Contacts and I are not friends. I’m in the process of removing them when I hear the front door to Dominic’s townhouse creak open.
“Hey,” I call out. “I’ll be right there. I’m taking out my contacts.”
I realize that I’ve left my glasses sitting on the couch and slowly make my way there. My vision makes everything look like it was once part of a Monet. I see shapes but objects look painted together, all fuzzy where there should be lines and angles.
He’s standing in the hallway and I throw myself into his arms. He smells different, like some fancy men’s cologne, with hints of patchouli and something cloyingly thick.
I reach up and lower his head, and we kiss. It’s a strange kiss, with sloppy, tonsil-finding tongue that tastes like caramel coffee and cigarettes.
“You’ve been smoking?” I ask. The man who runs three miles a day, never eats red meat, and is inches from being vegan?
“Hmm,” is his response before pulling me back into an embrace. Something feels off and I hear the front door open again.
“What the hell, Damien? Clare?” Dominic’s voice. Who is hugging me?
Stepping back, I press the back of my hand to my mouth. I childishly want to start wiping my tongue on my hand. “God, I need my glasses.”
On my way to my purse, I bang into furniture until I feel a hand around my waist and smell the clean lime and woodsy scent I could bask in. I grab my glasses. The world is so much better when you can see.
I turn and look at Damien. He could be Dominic’s replica, except he’s missing dimples, has tats along his neck, and his eyes aren’t warm like whiskey.
“I’m a cheater,” I say, frowning. “With Dominic’s evil twin.”