I’m not a big believer in a woman’s mouth saying no but her eyes saying something else. That stinks of rapey-fucker justification and has never seemed true with any woman I’ve ever known. When my sister says no, she’ll defend that answer to the death even if she’s lying. Audrey Johansson, though, is the exception to that rule.

Talking shit and throwing punches, she really, really wants to convey the image of a disinterested bitch. The problem for sexy, smoky-eyed Audrey is that her face is an open book. Her big eyes write her every feeling for me to read. Her plump lips don’t snarl like she hopes, but pout whenever her words don’t match her mood. In the hands of another asshole, Audrey’s tells might prove dangerous. With my particular form of asshole, she’s safe. Unless she hopes to keep me at arm’s length. If that genuinely is her plans, she’s thoroughly fucked, and she only has her perfect face to blame.

Audrey’s obvious interest in me—only reinforced by her aggressive stance and quick punches—inspires my offer to buy her a sandwich. Usually, I wouldn’t ditch Dad during business. On the other hand, he taught me to follow my gut, and it’s saying I should get this woman alone ASAP.

On the way to the sandwich shop, Audrey more than once tries to cut me off with her Harley. I don’t react, and I swear she pouts at my lack of anger. She’s desperate for my attention—good or bad—and I have to wonder if she was deprived as a kid.

Fortunately for Audrey, I’m a one-woman man, and so she’ll get plenty of attention from me. First, I need to make her stew a little, though. I know how spoiled brats tick, and this diva is undoubtedly in the running to become their queen.

We park behind the Something Else Sandwich Shop and walk around the side of the building. Audrey’s short legs need to work double time to keep up with me, but I don’t slow down. She wants me wrapped around her finger—and I’m cool with that destination—but she’ll need to work for my devotion first. A man needs to be romanced after all.

“Why do you hate twins?” I ask once we’re inside the shop.

I keep my gaze on the wall menu rather than the better-looking Audrey because I sense she very much craves my attention on her.

“I’ve learned they’re evil, that’s all.”

“My brother and sister are twins. My sister’s oldest kids are twins. My brother’s son and daughter are Irish twins. My youngest niece and nephew are called cousin twins since they were born weeks apart. None of them are evil. Sorry, Pip, but whoever gave you the info on twins fucked up.”

“My mom is an Irish twin. She and Aunt Tawny are very close. They aren’t real twins, though, and that’s why they’re not evil.”

“I order the muffuletta lately,” I say, changing subjects to keep her off-balance. “I wouldn’t suggest you try it. The flavors are too exotic for a Kentucky gal.”

“Fuck you and your giant head.”

Fighting a grin, I look down at her and ask, “So should I order you the French dip or the roast beef?”

“Are you calling me basic?”

“I’m calling you insolated.”

“I don’t even know what that means, skidmark.”

“It means you need to get out of Kentucky and try new things.”

“There is nothing wrong with Kentucky. That’s where my mom and pop live, which makes it the best place in the world,” she growls, and I think she might punch me with her little fists again.

“Why did you ditch your pop if he’s so great?”

“I was hungry.”

“What do you want to order?”

“I’ll try the shit you’re eating. That way, I’ll have proof you have bad taste.”

“I’m digging you, so how bad can my taste be?”

“Shut up,” she mutters, losing the heat of her anger.

Audrey likely has no idea her cheeks are suddenly the shade of an overripe tomato. I can’t believe she isn’t accustomed to men coming on to her. Of course, her father is a scary biker prone to violent solutions to simple problems.

Giving her a chance to cool her overheated face and ego, I focus on ordering our sandwiches. The employees at my family’s own shop know me well since I spend nearly every day here. Keanu even has a Korean barbecue sandwich named after him. Chipper, though, was the one who added the muffuletta to the menu.

I hand a drink cup to Audrey who stomps to the soda machine. She gets a Mountain Dew, doubling down on her Kentucky roots. I choose the same because I’m curious what the piss-colored drink tastes like since my girl digs it.

