else again ? After he dumped you for the loud brunette somewhere behind me?

I swallowed and looked away, not taking Harper's bait.

As if reading my mind, Finn reached across the bar, handing me a beer, knowing it was my last for the night. One hour. Then Troy Hartman was making his escape.

“You’re impressive tonight.” Ryan approached me at the bar. “I don’t suppose you got Troy in your ear tonight telling you what to say?”

I glowered at him for the insulting comment. “No.”

He frowned. “Was there a postgame interview I missed?”

“Nope.”

Ryan shook his head. “You could have given the play announcement after tonight’s game.”

I took a swig of my beer and sucked my teeth before answering. “I did. Now stop babysitting me—I got this.” I shot him a ‘get off my back’ glare, but the guy didn’t flinch.

Ryan wasn’t amused nor threatened. He tapped a hand on the bar and moved on to the waiting crowd.

I turned my attention to the spot in the back where Harper was—but she was gone. Before I had a chance to search for her, a delicate finger tapped my shoulder from behind.

“I was going to give it another five minutes before you caved.” My chest tightened at Harper’s warm, soft voice in my ear, and I turned.

One side of her mouth turned up now that she had my attention. “But thought I’d put you out of your misery and come say hello.”

She never smiled at me this way before. Like we shared some secret. Like we were old lovers. Was that the way she used to smile at Troy? I couldn’t imagine ever betraying a smile like that—even if there was something off about it. But at the moment, I couldn’t care enough to question it.

I couldn’t lose myself with her again, couldn't get jealous of something my brother had that I wanted . I needed to stay in control. Remind myself that I was the confident brother tonight.

At least when it came to her .

Clearing my throat, I drew in a bored breath. “Funny, I could have said the same about you, Harper.”

Her lip curved.

“I’m surprised to see you here.” My go-to with people I liked tended to be honesty. Though I’d never admit I liked her.

Ever.

She shrugged, deflecting my comment. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re not feeling this crowd so much.”

“I’m not feeling this crowd, period,” I corrected.

There was the slightest sense of hesitation as she smiled at me, both nervously and confidently, before she brushed against me and leaned on the bar. “Good. Neither am I.”

Before my brain had the chance to process that her body was pressed against mine, Harper covered my lips with hers. My breath caught, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the sheer shock of being attacked by someone’s lips or if it was the explosion of Harper’s vanilla blossoms and peppermint taste across my tongue that overpowered my ability to move. That she felt and tasted so incredible it literally took my breath away.

The urgency of her kiss melted into tenderness so—so naturally. Her tension eased when I kissed her back—floating off her body in waves that had no place here. No room for doubt or regret. Her throat vibrated with something I was sure was a moan. When her fingers pressed against my shirt, she flinched back, almost as if she hadn’t meant to do it and caught herself.

“Hartman, get your ass over here, man.”

We broke free with our gazes locked and our breathing thick. She ignored the guy across the bar who hollered for me and whispered in my ear. “I was never much into PDA. Meet me for a private reunion in the girl’s bathroom.”

Wait. What?

“Harper.”

“Don’t disappoint me twice, Troy. And I promise I won’t disappoint you.” She glanced down at my bulge and winked before dashing off to the back of the bar.

The fuck? She wasn’t serious.

What happened to you, Harper?

Disappointment settled in my chest, and I shook my head. “You’re going to be waiting a while, sweetheart,” I muttered to myself. Then I watched as she weaved through the crowd toward the bathrooms.

I laughed out loud when she went into the men’s room instead.

I kept watching.

Kept waiting for her to dash out of there flushed—no pun intended—and race across to the women’s.

And waited.

Dammit.