Chapter 3: Mistakes and Confessions

That night, sleep was a lost cause. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Natalie’s startled expression, felt the tension in her body as I kissed her—her lips frozen, her hands uncertain, her voice caught somewhere between protest and shock. The memory replayed in high-def, torture on a loop.

I flipped over, groaning. What the hell was wrong with me? Why was my brain stuck on that scene, instead of figuring out how to save face next time I saw either of them?

More than anything, Nicole could never find out. She’d go scorched-earth if she learned I’d kissed her sister—even if it was an accident. She loves Natalie like they’re still sharing a crib.

For a few days, I held my breath, hoping Natalie would stay MIA. Nicole acted normal, which meant they hadn’t had a heart-to-heart.

Maybe if I just kept my mouth shut, it would fade into the background noise of life—just another weird story to laugh about in five years.

I finally let myself breathe. Maybe I’d dodged a bullet.

I bumped into Natalie a couple times at Nicole’s place after that. She was cool as ice—never even a hint that anything happened. If there was awkwardness, it was hidden behind her perfect twin smile.

Good. I was grateful. The mess was my fault, and Natalie letting it slide felt like getting off with a warning instead of jail time.

Today, Nicole got off work early. The moment I cracked open the door, the sharp tang of vodka and something fruity hit me.

"Where’d you go? Why are you lit up like Times Square?"

She slumped against me, a tipsy smile stretching across her lips. "Company dinner. Nightmare."

Her words slurred together as she collapsed in my arms, body boneless.

I wrestled her to the bedroom and propped her up, then hustled to the kitchen, mixing up honey water like my grandma used to for hangovers.

She snatched the cup from my hands and chugged it, then—before I could blink—wrapped her arms around my neck and did this wild thing: she tipped her mouth to mine and transferred the honey water, laughing into the kiss.

"Quit it, you’re gonna choke," I scolded, half-laughing, thinking she was just drunk and silly. I tried to steer her toward the pillows.

But she clung to me. "Everyone else at dinner was in couples, all over each other. I was the only loser flying solo."

"What kind of dinner was this? Who was getting handsy?" I asked, half-joking, half-jealous.

Her hands roamed, slipping under my shirt, fingers tracing my back. Her touch was fever-hot, her skin like silk warmed by sunlight.

She melted against me, the scent of perfume and booze heady in the air. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes heavy. I couldn’t resist; I kissed her—hard. We lost ourselves in each other, not stopping until we were both out of breath and slick with sweat.

I headed to the bathroom to shower off, savoring the afterglow. When I came back, the sight of her bare back made my stomach drop to my toes.

I was suddenly ice-cold. Dread knotted in my gut.

Was the woman I’d just made love to really Nicole?

"Are you Natalie or Nicole?"