Page 3 of Spencer's Satisfaction
“I mean, that ship sailed when she caught you kissing Billy Simmons in Junior year. Jars of sauce are, like, a lesser sin in comparison. And seeing as we’re already going to hell…”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Okay, that’s a fair point.”
“I’ve been known to make them occasionally.” She shrugs a thin shoulder and smirks. “I mean, Ididsteal all the intelligence genes in the womb.”
“And the height, too.” I growl.
It doesn’t matter how many times we have this conversation, being reminded that my wombmate seemingly won the genetic lottery always makes me a little grumpy. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I’m the one with the Y chromosome: I’m supposed to be taller. That’s, like, a law or something, isn’t it? But instead, Tanya (the bitch) is a tall, willowy 5’11” and I…am nowhere near that, having maxed out at 5’8” when I was fourteen and just stayed there. If I believed in a greater power, I’d say they had a pretty shitty sense of humor.
“Awww, come on, Napoleon, chin up: at least when you meet the Daddy of your dreams, you’ll fit right into his big, strong embrace, huh?”
I shove the milk into the side shelf of the refrigerator with a little more force than necessary, my cheeks burning. “Stop it. I only read that stuff. I don’tdoit.”
Ever since she discovered my penchant for kinky novels, my darling sister hasnotlet me live it down.
She flicks her long, straight hair -dyed bright orange at the moment, though it tends to change on a whim- over her shoulder and shrugs. “Only ‘cos you haven’t got the balls to admit that youwantto do it.”
I can feel my cheeks burning, the blush probably deepening as it stretches down my neck and over my ears. “Shut up.”
“Hey, at least that’s more believable than that series you listened to about the guys getting pregnant.” She holds up a hand, forestalling the argument she knows is coming, “And, before you correct me, I’m not talking about trans men and you know it. I’m talking about those wolfy shifter men.”
I’m pretty sure my entire body is red at this point. My heart hammers in my chest as the embarrassment sets in and I cover my face with my hands. “Oh, God,stayoutof my Audible account.”
She snorts. “Wesharethe account, numb-nuts.”
Hang on. What?
“Since when?” I frown. “Have you been logging into my account instead of paying for your own?” How did I not notice that? I make a note to have a proper scroll through my library.
She shrugs. “As long as I listen to the stuff that’s included in your membership, I don’t see what the problem is.”
“The problem is that you’re totally invading my privacy.”
“Chill, baby bro,” Tanya waves me off dismissively, “it’s not like I don’t know all your deepest, darkest secrets anyway. Twin, remember?”
I roll my eyes. “Last I checked, twins can’t actually read each other’s minds. I mean, we’re close, but we’re notthatclose. I still have secrets.” I feel a little like a petulant teenager and not a fully grown man in his late twenties when I fold my arms after my final declaration.
She reaches across the small kitchen island and pats my cheek with a liberal dose of condescension. “You keep telling yourself that.”
I’ll let her believe that she knows everything. It’s far less humiliating than having her know the things I’ve never said out loud to anyone, things I’ve never written down or typed or even dared to think about in the presence of other people. My deepest secret is one I have kept tightly hidden, one that seems to simmer at the back of my brain and taunt me more with every passing year since I hit twenty.
I mean, I’m a twenty-eight-year-old virgin.
Mortification tightens my chest at just the thought. It’s not like I haven’ttriedover the years. Just like in that Steve Carrell movie – it just never happened. And now I’m nearing thirty and I’m spending my days (when I’m not working my soul crushing job at one of our local diners) reading and listening to as many gay romance novels as I can get my hands on.
What a life.
At this rate, I’m going to die a virgin.
To be honest, I’d rather that than have my sister -or anyone else- find out, anyway.
We put away the last of the groceries together, our conversation shifting into much more comfortable territory. For all of my complaints, I can’t imagine living with anyone other than Tanya. We are probably the very stereotype of twins, even if we don’t look alike. We’re ridiculously close, have very few boundaries, and have been through all the same life experiences together. Except for when it comes to sex, anyway, which is probably a good thing because even if I read a lot of kinky shit, I’m not into incest. Oh, and then there’s the fact that I’m gay.
“You working tonight?” Tanya asks me, trailing me back out into the tiny living room. She flops down onmyarmchair with a smirk that says she’s deliberately trying to push my buttons.
I don’t take the bait. I just drop into the other chair, wiggling around until I’m comfortable. “Yeah,” I answer on a sigh. “I’m covering for Jamie. They called in sick again.”
Tanya frowns. “Again? Do you think it’s serious?”
