Well, he’d better get ready for more of it if he thinks he can be an asshole to me. So what if I kissed him and then changed my mind? And standing here, eyes locked on each other’s, I’m dismayed by the way he’s handling this. Stupid me thought he’d be more hurt and less jerk. Guess I thought too highly of myself. The reality check that I really am just another in a long line of women to him is welcome.

Good thing I found out now rather than in a month when my heart’s already invested. I use my own hurt, the revelation of truths I didn’t expect—the spite in his glare—to keep my guard up. But guard or no guard, I become uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny when he just stands before me, posture in itself threatening, and doesn’t say a word.

“What do you want?” I snap, shifting my feet.

“You for a start.” He ghosts a smile and where before I found it sexy, right now, the sight of it mixed with the look in his eyes unsettles me.

“If my actions didn’t say it earlier, then my lips will say it so you can understand: Dream on.” I take a breath, eyes flickering over my shoulder to see if Axe is still there just on the other side of the door, because for some reason alarm bells are sounding in my head.

He laughs low and mocking and if he’s trying to freak me out, he’s doing a damn good job. I’m done here. Carla can pull my thesis for all I care but I refuse to work with this schizophrenic asshole. In the span of one minute we’ve gone from flirting to kissing and in the next making me uncomfortable.

I start to walk past him to go grab my bag I left when I ran away and he grabs my arm, fingers digging in. A shocked gasp falls from my mouth but I refuse to give in and meet his eyes.

“Believe me, any dream I have of you will be a wet one.”

I yank my arm from his grasp, disgusted by his comment and how far off the mark I was in judging him. How did he go from hot and desirable to cheesy and creepy?

I ignore his laugh at my back and all but jog to the open doors of the auditorium. I rush through them, head turning to glance back at him, and find myself colliding into someone.

“Jesus!”

I’m shocked by the voice, the scent of cologne, and the face when I look up to see Hawkin’s surprised expression.

What the hell?

“Hawkin?” His name comes out in a flustered gasp as I try to process the fact that he’s standing before me when I thought he was behind me. I push back from him, adrenaline hitting me now so that my hands are a little shaky and take in his black Def Leppard T-shirt and the hair mussed earlier from my hands.

How can? … And then it hits me. I recollect an article I read during my intermittent cyberstalking about Hawkin that he had a brother. It definitely didn’t say he had an identical twin.

He stares for a beat, trying to figure out what’s wrong, when his eyes lift to over my shoulder. Hawke’s gaze immediately turns hard, jaw clenched and shoulders squaring in irritation as he delivers an unspoken warning to his brother before falling back on mine and softening with concern.

“You okay?” His focus is solely on me, hands reaching out to touch my arm in a reassuring manner.

“Yeah?” I say it like a question, asking him if the man at my back is really who I think it is.

“I’m sorry.” Hawkin murmurs the apology, somehow realizing that his brother has unnerved me, and he positions himself so that he’s standing between us.

“What are you doing here, Hunter?” The two men stare at each other, animosity palpable between them as they speak without words.

“Wanted to see my big bro’s new gig. Got quite a nice surprise though when I came early and went looking for him. Alcoves can be fun places, no?” Hunter says with a chuckle, giving me the chills that he was watching us. He lifts his chin toward me and raises his eyebrows. “She yours?”

As much as a part of me wants to speak up, assert my position, the obvious discord vibrating between the two of them has me biting my tongue.

“New gig’s courtesy of you, right? If you wanted this for yourself,” Hawke says pointing to the auditorium behind him, sarcasm all but dripping from his voice, “all you had to do was have a little integrity.”

“Integrity is overrated. Contracts, a man’s word, family bonds—nothing holds anymore these days. But you already know that, dontcha brother?” Hunter chides him with a wink, and I notice Hawkin clench his fists. Hunter’s eyes glance over and meet mine, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Leave her alone, Hunt. She’s with me.”

And I’m not sure if it’s the fact that he seems like he’s protecting me from his brother or if it’s him saying I’m his, but hearing those words pulls on some inherent female part of me, a part that longs to be someone’s. Despite the tension of the moment, I find it sadly comical that my resolve to keep Hawkin at arm’s length crumbles with that simple statement.

