“This is Micah, not Tobias.” I can see Micah’s eyes widen at that statement, and I spin back around to pour my cereal.

“Are you stupid?” she snaps, and Micah’s gaze narrows in irritation. “Don’t you think I know who I’m talking to?”

“Clearly not,” I reply with a shrug, filling the bowl with milk and taking a bite of the chocolate coated flakes. It’s more dessert than breakfast really—my favorite. “This is Micah.”

“Tell her,” the girl spits, but I don’t bother to turn around and look at her again. I know I’m right. I don’t know how, but … I just know.

“She’s right,” he replies, pausing as his brother moves into the kitchen, looking sleepy and mildly irritated. “Hey, Toby, Chuck the Secret Girl knows how to tell us apart.” Tobias cocks a brow and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“How?” he blurts, but I just grin and keep eating my breakfast. There's no logical explanation for it; I just do.

“Wait, you're Micah?” the girl on the counter asks, pointing at the twin in question. She glances between the two of them and then shakes her head. “No wonder Amber wanted to date you both at the same time; there's no way to tell you apart.”

Micah slams his metal mixing bowl on the counter as Tobias squeezes his eyes shut like he's in pain.

“Get out.” Micah looks at the girl with an expression that brooks no argument. He's dead serious. If she doesn't go, it looks like he's willing to make her.

“What?” she asks, sitting there in an oversized t-shirt and panties. It's hard for me not to get the wrong idea about what might've happened between her and the twins last night. A snake of ugly jealousy unravels in my stomach, and I take a huge bite of cereal to wash it down. “What are you talking about?” Her nervous laughter tells me she's just not getting it.

“Get the fuck out.” Micah points in the direction of the front hall. “There's the door. Don't let it hit you on the ass on your way out.”

“You can't be serious? I bring up Amber, and I just get the boot?”

“Out. Now.” Micah pushes off from the center island, walks over to her, and grabs her by the hips, dragging her off the quartz counter top. He sits the girl on the floor, and then turns her around by grabbing her shoulders. “Goodbye, Emma.”

“It's Emily,” she says, but he's pushing her out of the kitchen.

“Your friends can bring your stuff out to you, and you can change in the pool house. Don't ever let anyone tell you I'm a heartless bastard.”

“You're a fucking prick, and I don't even care what twin you are. You're both assholes!” the girl shouts once she's around the corner, and I can't see her anymore. “Don't let them fool you, they're bastards.”

The sound of the front door slamming makes me jump, and I raise my eyebrows, digging back into my cereal and pretending I'm not at all interested in Amber, or Micah's weird behavior about the guestroom, or whatever possible relationship the McCarthy brothers have with that Emily girl.

Nope.

Don't care about any of it, not one bit.

“I told you we should've kicked her out last night,” Micah says as he pads back into the kitchen, his shirtless body capturing my attention and refusing to let go. His muscles are lean and tight, and there's not an ounce of body fat on the guy. He's beyond tall, and the way he slinks around reminds me a little of a fox.

“You're right, I'm too nice,” Tobias murmurs with a roll of his eyes, and then in perfectly coordinated sexy slouchy movements, the twins each pick up a box of cereal, pour, add milk, and then lift their spoons to their mouths at the exact same moment.

It's beautiful, like some sort of performance art or something. I'm mesmerized.

“So, where are you off to today then?” Tobias asks, breaking their twin routine again. Micah shoots him a bit of a dirty look, but I can't quite interpret the meaning, so I don't try to.

“I guess … if you can drop me off down the street from my dad's hotel, I'll walk the rest of the way and he'll never have to know I was here. I highly doubt Monica's told her parents that I left in a Lamborghini last night.” Dropping my spoon in the bowl, I stand up and head over to the sink to wash it out. Micah stops me with a hand on my wrist, pulling me away from the counter.

“We pay people to do that,” he says, and I frown. Yeah, people like my mom. She's basically spent her entire life working as a maid in either upscale hotels, or super-rich households. She was fifteen when she started, young and pretty, and practically a fucking sideshow for rich men. The thought makes me shiver, and I shake Micah's hand off, turning the sink on and washing my dish myself. “Do you like menial chores?” he asks, and I feel my shoulders get tight with nerves.

I don't want to talk about my mother with them. Seeing her is going to be hard enough. About four years ago, she started disappearing at random hours and coming home completely and utterly out of her mind. When she got arrested for possession of methamphetamine, Dad kicked her out and divorced her.

Since then, things have gotten bad. She still works as a maid, but this time it's for cheap motels in the worst parts of Los Angeles. She's still relatively young—she had me at age nineteen—but she's not so pretty anymore. The drugs have seriously done their toll. That, and when you only show up for work half the time you're supposed to, the fancy hotels and rich households don't want you anymore.

“I have secrets; you have secrets.” I shrug my shoulders. Every asshole has secrets. Sometimes, they stay buried. And sometimes, they pop up like daises and bite you in the ass. “Could one of you give me a ride?”

“We'll give you a ride,” they reply together, and when I turn around, I see that Tobias has also removed his shirt, and they're both wearing matching sweatpants.

Too bad for them: I can still tell them apart.

“Micah.” I point at the brother on the right, using Tobias' spoon and bowl. And then I swing my finger over to his twin. “Tobias. Sorry, but I'm not fooled.”

They blink at me in surprise as I slide past them and head up the stairs to pack my stuff.

This shitty trip is about to get a whole lot worse.

The boys drive me over in the same car again, but this time I sit on Tobias' lap. The tension between us is different, not quite that blinding hot passion I felt for Micah, but a fragile, breakable need that makes me subconsciously wet my lips and wiggle in his lap.

He acts like he doesn't notice or care how close we are, and I let the farce stand. I'm not about to suggest anything, not when I just broke up with my boyfriend of two years last night. And not when I think about Spencer every fifteen minutes or so.

“Thank you guys … for everything,” I say, exhaling as I climb out of the car with my bags. They both look at me from matching emerald gazes, and I try to decide if maybe … just maybe, we might be friends now?

“You're welcome, Chuck the Micropenis,” they say, and then Tobias reaches out with that damn skin marker and slaps a quick dick on my arm before I get a chance to pull back.

“You freaking pricks!” I shout as they pull away, and I frantically dig around in my bag for a hoodie. I'm not about to explain to Archibald Carson, Headmaster of Adamson All-Boys Academy why I have a giant, red penis drawn on my forearm.