Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

XANDER

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 6 P.M.

The reception isn't formal, but it isn't casual either. "Crocs? Seriously?" I point to the woman in front of us, who's suddenly stopped, and Dom pushes my hand down. The overcrowded reception area hums with conversation and laughter. Butterflies—no caterpillars, each having a thousand legs—are crawling all over my body.

"Relax, Xander. I swear you're going to have an ulcer by the time you're thirty," he says, nodding at an open table.

"I've changed my mind. There's no reason for us to be here. We could be in our room relaxing. Conserving our energy."

The noise in the conference center rises and falls in waves, swelling to a crescendo one moment as more people arrive and crashing the next. "It's very loud," I say, still complaining as if this wasn't my idea.

"There are over a hundred people here—if we count the judges and event staff." The last bit he interjects before I can correct him on the number of contestants. Which is something I would normally do. His gaze sweeps the room. "But the Chicago Bake-Off would have been quadruple this size. Or more."

"It would have been worth it. Winning the Dunklin County Bake-Off doesn't hold the same prestige."

"True." He shrugs and bites the tip of his thumb. I've told him it's unsanitary, but he has his coping mechanisms and I have mine. We're very in tune because we're twins. I know his tells. He bites his thumb when he's unsure about something or?—

My eyes dart to his face. As far as I know, my brother has never lied to me. Is he lying about something? Something to do with Mom? Or Paxton? Now, the caterpillars are marching across my skin. I clasp my hands in my lap, remembering my rules for the night. Not fidgeting is close to number one. Not murdering my brother is closer.

"Relax, Xander, I know this freaks you out, but it's going to be fine. You're the most talented baker here, and bonus, you have me as your sidekick. What could go wrong?"

I sigh. So many things. Before I can say that or anything, his phone buzzes, grabbing his attention. I don't wonder who it is. The fond irritation on his face gives it away. "Mom?" I ask.

"She says good luck. And that we don't need it."

I make some sound that appeases him. My response is automatic. Mom supports our plan even though it leaves the restaurant short. Is it because she believes it will demonstrate my abilities or because it gets me out of the way?

I've always felt like the odd one out, even though I look more like Mom than Dom does. Odd is the perfect word to describe me. It has nothing to do with hair color. It's more about not saying the right thing. Not thinking the right thing.

This is my chance to prove to myself and them that I can do this. Break out of the cocoon I'm wrapped in.

It's not about the baking. I'm talented. Mom talks about being humble, but I don't really understand the point. Is it so others feel better about not being as good? I work hard. Baking for hours on top of working at the restaurant. Hours of paying attention to what Mom, Jeremy, and Paxton do so I can take over for Mom someday.

"What about him?" Dom asks, interrupting my spiraling. He points at a man a few tables away.

A man I recognize. The guy from earlier. Blond. Kind eyes. Easy smile. Boy next door. I'm not a fan of labels, but they are, at times, useful. Especially for me.

I also remember the scowl on his face when he looked at me. "What about him?"

"You know…go talk to him."

Not a chance. "I'm not looking for sex."

Dom chokes on his drink. "Holy hell, Xander. Warn a guy." He moves his head and catches my gaze. "Not a hookup. You agreed to this. Making connections with people." He holds his hand out, stopping the words I'm about to say. "Not sex. A friend."

"I don't need any friends. I have friends."

"You do need them, brother. You absolutely do. Because I don't count."

My darker coloring usually hides my blush. As heat creeps under my skin, I hope it's not visible. "I'm older than you by five minutes. And I'm not in kindergarten, needing you to find me someone to play with."

He sighs, staring off. "Gosh, I miss kindergarten. No pressure. Naps. Snacks. Recess. Georgina Preston sharing her crayons with me. Those were good times."

"No, they weren't good times. At all." Dom is messing with me. Maybe. I can't always tell. "And spending time with Georgina was the reason you tried to foist me onto someone else." My eyes stray to the man with the blond hair. He nods at the woman next to him. The same woman with the long braids. Are they together? He tilts his head as if he absolutely needs to hear whatever she's saying.

A squeak startles me, and I jump in my seat.

Is it from shoes squeaking on the tiled floor? Dottie is carrying an arm full of binders. Then another squeak—from their lips, not their shoes—and she goes down with a crash.

