Page 34 of The Penalty

Me?

Colin rolls his eyes. “Do try to behave, Oliver. We’re in public.”

I turn to Colin. “How can you tell them apart?”

“Attitude mostly. And Oliver will break out in hives if he gets within three feet of me.” He bats his eyes up at the one he called Oliver, then blows a kiss to the other one.

“Huh?”

“Owen is married to Colin,” Isaac points as he explains. “Colin lives to rile up Oliver, who is my husband.”

“Do you guys switch sometimes?” I ask.

“Switch?” Isaac asks.

“Like husbands. Don’t all twins do that?” I would if I were a twin. Sounds fun.

Isaac’s cheeks get red and he mutters, “No.”

Colin breaks out laughing. “Can you imagine?”

“I would rather die,” Oliver says with disdain, giving me a once over. “Why—” Oliver starts.

Owen interrupts him. “Don’t.”

“He’s wearing Crocs!” Oliver says exasperated. “And they can’t possibly still make tuxedo shirts. It has to be twenty years old!”

“It’s fine,” Owen sighs.

“I can’t believe you invited him to this only for him to bring a date and embarrass us. I told you how this would go.” Oliver doesn’t seem too happy.

“It would be weird if he wasn’t here. You know that.”

“Both options are terrible optics,” Oliver says through his teeth and he looks a little like a shark. And not a sexy shark. A mean shark.

“You made me wear a tie,” Isaac butts into the twin’s argument. “He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I’m taking this off.”

Oliver leans over Isaac and says something I can’t hear but it makes his cheeks turn bright pink and he sucks in a breath.

“It was my dad’s from the late nineteen hundreds. I think he wore it to his bachelor party?” I say, but turn to Isaac, concerned with how he’s watching Oliver. “Are you okay?”

Rhys mutters something and pinches the bridge of his nose again. He’s going to give himself a bruise if he doesn’t stop doing that.

Isaac’s face flames even darker.

Colin starts to cackle. “I promise you, he’s fine.”

Oliver points to me but looks at Owen. “If you are going to invite them to things, you are in charge of making sure they don’t create a scene. You know what is at stake.”

Owen mouths, “I know.”

“That’s enough.” Rhys pushes Oliver out of the way and grabs my hand, pulling me up and moving us down a few seats. “Fucking dickbag,” he mutters under his breath.

He sits, still holding my hand, and pulls it into his lap once I’m settled. Does he realize he’s doing it or does he need the comfort? It shouldn’t make bumble bees fly in my stomach, but it does.

Shame follows right behind it, twisting the soft flutters into spikes.

ELEVEN

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