Jock Rule (Jock Hard #2)(66)

My assistant Christine isn’t just my assistant. She’s one of my best friends **holds back the tears** and one of the people I reply on the most. Not just for book related business, but for…my heart. I confide in her, trust her, and love her dearly. She’s my rock. Support. The one constant I have in my life right now besides my beautiful daughter.

I couldn’t have made it though the summer, or finish this book, without Christine cheerleading me on. I know this manuscript made her nervous; I know she didn’t think it would be done on time. I know she was afraid to read it, LOL.

I love you, Christine.

Meghan Quinn—you’re another one that carried me this summer. I know I gave you more than a few heart palpitations and stressed you out; thank you for being patient, and kind, and wonderful. I probably didn’t deserve any of it, but I’m grateful for it. You’re a true, fast friend.

Thank you to my Beta Readers, Laurie Darter and Jennifer Bidwell. I wasn’t sure I’d even have the chance to have anyone take a peek at it in advance, and I think I exhaled a huge sigh of relief when you both actually liked the book.

My editor Caitlyn Nelson, whom I had to email multiple times and push back my editing dates **awkward smile** I was so relieved to make my deadline.

My proofreaders Jennifer VanWyk and Karen Lawson.

Formatter, Alyssa Garcia with Uplifting Designs.

It takes a Village to publish a book, and I haven’t even thanked half the people who touched this novel, helped with teasers, graphics, promo, feedback, social media…the list goes on and on.

I’m grateful for you all.

Xoxo

Sara





Chapter One


Amelia


“I need you to pretend to be me next weekend.”

I stop eating, fork poised above my plate. “Why?”

“I have two dates on the same night—oops.” My twin sister says it in a duh tone of voice, like it should have been obvious.

“No.”

“Please? Come on! It’ll be fun.”

“No.” I ignore the whining tone in her voice, the one that rises a few decibels every time she speaks. “Pretending to be someone else isn’t fun for me—it’s stressful.”

“You’re no fun.”

I laugh. “Exactly my point. If I had to spend an entire night faking it, I would pass out from exhaustion.”

“Maybe, but Dash is so hot, you won’t even care.”

“Is that supposed to be a selling point? This guy you’re dating is hot?” I shove lettuce in my mouth and chew. Swallow. “Lucy, we look nothing alike.”

Okay, so that’s not exactly true. We’re almost identical, I just hate admitting it.

“He doesn’t know I’m a twin. Trust me, he won’t notice.”

This gives me pause. “How does he not know you’re a twin?”

“I mean, it’s not like we sit and talk about you,” she quips.

“Right, but don’t you tell him about yourself? Normally you love to talk, and the twin thing is kind of a fun fact.” And a huge part of who you are as a human being, I want to add, but instead, I clamp my lips shut.

“Of course I tell him about myself. I tell him my favorite foods so if he ever decides to take me to dinner he’ll know what I like, and I tell him my favorite movies so he’s prepared in the event that we go to one. I also show him my best side when I’m taking selfies.”

How are we related?

She twirls her hair. “But we’ve only gone out like, twice—I don’t count seeing him at house parties and stuff. He’s kind of annoying though, always trying to have deep, meaningful discussions.”

My face contorts. “Why would you have a problem with that?”

“Oh my God, Amelia, it’s not like we can have a serious talk in the middle of a party.”

“What did you say his name was?”

“Dash Amado.”

I chuckle into my espresso. “Luce, I hate sounding like an ass, but how deep a discussion could a guy named Dash possibly want to have?”

“That’s kind of a bitchy thing to say. You don’t even know him.” She blows out a puff of air. “Besides, I don’t think that’s his real name.”

I slurp my water to annoy her.

It works.

“How about you try harder to get to know him?”

“I’m trying, but you won’t help me!”

“Far be it from me to judge, but methinks you’re not trying hard enough. Stop trying to make me your stand-in.”

“For the tenth time, he won’t even know it’s you.”

“I am not going on this date for you! It was cute trading places in high school, but it’s not cute now.” Not to mention, it’s immature.

“You used to think it was fun.”

“Remember the time we both ran for student council? It was exhausting and embarrassing and the whole mess was completely your fault.”

“What are you even talking about? The whole thing was not a mess—everything turned out great! We both got elected.”

When we were freshmen in high school, Lucy and I were both running for class officer—president for her, vice president for me. The election speeches were during an assembly during the school day, but rather than showing up, Lucy spent the entire period making out with some football player in a supply closet they’d found unlocked en route to the gymnasium.