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."

"Logan?"

Like an idiot, Jack spun towards the closed door, expecting his brother. Oh, no, wait; shoot. That was him. He was Logan. He gritted his teeth.

"Yes?"

"I'd like to see you again," Chloe said quickly. "Just you." She smiled sheepishly, rubbing at her shoulders. "It doesn't have to be like, a date, or anything. I know you lose your shit at the idea of dates. Just hanging out."

Jack's heart was the bottom of a shredded Weetabix box. She might as well have smashed his face in with a hammer repeatedly; it would have been kinder.

"But what about Jack?" he heard himself ask.

She blinked. "What about him?"

"Won't he mind? If we hang out?"

Chloe snorted. "Oh, Jack won't care," she said dismissively. "If anything, he'll be happy that he's rid of me for a while; I'm kind of a handful."

Jack swallowed. She was wrong, though; Jack did care.

He cared very much indeed.

The next morning, Jack let himself into his flat.

Dirty dishes littered the coffee table and counter, and the sink was clogged with soggy pasta. Boxers were wedged under the radiator. The whole flat smelled of cigarettes and alcohol. Jack wrinkled his nose, opening a window.

Crap.

If this was the damage Logan could wreak in a single day, Jack didn't want to see what his brother could do in three weeks. And he wouldn't. Because he was ending this stupid charade. Today.

He rummaged in the fridge, helping himself to a handful of berries. A box of mince pies — clearly Logan's purchase — rested atop a jug of milk. Jack consulted his watch. Only 10 a.m. Hardly an appropriate time for dessert. But sod it; after the events of last night, Jack deserved a bloody pie.

He stuffed one into his mouth, chewing viciously. Bloody Logan and his bloody schemes. Hadn't Jack learned over the years to never go along with them?

The bedroom door creaked open.

Jack jumped to his feet. "Listen here, you arsehole—"

A blonde girl froze.

She was balancing on one foot, a heel clutched in her hand. Her black cocktail dress was rumpled, and black mascara was smeared across one cheek. Jack stopped dead.

"Er. Hi."

"Oh, my god," she breathed, her face white with terror. "Can you teleport?"

"Don't forget your knickers, love," Logan called. "I wouldn't want you to get on the tube and — ah." His eyes landed on Jack. "Good morning, brother."

Jack scowled. "I'm going to kill you."

"This early?" Logan checked his watch. "It's not even noon."

The girl's eyes darted between them. She was clutching her purse to her chest in a way that suggested she was ready to use it as a weapon.

"I'm going to..." She edged towards the door. "I'll just be off, then."

And with that, she hurried toward the lift, hardly pausing to close the door behind her. Logan immediately sauntered into the kitchen. Jack watched — floored — as his brother ripped off the top of an orange juice and chugged directly from the carton.

"Mary Parson's niece," Logan purred, wiping his mouth. "Isn't she adorable?"

"You got with her? In my flat?"

"Don't get pissy," Logan sighed. "You should be thanking me." He put the orange juice back. "I even gave her your number."

"After you shagged her?" Jack pulled a face. "That's disgusting."

Logan waved him off. "She'll never know the difference." He paused. "Well, until she sleeps with you. Then she'll be disappointed, obviously."

Jack stared at him. Then he crossed to the counter, seizing his abandoned box of mince pies. He hurled one across the kitchen, nailing Logan in the left shoulder.

"Ow," Logan yelped.

"You moron!"

"Well, you don't have to call her," Logan muttered reproachfully, rubbing at his shoulder. "It was only a suggestion."

Jack's hands were shaking. He flung another mince pie at Logan's head, missing it by inches. The pie ricocheted off the window. Logan's face was twisted with shock. It would have been funny, Jack reflected darkly, if he didn't currently want to stuff his brother's face into the sink and switch on the garbage disposal.

"What the bloody hell has gotten into you?" Logan demanded.

"Your stupid article, arsehole!"

"What about it?"

"I don't want to do it," Jack growled. "I've changed my mind."

"Why?"

"Because..." Jack lowered the mince pie box slightly. "Well, because..." Oh, sod it; he'd just come out with it, then. "I kissed Chloe last night."

"Oh. Shit." Logan paused, his hand still on his shoulder. "Fair play, mate. I didn't know you fancied her, but I'm proud of you. That takes balls."

"No," Jack said slowly. "You don't understand." His fingers were strangling the cardboard box. "I kissed Chloe, and she thought it was you."

"Oh."

Logan dropped his hand. Jack could see the cogs in his mind spinning, like millions of small hamsters on wheels. He hadn't seen Logan think this much since he was forced to decide between Hot Sauce and Xtra Hot Sauce at Nando's last month.

"And what did Chloe say?" Logan asked finally.

"She fancies you," Jack muttered.

He smirked. "Well, of course she does; I'm irresistible."

Jack gritted his teeth. Nah. That was it.

He launched another pie, striking Logan directly in the chest. His brother seized a baking tray, successfully deflecting the next mince pie. The prick. Jack wound up for another one, and Logan raised a hand.

"I'm joking!" Logan howled. "Jesus, Jack, I'm taking the piss. Calm down."

"This isn't funny!"

"Please stop stealing my mince pies."

"Stop stealing Chloe."

"I don't want Chloe," Logan said, exasperated. "Don't you get that?" He peeked his head over the baking tray. "She's like a little sister to me."

Jack snorted. "Unlikely."

Logan would shag almost anything. And they both knew it.

"Okay, fine," Logan said, relenting. "She's like a very sexy stepsister: tempting, but it would be weird. But I don't want to sleep with her," he added quickly, seeing Jack gear up for another throw. "Not if you fancy her."

Slowly, Jack lowered his arm.

"I still don't want to do this," he muttered. "The switching places thing, I mean."

"You have to."

"For your article?"

"No, idiot," Logan said. "For Chloe."

Jack's confusion must have shown on his face, because Logan lowered his baking tray. His eyes darted to the mince pies warily.

"Can you put those down?" he asked. "You're making me nervous."

Begrudgingly, Jack complied.

"Don't you see?" Logan demanded. "Chloe has you in the friend zone right now, mate. You're not even in the game yet. You're sitting on the bench, waiting for your chance to finally be let on the pitch."

Jack had to reluctantly admit that this was true. Despite Logan's questionable sports analogy, of course. Which was terrible.

"Okay," he said slowly. "So?"

"So pretend to be me," Logan said, shrugging. "Get to know her again. Prove to Chloe that she can think of you as more than just a friend."

Jack sunk into a kitchen chair. "I don't know; it feels wrong to lie to her."

"I lie all the time," Logan said dismissively.

"Exactly."

"Look." Logan took the seat opposite him. "Do you want to date Chloe, or not?"

"Obviously."

"Then this is the best way." Logan paused. "The only way, really." He shoved his phone across the table. "Look, text her."

"I—what?"

"Text her," Logan repeated. "Pretending to be me. Ask her on a date."

Jack's heart stuttered. "I can't just do that!"

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"Well, she could see it."

"Jack." Logan looked at him sternly. "Text her. Or I swear to god, I'll do it for you. And that would be embarrassing for both of us."

Jack stared at the phone. Reluctantly, he picked it up, unlocking it with Face ID. Sometimes, being identical came in handy.

"I hate you," he muttered.

Logan smirked. "You'll thank me later."

Jack stared at the blinking text cursor. Then he forced his fingers to type.

Hey Chloe, he wrote.

What are you up to this weekend? Fancy going skating? x

Her reply was almost immediate.

Yes.