“Does she’s with me have a name?”

“Trixie,” Hawkin states, beating me to the punch when I was going to give my real one. And then I wonder why he’s giving his own brother my fake name but in the same breath I’m glad he does.

“Trixie.” Hunter rolls the false name around on his tongue before nodding in acceptance. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Hawkin’s sigh is audible and his voice monotone when he speaks. “Trixie, this is my brother, Hunter…. Hunter, this is Trixie. Satisfied?”

“Very,” he murmurs, eyes finding mine again and I have no problem being the first to look away this time as he takes a step closer. “So Trix—”

“What do you want, Hunter? If you wanted to be here, I know a surefire way you could be.” The derision in Hawke’s voice is frigid.

“Testy, testy. Do you let him talk to you like this?” Hunter directs the question at me, and it’s more than obvious he’s enjoying taunting his brother.

“Answer my question, Hunt.” Hawkin’s tone tells me he’s had enough of whatever game his twin is playing. I just wish I knew what exactly it was.

“I need to borrow your car.”

Hawkin physically startles at Hunter’s request. “You have your own.”

“It’s in the shop. Besides”—Hunter shrugs, completely unapologetic—“I like yours better.”

“You always like mine better.”

“Yes, I do,” he drawls the words out, a predatory gleam in his eye as he glances my way, “since you seem to enjoy taking what I deserve.”

“Cut the crap,” Hawkin orders, authority resonating in his voice as it echoes around the empty theater. “Why do you need it?”

“Mine’s in the shop so—”

“So you thought you’d trek halfway across town to a place you’d never go otherwise to ask me for my car? Ever heard of a taxi? Kind of presumptuous to just assume I’d hand it over, dontcha think?”

From the way they glare at each other—testosterone mixed with what I can guess is familial bad blood—I can’t help but wonder what else they are speaking about because it sure as hell isn’t a car.

“You’d do anything for family, isn’t that right?” Hunter angles his head at his brother, lips pursed, attitude prevalent.

“Try me again. Seems my generosity is running thin.” Hawke’s body vibrates with anger.

“Hmm.” Hunter laughs, the sound in itself mocking. The two spitting images stare each other down, animosity and irritation dueling between them. “Mom needs me.”

The simple statement causes everything about Hawkin to immediately alter despite the cocky raise of Hunter’s eyebrows that says, see, I told you, you’d bend for me. His shoulders fall and he glances back my way for a split second, indecision mixed with concern marring his face, before walking closer to his brother. “She okay?” he asks in a hushed whisper, his back toward me now.

I can’t hear the rest of what is said, just bits and pieces that don’t make sense as Hawkin digs in his pocket for his car keys and hands them over. He gives him some sort of instructions, and then puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

The mirror images look at each other for a prolonged period of silence before Hunter nods his head and walks out. The students, in line waiting for the lecture to start, call out “Hawkin”—mistaking Hunter for his brother—as the door shuts behind him.

I study the lines of Hawkin’s back as he watches his brother’s movements outside, shaking hands, posing for cell phone pictures … acting as if he is his twin. It vaguely crosses my mind to wonder how often he does this, impersonates his brother. I turn my focus back to the man himself. His demeanor seems altered now, so far from the arrogant, self-assured man from earlier or the clips I’ve seen of him performing. A part of me wants to ask what’s wrong, figure out what can affect him so quickly, but I also understand that I know absolutely nothing about him besides the image he feeds to the media.

And growing up in a household under the scrutiny of the Hollywood magnifying glass, I know better than most how image can be a manufactured product.

Standing here beside Hawkin I can feel his angst, sense his restlessness, and I want to know more. Every person has two sides, the side they let everyone believe and the side they let few see. Usually I couldn’t care less because each person deserves their own story, but for some reason with Hawkin, I want to see that private side. The man has been making me question my own sanity with the reactions he’s pulling from me. Maybe the rest of his story will explain why I respond so strongly to him.

His audible sigh pulls me from my thoughts. “Everything okay?” I can’t help it. I know he won’t answer, but I have to ask anyway.