Page 2 of Sweet Addiction
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 hehopes 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.