I rise in my seat and stop. Am I really going to help her? Make myself the center of attention and possibly cause further catastrophe? Not that it matters because the blond man is already on his feet and collecting the fallen binders before I can even decide what to do.

"See? He's a nice guy. You don't need to make a best friend, Xander. Just connect with someone. Anyone. Not related to you."

"Why him?"

He shrugs. "The guy seems cool."

Which means Dom doesn't think the man will tell me to shut the fuck up. Unlike the last person I tried to talk to who told me exactly that. Meeting new people is difficult. And I have enough stress with the bake-off. Why do I need to do both at the same time? But asking my brother that will earn me another heavy sigh. Getting this over with isn't a bad idea. Then he'll be satisfied and not bother me for the rest of the weekend.

It's not because I want to talk to this particular guy. That's not the reason I wanted to come to the reception in the first place.

"Fine." I stand, holding my head high. I take a step forward. Then another.

My brother grabs my arm and lets go just as quickly. "Xander?"

"What?"

He grins. At me? Or my irritation? Probably both. "Smile."

I bare my teeth, and he bursts out laughing. Some of the tension drains from my body, and I feel lighter. I smile, and this time, it feels natural.

I can do this. My body thrums with excitement and my usual anxiety. Are the caterpillars dancing? The guy is talking to the woman again. Will he smile at me the way he smiles at her? What will it feel like to have all his attention on me?

I maneuver around people, careful not to touch them, until I reach the open pathway that tripped Dottie. The stranger turns at that exact moment. His smile is wide. His eyes warm. Dancing with humor. My heart and the caterpillars skip a few beats. I trip and catch myself before I fall, feeling a kinship with Dottie and her binders. This man could make anyone stumble.

His eyes meet mine, and…everything stops.

His smile vanishes. The warmth in his eyes ices over. He glares at me with such animosity that my chest aches with the force of it.

What do I do now? I turn to go back to my brother, but I can't face him. Humiliation swallows me whole. This man has been kind to everyone. Everyone but me.

I turn left. No particular destination in mind. Just needing to get away from him. And my brother's prying eyes.

My escape is hindered by bodies everywhere. Did the number of people increase over the last few minutes? I head for an open area, which brings me outside the men's restroom. I rush inside, thankful when I find it empty.

I gulp air, trying to get my bearings. His reaction to me isn't all that unusual except for the intensity.

I've never had anyone dislike me on sight. I'm good-looking—not bragging, just stating facts—so people usually like me until I open my mouth to speak.

Shake it off, Xander. No matter what Dom says, you are not here to make friends. You're here to win the competition. Prove you can handle high-pressure situations.

Like this one?

I lean over the sink and mumble words of encouragement over and over because hearing them aloud helps me process. A scuff of shoes on the tile—this time, it is the shoes—snaps my head up. The blond man stands behind me, and our eyes meet. Is this a coincidence, or did he follow me?

He folds his arms across his chest and his mouth sets in a tight line. His eyes darken with…anger? I whip around to face him. And say what? Why are you staring? I hate when people ask me that.

I grip the sink to ground myself. "Hello."

He snorts. "Seriously? Shut the fuck up."

If I wasn't so rattled, I'd be amused that Dom is completely wrong about this man. Shutting up and leaving seem to be the best options. I sidestep to go around him, but he blocks my path. Despite his animosity, I don't feel threatened. Which is odd.

"Excuse me." I move again to get past him.

But he once more steps in my way. "I need an explanation. Why are you here?"

I press my lips together to hold in my words. They'll only get me in trouble. But if he doesn't want the answer, he wouldn't have asked the question. "I'm—" I look around the restroom, reassuring myself that I'm representing things accurately. "I came in here to pee."

He scoffs. "You came in here to avoid me."

"Yes. That is true. And to pee."

He stands close. So close that the tiny stain on the collar of his dress shirt is visible. My gaze catches on the white of his teeth. The freckle on his chin. This close, he seems almost human. "You promised you wouldn't do this."

"I never promised?—"

"Fine. Said, not promised. Fuck. Is that why Tor is here?"

His words make no sense. I reassemble them in my head, but it doesn't help. "Do I know you?"

His mouth drops open, and the energy around him intensifies. He balls his hands into fists. Controlled fury comes to mind. "You lied to me," he says, poking my chest with his finger.

