Chapter 1: The Wrong Kiss

After a long day at the office, I tossed my keys onto the nightstand, shrugged off my work jacket, and practically tackled my girlfriend onto the mattress, pinning her down and kissing her like a soldier coming home from war.

The way she squirmed beneath me, pushing back with a startled intensity, was so out of character I barely registered her shock. For a second, I thought she was just teasing, playing hard to get. The whole moment was charged—her hands fluttered against my shoulders, her breath catching, the room suddenly feeling too close, too small.

But then I caught a look at her face—a full-on crimson blush sweeping across her cheeks. Her eyes were wide as headlights in a deer, lips parted, stunned. My brain scrambled, replaying every second—her perfume was different, her laugh a half-step too bright. How the hell did I miss this?

We’ve been together so long—sometimes I joke we’re like an old married couple, arguing over who left the milk out. How could she still get this flustered over a kiss from me? I grinned, half-teasing, but red flags started popping up in my mind.

Wait—blushing?

My heart flipped, cold dread creeping in. I jerked upright, scanning her face for the familiar dimple, the tiny scar above her brow. Shit.

"Derek… you…"

"Uh, where’s your sister?" My voice was scratchy, my throat suddenly dry.

"She just left." Her words were clipped, her tone shaky.

"Sorry, you two really look way too much alike, I…" I trailed off, hoping for a joke, praying for a lifeline.

"Derek, I’ll go now." She yanked on her battered old Converse, hoodie half-zipped, and bolted for the door. The slam echoed like a verdict—final and loud.

If I’d known this stupid mix-up would end up making her actually fall for me, I wouldn’t have gone near her—not for a million bucks, not even for front-row Super Bowl tickets for life.