What is wrong with me?
Get it together.
And whatever you do, don’t cross your arms over your chest.
“Mason?” I blurted, because my brain was still buffering and my mouth had decided to work independently.
He blinked long, thick lashes at me. “You know my brother?”
Brother?
That explained the resemblance, the bone structure, the height, the way they both seemed to occupy space and demanded attention, the striking light eyes, and the undeniable good looks. But it didn’t explain the sudden spike in my pulse, the way my skin warmed, or the fact that I was still standingway too close and my body had apparently decided this was the moment to betray me.
Heat crawled up my neck, blooming across my cheeks, while my heart kicked into a rhythm it had absolutely no business exploring.
Like he had all the time in the world, his eyes dragged back up mine, but I’d seen it. The awareness that I was aware.
My breath snagged, audible in the quiet space between us, and I wanted to die.
His head tilted slightly as a ghost of a smirk touched his lips. “You might need a new shirt.”
I swallowed hard, crossing my arms over my nipples while trying to force my brain back online. “I didn’t know he had a brother.” They should come with warning labels.
His brow twitched upward, not cocky like Mason’s had been but curious. “Twin. He’s my twin brother. How do you know him?”
I shrugged. “I don’t. Not really. He was hitting on me and tried to give me his number.”
“Tried?” His brow lifted higher. “Mason doesn’t often fail.”
“Keyword: often.” I uncrossed my arms because the wet shirt was cold and clingy, and I didn’t need to draw more attention to that situation, but I failed.
“Is there something wrong with you?” he asked, shaking spilled coffee off his hand
He was joking. Right? “I tell you I’m not interested in your brother, and you immediately think I’m the problem?”
So much for thinking everyone in this town was friendly. The barista must be the exception.
“You must not be from around here,” he said, glaring at his drink.
Was it that obvious? Did I have a fucking sign on my forehead that read new girl? “Look, I’m sorry about your drink. Let me get you a new one.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know the owners.”
“I insist.” I was already sidestepping him, careful to give him space this time, and headed to the counter. “I was going back anyway when I clumsily ran into you. What were you drinking?”
“An iced latte, extra sugar,” he said, leaning on the counter. He gave the barista a small smile.
“Maddox? Weren’t you just here?” the barista said when she saw him.
His name was Maddox. It suited him.
“I ran into an unexpected…mishap. Can I get another iced latte with extra sugar?” His gaze shifted to me, brows raised.
Mishap?
Did he just refer to me as a mishap? Why was I offended?
“Are you two together?” she asked, glancing between Maddox and me.
