Page 8 of Twilight Sins

“It’s good, no?” he asks me.

“It’ll suffice.”

“You’re hard to impress.”

I bark out a laugh. “I am the exact opposite, I assure you. I already told you about my blind dating history. If you’d seen the winner I actually stayed with out of that batch, you’d think I’m as pathetic as they come.”

“I doubt that,” he purrs. “I doubt that very much.” His cryptic gaze flits down to his phone resting on the table. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s vibrating. He picks it up and his frown deepens when he sees whoever’s calling.

“Is that your wife?” I tease. “Or maybe your grandmother, wondering why your side of the bed is empty?”

For the first time tonight, he doesn’t flirt back. “You’ll have to excuse me for a moment,” he says. “Don’t move.”

Without waiting for an answer, he strides out of the restaurant.

I’m left there toying with my empty shot glass, wondering if there was any truth to his toast. To the last first date either of us will ever go on. Wouldn’t that be a blessing? I’ve got that raised-hairs-on-the-back-of-my-neck feeling that all the good rom-coms say is the sign of true love. He’s smooth, he’s handsome, he’s obviously got money.

I can’t help feeling like there’s something else beneath the surface, though. But who am I kidding—maybe that’s just another part of the charm. Maybe I’m sick and deluded enough to think that the man I somehow ended up with tonight is a beautiful mystery I’ll get to spend the rest of my life unpacking.

When I hear footsteps, I turn and smile. “There you are. I was starting to wonder if you were back there sharpening your ax, or?—”

Someone drops heavily into the booth and grunts. “You ordered without me? Damn. A little rude, but I’ll agree to look past it.”

I blink in stunned surprise at the pasty, greasy blob sitting where Mr. Smooth and Charming was supposed to be. “Sorry—what’s happening?”

He scowls over at me. “What’s happening? I’m Sergey. Your date. Kayla set us up, remember? Do I need to show you my ID, or what?” He plucks his driver’s license out of his wallet and slides it across the table for me just to prove his point. Sure enough, I see SERGEY SMIRNOV printed next to a picture of the man in front of me.

My jaw hits the table, just as a familiar masculine scent invades my nostrils. I look up into the cruelly beautiful face of the man I first sat down with.

“If he’s Sergey…” I ask him with slowly dawning horror. “Then who the hell are you?”

4

LUNA

I look from Sergey to Not-Sergey, my mouth hanging open.

With the way tonight is going, this whole date being some kind of sci-fi, body doubles mix-up isn’t completely out of the question. I mean, Kayla set me up on a decent date. No, it’s more than that—she set me up on an amazing date. That’s unheard of. It’s ghosts and ghouls and alien invasion levels of impossible.

So, on a night where the impossible is possible, there could be two Sergeys.

Except there aren't two Sergeys. Not quite.

The two men in front of me could not be more different. The Sergey I’ve been with for the last twenty minutes is evolved, charming. He’s standing tall next to me, brooding, watchful. This new Sergey is sloppy drunk. He’s hunched over, his upper lip pulled back in some kind of Neanderthal grunt. And he’s lying.

God, I hope he’s lying.

“No, you’re not Sergey.” I shake my head and lean back, closer to the man I desperately want to be Sergey. I can feel the heat from his body soaking into my shoulder. “I’m with Sergey.”

The new guy taps his chest, sloshing whatever he’s drinking over the rim of his glass. “I’m Sergey. Your friend Katie… No, no… Kayla! Yeah. Kayla told me to meet you here.”

I frown. “How do you know… You talked to Kayla?”

Did that sneaky bitch set me up on two dates? I wouldn’t put it past her. Maybe she sent in reinforcements. She rapid-fire found me a backup date from whatever janky dating app she has me plugged into and sent Mr. Barfly here to find me in case the first one went poorly.

But… how did she find two men named Sergey?

I shake my head. “This doesn’t make any sense. I showed up fifteen minutes late and you weren’t here yet. You’re—You’re drunk.”