The Bet (Winslow Brothers 1)

He glances down at his clipboard and then back up at me. “I take it you’re Sophie?”

“That’s right. I am her, and she is me,” I respond somewhat awkwardly through a shivering jaw. My breath hangs in the air for a few seconds, and I tuck my arms deeper into my faux fur coat and try to keep the shivers from migrating to my knees.

He moves his gaze past me, to my twin sister Belle, our elder sister Katelynn, and then over the rest of our small group that includes seven of Belle’s closest friends—Laura, Tasha, Kirsten, Jackie, Tonya, Bri, and Devon.

All of these women either went to college with Belle at NYU or work with her at MK Modeling Agency. I know some of them better than others since Belle and I spend so much time together, but these people definitely qualify as more “hers” than “mine.”

“Who’s the bride-to-be?”

“That would be this gorgeous girl right here with the sash,” I comment and step back to wrap my arm around my twin.

Belle smiles, and the rest of our already-tipsy group hoots and hollers, which then makes my sister bury her face in my shoulder.

I giggle and give her a reassuring squeeze.

All thanks to the awesome bachelorette party I planned for my sister, our group is having the time of their lives, is well on their way to being three sheets to the wind, and is ready to bring the night on home at our fourth and final stop at one of New York’s hottest new nightspots, Club Craze.

“Whoa. You two are—” the bouncer begins, and I immediately recognize his intro as the precursor to what everyone says when they see Belle and me together.

“Identical twins,” I answer for him with a knowing smile. “You know, like a brunette version of the Olsens.”

Belle snorts. “Though, we’ve never met Uncle Jesse. And we aren’t recluses in our adult age.”

I’m half tempted to roll my eyes at the two of us and the fact that it sounds like we give this rehearsed speech every hour on the hour, but the bouncer’s reaction outshines my mental battle with self-deprecation. I don’t know if this dude has never seen identical twins in person or what, but he just keeps glancing between Belle and me like we’re two aliens that just stepped off our UFO. Our eyes may be green, but our skin isn’t. At least, not yet. Maybe after a few more hours of drinking, it will be, though.

Thankfully, when Tonya obnoxiously offers to show the man her G-sized ta-tas if he’ll get us inside before they turn into literal witch’s tits, he focuses back on his clipboard, and that scowl of his almost turns into a smile.

“Clothes need to stay on for now,” he says and shakes his head. “But once you’re inside and escorted into your private VIP party room…” He winks at Tonya. “Then, you can live it up in whatever way you please.” He licks his lips and mutters to himself, “I really need to think about asking for a job reassignment.”

Tonya laughs and leans up onto her toes to place a drunk kiss on his cheek.

“Private VIP party room?” Belle whispers into my ear, obviously too panicked to focus on the episode of The Bachelor: Nightclub Bouncer Edition taking place in front of us. I turn away from the action to give her a reassuring flick of my eyes and squeeze around her shoulders, and by the time I turn back, our previously stoic bouncer is unclipping the velvet rope and letting us inside, hijinks with Tonya concluded.

I’m a little sad to have missed some of the action, but Hallelujah! for warmth.

“Have fun, ladies.”

“Hell yes!” Kirsten cheers and wraps her arms around Laura’s and Bri’s shoulders. “Drinks first, then dancing!”

Katelynn discreetly slips a twenty-dollar bill into the bouncer’s front shirt pocket and pats him on the chest. “Remember this and Tonya’s boobs later when you’re having to kick one of these bitches out of your club.”

He actually lets a full smile consume his face then, and I grab Belle’s hand.

“Let’s go, sis! Time to bring this bachelorette party on home!”

As I step through the large doors, a burst of hot air hits my face, and I sigh in relief.

Thank goodness.

The pounding beats of house music grow impatiently as we walk down a dimly lit hallway that leads to the inside of the club. The closer we get, the more the music dominates my ears, and the more the ladies in front of me sway their boozed-up hips and shout their approval.

Club Craze is hopping, and it’s not even officially officially open yet. This is just the soft run, for Pete’s sake. The only reason I even got us in here is because, after hearing about the upcoming opening, I went on to their website to do some research for work and stumbled upon an all-call to apply to have your private event. I never thought we’d get selected, but we did.