We sit at my reserved back table where Keanu and I have spent thousands of hours of our life. Getting to know Audrey in this spot makes sense. It’s almost like taking her home to meet the folks.

“Now that I’m feeding you,” I say after our sandwiches are delivered to the table, “spill the real details about your irrational hatred of twins.”

“No.”

I say nothing. Instead, I stare at Audrey, refusing to show a single emotion. I don’t reveal anger or boredom or even hunger. Though truth be told, I’m dying to dig into my food. I need a fuck-ton of calories a day to keep up my perfectly massive physique.

“My best friends are, or were, twins,” she finally mumbles.

“Are they dead?”

“No.”

“Then isn’t their twin-ness present-tense?”

“Their friendship with me is in the past tense.”

Shaking my head, I sigh. “Public school education, huh?”

“Lick a dirty ass.”

“Do you like dogs?” I ask and sip the piss-colored soda.

Audrey blinks a few times and looks around as if she might have missed a part of our conversation. My ploy works, and she finally nods.

“Did your twin friends like dogs?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“They moved away. We had plans to open up a bookstore for hipsters, but they left.”

“Why did they go?”

“Well, I thought we were a team,” she says, taking a deep breath as if about to give me a long—likely often told—explanation, “but obviously they were the team, and I was the extra person who came along. Now I wonder if they ever wanted me with them or they just thought they couldn’t tell me to piss off.”

The disappointment and rejection I see in her hypnotic gaze make me instantly hate her twins. After less than an hour, I’m geared up to protect her from all troubles—real or imagined.

“I don’t know your twins, who we should refer to as the Twat Twins for clarity-sake. Did they ask you to come with them to Florida?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Because Florida is the devil’s armpit.”

“I thought that was Texas.”

“Better bone up on geography, big guy. Texas is the devil’s butt crack.”

Grinning at the ease with which she wields snark, I decide to get honest on her sexy ass. “So they wanted you to come, and you said no. Seems as if you’re the twat, and they’re the ones I should buy a sandwich.”

“Hey, I’m not a twat.”

“Prove it.”

“How?” she asks, lifting her chin defiantly in much the same way my niece Mesa does when anyone messes with her little brother and sister.

“Tell me how you were a good friend to them and they were bad friends to you. Oh, and skip the Florida betrayal sob story because we just proved you were the bitch in that scenario.”

“I don’t see how it’s bitchy to remain in my hometown.”

“I know you don’t, but we’ve already established you’re wrong.”

“Would you leave your hometown for your friends?”

“Maybe. Where do they want to go?”

“Alabama. No, worse. Wait, what’s worse?”

“Are you afraid to leave Ellsberg?” I ask as I lift the drink, remember it tastes like sugary piss, and return my cup to the table.

“No.”

“Why do you lie when you’re so bad at it?”

“I hate you so much.”

Smirking at her attempt at rage, I sigh. “That’s the worst lie of all.”

“Look, I can’t leave Ellsberg. I mean, I probably don’t want to, but even if I did, I can’t. My mom needs me close. Family is important to her because hers was shit growing up. When my sister Lily was getting married to a dentist, he kept hinting he wanted to move to Boston or Chicago. Mom always seemed sad about having her baby so far away.”

“So you’re really just adorable and family-orientated and not a bitch at all.”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Actually, it is. After all, your twin friends left for a fun adventure and invited you to join them. Your reaction was to freak out as if they’d stabbed you in the back with shit-covered blades.”

“They decided one day out of the blue to leave. It was ridiculous.”

“Do you lack coping skills?”

“No.”

“Then why can’t you open that place without them?”

“I’m not a loner. I need a posse to make me feel awesome. Besides, I knew the place would fail, but it would have been fun if the twins helped me.”

“No. That’s not it.”

“Then what is it, you genius fucking giant?”

Taping her nose with my index finger, I sigh again. “I don’t know, but you’re obviously upset for another reason.”

“Save the shrink shit.”

“Are you planning to eat your sandwich?”

Audrey studies the food, and the answer is written all over her beautiful face. Will she eat the sandwich to spite me or submit to what we both know?