Chapter Fourteen

“Are you kidding me?”

“Please?”

“Are you serious right now?” Sullivan asked, cocking an eyebrow at his twin. “You really want me to?”

“Yes,” Spencer said, sniffling. “Please.”

Sullivan crossed his arms across his chest. “How do I know you aren’t faking all of this?”

Spencer flipped him the bird weakly. “Do I look like I’m faking? You know I never stay in bed, and I never miss a workout.”

That was true, Sullivan agreed silently. When they’d woken up this morning, Spencer had complained of feeling puny and had skipped their morning workout. By the time Sullivan had gotten home from the warehouse and his own workout, Spencer was bundled in his bed with extra blankets, a box of tissues and a weenie attitude.

“Besides,” Spencer continued, “we used to do this all the time.”

“We aren’t in school anymore, Spence,” Sullivan said. “We haven’t traded places in ages.”

“Look,” Spencer said, sneezing once then continuing. “Lucy is a really sweet girl and I don’t want to disappoint her by cancelling or worse, not showing up. You just go the market, help her pick out some good, fresh food, and that’s it. An hour, maybe.”

“How will I even know her?”

“She’ll recognize you, doofus,” Spencer said.

“Oh,” Sullivan said. “Duh. Sorry.” He thought for a moment, than asked another question. “I thought you had a ‘no fraternizing’ rule, even though it’s been broken, what? Four times?”

Spencer sighed. “Technically, I only broke it once, but that’s beside the point. Yes, I have that rule, but… I don’t know. This thing with Lucy… it’s like an extra training session for her, just with food and support instead of weights and treadmills. It’s not… fraternizing, as you just seem to assume it would be with me.”

“Meaning I don’t have to sleep with her at the end of the market tour?”

“Jesus, Sully,” Spencer breathed. “You make me sound like a predator. Or a hooker.”

Sullivan’s tone was repentant. “Sorry, that was below the belt. I… I understand. I do.”

“She’s really sweet and nice, and you’ll like her. She just needs a boost of confidence and, I think, a friend that isn’t Brandt. Just go and be me.”

“You mean focus on the size of my pecs and act like my IQ is twenty points lower than my twin?” Sullivan said, his tone serious but his eyes teasing.

Spencer narrowed his eyes, and then coughed. “I focus on my biceps more than my pecs, and you are not smarter than me. But don’t go around talking about Shakespeare or something – she’ll know for sure it’s not me.”

“You guys don’t discuss the elegiac tones of Macbeth when you’re lifting weights, then?” Sullivan teased, going into the adjoining bathroom and bringing back a cup of water and handing it to Spencer.

“As a rule, no,” Spencer retorted, gratefully taking a sip of the cool water. “We focus more on the surrealism of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You jackass.”

Sullivan grinned then, glad to know that the flu or cold or plague or whatever hadn’t robbed Spencer entirely of his smartass nature.

“Please, will you go? It’s just an hour, and it’s be a big favor,” Spencer said. “I just… I don’t want to let her down.”

“You like this girl?” Sullivan asked, echoing his question from the other day.

“As a friend, yes, very much. Please?”

Sullivan sighed, and then nodded. “Fine, yes, I’ll go.”

**

This was a mistake, Sullivan thought, shifting nervously from foot to foot, his eyes scanning the courtyard and the sidewalk near the hotel. While he and Spencer had traded places dozens of times in their lives, it had been ages since he’d had to impersonate his more outgoing, boisterous twin.

Outgoing didn’t come nearly as easily to Sullivan as it did to Spencer. A product of Sullivan being seven minutes older, he mused absently. They said the younger siblings were always the more outgoing of the two – even if only by seven minutes.

He only hoped he could pull this silly charade off for the sake of his twin. He didn’t want Spencer to lose a client just because Sullivan couldn’t keep their personalities straight.

Besides, this way, Spencer owed him one. Sullivan couldn’t think of a situation offhand that would warrant an impersonation, but it was handy to have in his pocket. No, it seemed Spencer was usually the one impersonating him, especially that time with...

Sullivan shook his head, ridding himself of those dark thoughts, and focused on the street again.

He’d been sure to arrive at the Portola first, so that he wouldn’t be faced with trying to make an identification on his own, instead hoping Lucy would do that for him. Spencer had merely described her as having red hair, being a larger girl, having a big smile, and most importantly, having huge boobs.

Leave it to Spencer to have that be the main descriptor of this girl.

He scanned the courtyard again, hoping to find a smiling girl with a massive chest heading his direction.

He was watching a row of taxis inch forward to take tourists to their next port of call when he glanced up and saw a younger woman standing nervously over near the hotel entrance overhang.

She seemed… familiar.

Sullivan squinted, then placed her face – she was the girl who was dancing in front of the fire at the beach bonfire. He remembered her contented smile and her smooth movements, the way her hips rolled and her arms moved, and how it had made him feel… envious.

What a small world, Sullivan thought. A moment later, though, he realized the woman had spotted him and was walking purposefully towards him.

And then he noticed her red hair.

And, though he hated to admit it, her bosom.

Oh.

Oh, he occurred to him in a flash.

Dancing girl was… was Spencer’s Lucy.

This might be more interesting than he thought to himself, as he plastered a smile on his face and affected Spencer’s loose, rolling walking style and starting towards her.

“Hey Spencer,” Lucy said, sounding a bit shy. “I… I wasn’t sure you’d still come.”

Sullivan smiled, a genuine smile in response to her own. “I wouldn’t miss it. Lucy,” he added, more for his own benefit than hers.

Lucy, he mused. Lucy of the Firelight.

“Shall we?”

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