No Two Are Alike

05 | mince pies are thrown

She might as well have stabbed him in the gut.

Jack choked, his mind reeling. Logan. She thought he was bloody Logan. In all of Jack's wildest imaginations, he had never considered this possibility. Chloe always knew how to tell them apart. Sure, Jack had shaved off part of his eyebrow, but come on — surely she could tell it was him right now?

Apparently not.

"Well." Chloe was shifting from foot to foot. "Say something."

He sputtered.

"Logan." She nibbled her lip. "Please."

Oh, god. What the hell was he supposed to say?

Jack shoved the bracelet deeper into his pocket. Like hell was he about to give that to her now. Same went for the speech he had prepared.

But how to proceed?

Should Jack tell her the truth? That he had switched places with Logan for the month? That seemed like the logical solution.

But, no; Chloe was looking at Jack with such hope in her eyes. It would kill him to crush her like that. He felt like his heart was being slowly ripped into pieces, scattering into the dark waters of the Thames below.

Ah, screw it.

He would pretend to be Logan. Just for tonight. Then Jack would tell his brother that he was done with this stupid charade, and force him to let Chloe down. Gently. Because if Logan stomped all over her heart, Jack would personally castrate him.

"I feel the same," he said hoarsely.

"Oh, thank god." She grinned. "You had me worried, for a second."

"So what is it about me, then?" Jack asked dully. "My wit? My charm? My mediocre knowledge of the Oxford Style Manual?"

He was torturing himself, but he didn't care. He needed to know. Chloe's cheeks were so red that you could have toasted bread on them.

"It's your confidence," she muttered.

"My confidence?"

"Yes." Chloe shrugged helplessly. "I find it sexy."

"Huh."

Jack must not have sounded particularly thrilled, because Chloe crossed her arms. "Fine, then," she said. "Why do you fancy me?"

Jack sighed inwardly. Oh, crumbs. What didn't he fancy about her? Chloe's sly sense of humour, her dimples, the way glasses slipped down her nose, her penchant for oatmeal cookies — he loved all of it. Not that he would admit it right now.

"It's your eyes," Jack invented.

"My eyes?"

"Yes."

"What about them?"

"Well, they're..." Jack hesitated. "They're brown."

Chloe gave him an odd look. "So I've heard."

"Yeah." Jack rocked back on his heels. "Yeah. That's about it, really."

There was a long, terrible pause. Chloe was shivering in her short gold dress, but Jack refused to offer his suit jacket. Let her think Logan was a dickwad, Jack thought bitterly. Because he was. He was going to give his brother hell later.

Still.

He could hardly let Chloe freeze to death.

"We should go inside," he murmured. "The others will be looking for us."