Page 28 of Dating His Brother

However, he was one of the bachelors in the final running. I would have to see more of him, whether I liked it or not. I would have to give him a fair chance. Hell, maybe he could change my mind. At the very least, I didn’t want our future dates to be awkward because I ignored him too much.

Just as my finger hovered over the answer button, it flinched over to the red button to ignore the call.Shit! Why did I do that?

The better question was…Why didn’t I just call him back?

I let out a heavy sigh, dropped the phone back into my purse, and kept walking. I didn’t know what was wrong with me.

Actually, the scary part was…I knew exactly what was wrong with me. Dawson had gotten under my skin, and I wanted to be under him again. There was no use in denying it. I would just have to find some way to live with it.

I knew he wasn’t the right guy for me. That much was obvious. But what was the harm in having a little fun with him before I was married off? Surely no man in his right mind, especially Dawson, would have any complaints about that. Wasn’t that all men really wanted anyway?

15

Dawson

Ididn’t know why I was torturing myself by watching the shit-show that was Isabella’s dating life being broadcasted all over the internet. It was a horribly masochistic obsession, but I couldn’t look away. I didn’t own a TV, but I kept my laptop opened on my kitchen table and streamed the latest webisodes of Izzy’s dates—all rich, cocky assholes who likely only had an interest in her because of her money, name, and the spotlight it thrust them into.

What do these guys really know about her? Do they even care? There’s no way they could possibly see her the way I do.

The better question…What does she see in them?

I couldn’t even begin to guess why she wanted to subject herself to any of this, especially since she seemed bored out of her mind at every dinner. That was the thing…I saw a spark in Izzy that never came out with these guys. When she was with me, something in her perked up and became more alive. And the feeling was mutual. She sparked all sorts of new invigorating things in me as well.

I watched on bitterly as the episode concluded with yet another guy trying to drag the night out and make their move on her, but every time she turned them down. There wassomethingin her that was holding her back from their offers. I hoped it was me. More than just hoping, I suspected it was me. There was no way she was oblivious to all the things I felt while we were together.

I slammed the laptop shut, grumbling all of this to myself, and pulled myself up to grab a beer from the fridge. It hissed as I popped off the cap and headed out onto the balcony to try and get some fresh air and clear my head.

I scanned the clouds in the sky, then the streets down below. None of it did much of anything to soothe my bad mood. Not even the cold, fizzy beer sliding down my throat helped.

A woman down below suddenly caught my eye as she crossed the street, approaching my building. I was drawn to her because she looked like Izzy, but I told myself it was just my imagination. I saw her everywhere. Any time a redheaded woman passed by, or some rich looking fashionista came into view—an alarm went off in my brain, trying to convince me it was her. But it usually wasn’t. I assumed this time was no different…

Until the woman stopped at the front steps and tilted her head back, looking up towards my balcony. The moment I saw past the brim of her hat, I realized that this time it actuallywasher.

“Isabella!?” I called out.

She slid her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose and waved. “Hi, Dawson!”

“What are you doing here? Trying to reenact Romeo and Juliet with me and this balcony?”

“Don’t get excited,” she huffed. “I willnotbe killing myself over you.”

“No, of course not. You don’t have to. You have a line of men waiting to take my place.”

“Yourplace?” she laughed. “Dawson, you have no real place. You’re in line with the rest of them, and at the very back of it, I might add.”

I winced from the blow of her words, still feeling irritated from before. “Then what are you doing here? Do you visit all of your gentleman callers like this? You must be a busy woman.”

“Well, you got the busy part right. So, are you going to let me up, or what?”

I groaned and bobbed my head, motioning for her to come inside, then went back in to open my front door—throwing back big swigs of beer the whole way.

In typical Izzy fashion, she breezed in and immediately started inspecting the scene. She ran her finger over furniture, like she was checking for dust. And shot judgmental looks at piles of clutter and other messy parts of the studio.

“I still don’t understand,” she said. “You could live anywhere you wanted if you just took your family’s money. They have plenty of it. Why should they be living in luxury while you live likethis?” She looked around the room, pursing her lips as if it was the most vile place she had ever seen. “You could get a place with room to stretch your legs and more storage for all of your work. Just think of the view and how good the light would be for your painting!”

“It all comes with a price,” I grumbled.

“What price?”

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