Instead of being frightened, relief washes over me. His words finally make sense. Not actual sense, but now I understand. This confrontation is personal. Too personal. I smile, hoping it helps defuse the situation. "I'm sorry, but you've obviously mistaken me for someone else."

"Oh, okay. Is this the game you want to play?"

"It's not a game. If you'll let me explain?—"

"I think living together for three years and then you fucking me over should count for something. So yeah, you do know me. But I'm not sure I ever really knew you."

"No. That's not—you're wrong."

"About which part?" He looms over me, and I want to back up, but there's nowhere to go.

"You clearly think you know me. But I'm not that person."

His nostrils flare. "So, you're not Xander?"

Shock holds me in place as I try to figure out what's happening. The door opens and someone enters, whistling the tune from Zelda . They stop. And then, with a "Sorry," they're gone, and we're alone again. Does the person think I'm in trouble or that this is a romantic encounter of some kind? That thought sends heat through my body. Unexpected heat. This isn't like me at all. None of this makes sense. But he's still waiting for my answer. "I am Xander."

"Yes. You are. And your middle name is Cage. After the Vin Diesel character in Triple X ."

I lick my dry lips. Am I imagining all this? "That information is also correct, but?—"

"But nothing. You're exactly who I think you are. Down to the tiny mole on your hip in the shape of a clover."

I stare at him in stunned silence. His hands settle on my hips, and those poor caterpillars are instantly burned to a crisp. My skin is scorching hot. His thumb dips below my waistline. No one has ever touched me like this, and my body reacts accordingly. Am I overheated with embarrassment or because I'm so turned on? He pulls at the waistband on my pants—I don't wear a belt. I can't stand the feel of them—and exposes my hip.

"See?" he says, his voice low and husky. And that isn't helping at all.

But I glance down. His hands look as strong as they feel. His lighter skin against my darker as he touches me has my body in overload.

His touch is gentle as he brushes his thumb over my skin. Over the mole I've always hated on my hip. "Xander…?" There are so many questions in his eyes. His voice. I don't know him, but I wish I did.

I lick my dry lips and will my voice to work. His eyes are hot on me. Finally, I ask, "Who are you?"

His soft gaze hardens and he jerks his hands away. The noise from the convention center filters back in. Muted laughter and talking. As if everything is normal. "You almost had me. Fuck you, Xander Cage. That's who I am."

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 8 A.M.

The next morning, I leave before breakfast to escape my brother's worried looks. He asked me what was wrong several times last night and a few this morning. I need time to myself. That's the explanation I give Dom, but instead, I roam the convention center.

My brother would be thrilled I'm among the masses, so there's no reason to hide what I'm doing. Except, I'd have to explain why.

I can't even explain it to myself.

Our next match isn't until eleven, but some teams are already competing. I watch a few, but I'm in people overload when I find the blond man wearing an apron at one of the stations. Now, it all makes sense. He's a contestant. Was he trying to throw me off? Did he target all the teams that got first?

But he knew things. Things he couldn't have known. And his anger had seemed real. His confidence that he was speaking the truth.

This is the reason I'm roaming the convention halls when I should be preparing for our next challenge. Something is going on, and I have to find out what it is.

The blond guy is working with the girl with braids. They work well together. The smiles he gives her cause my heart to ache in an unexpected way.

I'm not interested in him. Or any guy. Dating is not something I care about. But his arms flex as he rolls the dough. His hands are sure and steady as he chops strawberries. Strong hands I can still feel gripping my hip. He crimps the edges of the pie, reminding me of the way his thumb brushed over my skin. A thrill of excitement similar to last night rushes through me.

His knife slips out of his hand and hits the floor, taking away precious seconds. He quickly gets another one, not showing an ounce of frustration. Or anger. Not even when their team gets second place.

They announce the names of each team and team members. My heart beats faster and I hold my breath as I wait for his name.

Erik Waters.

His teammate is Carinne Waters. He hugs her, and I suddenly feel cold. I rub my arms. Are Erik and Carinne together? Married? I'd assumed he was unattached and gay. Or bi. But if he is married and attached, it should make everything easier.

As Erik removes his apron, he glances up. I'm staring so intently that I'm not prepared. His gaze catches mine, and he frowns. I move out of sight and out of the area as quickly as possible. I can't deal with him yelling at me again. Telling me how I've ruined his life. The man hates me—although his touch seemed to say something different—and forgetting about him would be the best thing to do.