Tink24: You have to promise not to rip my dress. It’s too pretty for that.

Riverrat69: Then you have to promise to take it off as soon as you step in the door.

“Elizabeth!” Mom calls.

Snapping out of my stupor, I toss the phone on the bed. “Just a minute!”

I need to focus on getting dressed in something sexier than my Christmas pajamas. I don’t know if Sam’s coming down for the wedding festivities tonight or tomorrow, but I want to look my best. Just in case.

I pick black thigh-high stockings, a black skirt that’s almost inappropriately short, and a red sweater that hugs me in all the right places. Perfect. Sexy, without being over the top. In five minutes, I’ve dressed, applied lip-gloss and mascara, and am heading out the door with Mom.

I wouldn’t typically carpool with my mother, but she can’t drive for shit in the winter, and I agreed to take her. Hanna and Nate are getting married in this gorgeous mansion in Brown County. The ten-bed, ten-bath home they rented has a ballroom and massive gourmet kitchen, and is nestled into the wooded hills of Brown County. They rented the whole place, as well as half the rooms at the inn down the street, for their guests. With the dusting of snow on the trees, it’s going to be a gorgeous Christmas wedding. Maybe the happiest day of my twin’s life. And the way things are shaping up, it might not be such a bad day for me either.

This is a mistake, some rational part of my brain warns. I signed up for Something Real because I wanted commitment. Sam has never offered that—as himself or as River.

In fact, my relationship with Sam can be broken down into a series of defining moments that I realize, in an isolated list, make me look like Slutty McSluttypants.

1. The night I tried to seduce him and he turned me down because I was a seventeen-year-old virgin.

2. The night I decided to “cheer him up” at a mutual friend’s wedding and ended up inviting him back to my place.

3. The night of Cally’s wedding when I slept with him again, even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.

4. The morning early last summer when he and Della walked in on Connor and me together.

I’m not proud of that little list. It doesn’t leave me feeling particularly warm and fuzzy about the choices I’ve made. And I can’t help but wonder if this weekend is going to leave me with nothing more than another item to tick off when I think of Sam.

I was ready to tell River I wouldn’t meet him. I was too afraid to lose him once he found out who I was. Then Sam asked me to be his date for the wedding, and that changed everything. If he wants to be my date, maybe he won’t be so disappointed when he finds out I’m the woman he’s been talking to online.

My phone buzzes with a text message, and not knowing what it says kills me. If I were alone, I’d probably pull over to read it, but since Mom’s in the car, I wait until we arrive at the cabin.

Sam: I can only assume that picture was my Christmas gift. I must have been a very good boy this year.

* * *

Sam

Liz: This is so embarrassing. I meant to send that to the other guy who uses me for sex.

Thank God I was alone when the picture came through. I’m in my office at the bank and haven’t been fit for company since. It’s bad enough that I can hardly sit at my desk without remembering the time she came here two years ago, nude under her skirt. She let me spread her legs and touch her while I whispered dirty words in her ear. It’s one of my favorite memories, though it would definitely rank higher on the list had I simply disabled the damn camera and fucked her on the desk like she wanted me to.

It seems like I have so many regrets where Liz is concerned. I look at the picture again and literally bite my knuckle. Because damn. It shows all my favorite parts—the spot at the top of her leg right under the curve of her ass, the flat of her belly, her pert tits, just waiting for my mouth. Fuck. Yes.

This is torture. I’m not going to sleep with her this weekend. That would be a terrible idea, but it’s going to be the hardest part about being her date at the wedding. Every time we hook up, she shuns me for months afterward, and if I’m going to date her to calm Della’s nerves while Liz works alongside Connor, I can’t have her shutting me out of her life. Never mind that sleeping with her when I’m using her to improve my reputation seems like a complete shit thing to do.

I consider my response carefully before sending.

Sam: Saying that I’m using you for sex implies that you’re not using me right back.

Liz: We wouldn’t want to imply any such thing.

Sam: See you tomorrow, Rowdy.

Liz: I’m looking forward to it. I feel like the whole evening might turn out to be . . . enlightening.

What does that mean?

“Hey, handsome.”

I look up from my desk at the sound of my office door clicking closed and find Sabrina Guy leaning against it. “Sabrina.” Fuck. “To what do I owe the honor?”

She sticks out her lower lip in a pretty pout. She looks so much like her mother it floors me sometimes. The same wild red hair, the same patrician nose, the same killer curves. They could pass for sisters. “Mom wants me to go to the fundraiser dinner for your father next week, and I don’t have a date. Would you let me spend the evening on your arm?”

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, grateful to have the desk hiding the effects of my conversation with Liz. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Sabrina, but I already have a date.”

“So cancel,” she says sweetly. She wrinkles her nose. “Just kidding. Kind of.”