Page 2 of How to Win the Girl

His hair is dark; mine is dark.

He has freckles; I have freckles.

He’s tall; I’m tall.

He’s single; I’m single.

When I look in the mirror, I literally see my brother’s face. Like I said, we’re twins.

Identicaltwins.

Yeah, it can be aggravating, but it’s also really fucking cool being connected to another human the way I’m connected to Drew, our bond unbreakable.

I love that boring son of a bitch.

I’m just not sure I love being mistaken for him every now and again, same way I’m sure he hates being mistaken for me.

After the professor at the front of the class dismisses us early, I pack up my shit and hightail it out of there, not bothering to give the girl a second glance. She’s obviously not worth my time or the headache of an apology. Besides, it’s not a crime to twirl a fucking pen. Jeez, lady, chill.

Whistling to myself when my feet hit the concrete steps of the stairs outside of the building, I lift my gaze to the sky and drink in the fresh air.

“Ahhh.”

I stretch, arms above my head, and feel the air tickling my gut when the hem of my tee shirt raises.

Did I say gut? I meantrock-hard abs.

Where to now? Home?

The gym?

The world is my oyster now that the football season is over; I finally have free time on my hands and no obligation to do anything but work out, train, and stay in shape.

I pat my stomach, running a hand across the bare skin there as my eyes scan the courtyard, settling on a group of sorority girls gathered not twenty feet away.

“Well, hello, ladies.”

One by one, they notice me watching; all of them preen and fluff, each of them hopeful my eyes will land on them. Blond hair, black hair, brunette…tall, short…big boobs, flat chested…

So many flavors to choose from.

A lazy smile tilts my lips as I take my first lazy step down the stairs.

One of them gasps.

It’s good to be a legend on this campus, even if Miss Salty Pants back in class doesn’t appreciate the appeal.

Yes, it’s good to be a Colter.

Pretty damn good...

one

drake

Dating is like pushing your tray along in the school cafeteria. Nothing looks good but you feel pressure to put something on it by the time you make it to the cashier.

“You’re Drew Colter,aren’t you?”