I aimed to head inside to run his card, but Asher grabbed my arm. “Thanks. I know it’s weird, but practicing helps me feel more comfortable and natural.”

“I know. You’re right. We need it if we’re gonna have Lewis judging our every move.”

“Exactly.”

Asher waited in the car for my shift to end. He parked beside the building and cranked the tunes. They reverberated across the lot, and I was jealous of his life with every new car that pulled into the station. I was cold and miserable. I didn’t have wheels anymore or a nice place to live. My job stank—literally—and the one gig I’d found that would help get my head above water had caused this weird rift between my twin brother and me.

The guy relieving me showed up five minutes late. We changed out our tills, and I beelined it for the door.

I fell into the Jag, slumping in the seat and dissolving as the warm air blasting from the vents licked my frozen cheeks and thawed my fingers. Blind Melon’s, “No Rain” played, mellow and soothing all around me. It was loud enough there would be no conversation.

When Asher reached for the knob to turn it down, I smacked his hand and shook my head. Our twin-link-vibe-like-thing told him I needed a minute to breathe. It was nice when I didn’t always have to explain myself.

We sat for a few minutes, absorbed in the music. “No Rain” turned to The Toadies, “Possum Kingdom,” which neither of us could resist singing along to. It was cleansing. Whatever strange walls had been erected between us didn’t exist for those few minutes. Asher took over the lead air guitar while I hammered out the drum part on the dash as we sang about angels and so help us, Jesus.

The song ended, and I turned the volume down to conversation levels. “I need to grab some stuff at the house and shower. I stink like nobody’s business.”

“Pack a bag and shower at the hotel while I run and get food.”

“All right. Cool. And beer. Must drink lots of beer.” For sanity and to make this easier. Beer would help.

Asher revved the engine and took us out of the parking lot. We cranked the music again and didn’t talk for the whole drive.

At the Santiagos’, I ran in and stuffed clothes and bathroom supplies into my backpack. As an afterthought, I switched up my underwear choice for something a little … nicer. It was stupid because it was Asher, but if we were gonna get kinky, I wanted to look good. He had muscles and abs; I had cute silky briefs.

Ash drove us across to the opposite end of town. It wasn’t the Holiday Inn like last time. He’d reserved us a room at a smaller, four-star hotel that was tucked away near the highway.