Page 9 of I Hate You More

That wasn’t even remotely what Spencer meant, and they both knew it.

“We just chatted about property values, I swear,” Caleb added. His expression grew suddenly serious, a flash of sobriety on a face that was almost always the exact opposite. It was like looking in a mirror, but not in a way that gave Spencer any satisfaction. He didn’t want to be the twin who looked like he’d just eaten a box of cardboard, who scowled and grumbled and stomped around like a giant in his castle in the clouds.

For once in his life, it would have been nice to just be Spencer Wilson, veterinarian and dog-show judge, a little stiff upon first meeting but not a bad guy once you got to know him.

“Thank you for not saying anything when I gave Ruby my business card,” Caleb said. “I mean it. It’s nice to have a project to work on again.”

Mentioning the project—dog training, Wheezy,Ruby—didn’t help matters any. Neither did Caleb’s next words.

“In fact, I’m so grateful I won’t mention that you’ve crossed over onto my side of the yard.” His brother nodded down at the ground. Sure enough, all of Caleb’s backing up had carried Spencer over a faint white line on the grass. The line had been applied with a can of aerosol stripe paint that continued inside the house with more durable duct tape.

Spencer jumped back as though he’d just lost a game of Floor Lava—which, in a way, was exactly what he’d done. “That doesn’t count,” he protested. “You lured me over.”

“Maybe Iwillmention it. Cash or crunches? We’re up to a hundred and thirty.”

“I’m not paying you a dime. You deliberately stepped backward so I’d either have to follow you or shout from across the yard.”

“Payout or push-ups?” Caleb asked. The serious look on his face was wiped out by now, replaced with his much more customary smirk. “Bucks or burpees? The choice is yours, but I could really use the money.”

“I’m not giving you a hundred and thirty dollars,” Spencer repeated. He’d already covered all Caleb’s legal fees and was paying a ridiculous amount every day for that ankle monitor—not to mention his brother’s food, utilities, and the literal roof over his head. He had yet to receive so much as a thanks for any of it.

“Then you’d better choose an exercise,” Caleb said. “You made me do a hundred and twenty crunches last week when one of my socks barely touched your side. Fair’s fair.”

Spencer threw up his hands. “Fine. I’ll do the push-ups.”

“Excellent choice.” Caleb lowered himself to the grass and wrapped a casual arm around Caesar. The bulldog settled in to watch the spectacle with his favorite Wilson brother. “I’ll keep count. On your mark, get set, go!”

Spencer didn’t go on his brother’s command. He didn’t even go in the next twenty seconds. He took a moment to undo the top few buttons of his shirt and roll up his sleeves, not to mention kick off his shoes. He always dressed comfortably for his veterinary work, but notthatcomfortably. He wasn’t going to ruin his favorite brogues just because Caleb was a cheating bastard.

It was a stupid game, and he was even stupider for playing it, but rules were rules. The only way the two of them could coexist inside a house was by dividing it in half—inliteralhalf—and strictly enforcing the boundary. They could each stay on their side of the house and the yard, but there was no crossing over the line.

Spencer got into position and started in on his one hundred and thirty push-ups. After ten, he fell into a fairly good rhythm. Twenty, and the familiar strain of exertion started creeping in. Thirty, and he let himself follow the pattern of Caleb’s counting.

He’d never admit it to his brother, but it felt good—the monotony of the exercise and the cadence of Caleb’s voice, this game they’d been playing in some form or another since they were kids. It had started out innocently enough, a system of retribution for when one of them lost a dare or a game of Monopoly. The loser had a choice: pay a quarter or do five push-ups. At age six, both of those had seemed unsurmountable feats, especially since they increased with each subsequent loss. Two quarters or ten push-ups. A dollar or twenty push-ups.

As they’d gotten older, the stakes had changed—mostly in terms of monetary compensation, since there was a limit to how many repetitive exercises a body could feasibly do. A few more weeks of living like this, and there was a good chance one of them would either end up ripped as all get-out or broke.

His brother’s counting fell away around eighty, but Spencer forced himself to keep going. Caleb had probably gotten distracted by something shinier and more entertaining. Follow-through had never been his strong suit. Spencer kept count under his breath and was rounding a hundred when he heard a female cry in the distance.

Something that sounded suspiciously like “Wheezy, no!” rose up just as he was hit in the side by a bag of rocks—a heaving, hairy bag of rocks that began lapping at his face with an exuberance that seemed excessive, given the length of their acquaintance.

“Did I forget to mention that we’re getting started on the dog training tonight?” Caleb asked from somewhere above his head. “Oops. My mistake.”

Spencer tried to roll out from underneath the golden retriever’s bulk, but there was no hope for it. Caesar took one look at the dog pile in progress and decided that he couldn’t allow it to continue without him. He heaved his massive body on top of Wheezy and began a game of sniff-and-wrestle that Spencer was powerless to stop.

In other words, he was pinned to the ground, half-dressed, covered in dogs, and making a fool out of himself in front of the most beautiful woman in the world. And just as he’d been unable to prevent her from entering the dog show in the first place, there was nothing he could do about it now.

Chapter 4

Ruby wasn’t normally a woman who stared. As a former beauty pageant star, she’d seen literally everything the female body had to offer; as a nursing assistant, she’d seen the same when it came to the bodies of the elderly.

And as for men, well, she’d seen her fair share of those too. Dressed and undressed, big and small, handsome and not so handsome, there were only so many ways a collection of body parts could be put together. Once you’d seen the apex of one pair of thighs, you’d basically seen them all.

But nothing—and she meant nothing—could have prepared her for the sight of Spencer Wilson doing barefoot push-ups with his forearms fully revealed.

Or for the sight of Wheezy pouncing on him before Spencer noticed their arrival.

Her “Wheezy, no!” might as well have stayed unuttered for all the attention the dog paid. It had taken twenty minutes and the threat of untold tortures to get Wheezy in the car in the first place, but the moment he caught sight of Spencer, he was as eager as if the dratted man were a piece of raw steak.