Home > How to Win the Girl

How to Win the Girl
Author: Sara Ney





Drake Colter



I’m strong, cocky, motivated and I don’t put up with shit.

Think you can handle me?



“Would you please stop doing that?”

The girl in front of me is turned around in her desk chair and giving me the stink eye, gaze trained on the pen in my hand.

“Stop what?”

I’m not doing anything.

“Stop twirling that pen and clicking the top. It’s driving me nuts.”

“You mean this?” I give it another twirl between my fingers before letting it hit the hard surface of the lecture hall desktop, rolling my eyes at the back of her head when she huffs, once again facing the projector board in the front of the room.

Good lord.

Talk about uptight.

“Don’t sit here next time if you don’t like it,” I mutter loud enough for her to hear.

She turns around again. “Excuse me? I have a right to sit through a class without being distracted.” She looks me up and down. “Some of us are here to learn.”


That’s so unfair—I’m here to learn, too. Mostly. It’s not my fault I have a hard time sitting still in class and even a harder time listening to what the professor up front is saying. Don’t get me wrong, I do my best to focus. If this was one of my football coaches lecturing, I’d be a captive audience.

I’d have half a clue what was going in front of the room. But this professor and her assistant keep yammering on and on about atoms and particles and why am I in this class to begin with? Science isn’t my major, Business Economics is.

I don’t know nothing about fission and neutrons nor do I care to. This class is a core requirement and one I couldn’t opt out of. I put off taking it two years in a row, so here I am, taking it as a junior.


I eyeball the chick eyeballing me.

“You don’t even know me.”

Her eyes narrow. “I know enough.”

She turns back around so I’m staring at the back of her head.

“You sure told me off,” I mutter again, this time infusing an irritated laugh ’cause she don’t know shit about who Drake Colter is.

Just because she’s seen my face around and knows who I am does not mean she knows a single thing about me.

Hell, for all I know she thinks I’m my brother, although if she did think I was Drew she may not be shooting me gamma-ray style glares meant to penetrate my soul.

See, I’m a twin, and people confuse us all the time, though, to me, our differences are obvious.

Where I am outgoing, Drew is more subdued.


Where I speak my mind and say whatever, Drew carefully chooses his words.

His hair is dark; mine is dark.

He has freckles; I have freckles.

He’s tall; I’m tall.

He’s single; I’m single.

When I look in the mirror, I literally see my brother’s face. Like I said, we’re twins.

Identical twins.

Yeah, it can be aggravating, but it’s also really fucking cool being connected to another human the way I’m connected to Drew, our bond unbreakable.

I love that boring son of a bitch.

I’m just not sure I love being mistaken for him every now and again, same way I’m sure he hates being mistaken for me.

After the professor at the front of the class dismisses us early, I pack up my shit and hightail it out of there, not bothering to give the girl a second glance. She’s obviously not worth my time or the headache of an apology. Besides, it’s not a crime to twirl a fucking pen. Jeez, lady, chill.

Whistling to myself when my feet hit the concrete steps of the stairs outside of the building, I lift my gaze to the sky and drink in the fresh air.


I stretch, arms above my head, and feel the air tickling my gut when the hem of my tee shirt raises.

Did I say gut? I meant rock-hard abs.

Where to now? Home?

The gym?

The world is my oyster now that the football season is over; I finally have free time on my hands and no obligation to do anything but work out, train, and stay in shape.

I pat my stomach, running a hand across the bare skin there as my eyes scan the courtyard, settling on a group of sorority girls gathered not twenty feet away.

“Well, hello, ladies.”

One by one, they notice me watching; all of them preen and fluff, each of them hopeful my eyes will land on them. Blond hair, black hair, brunette…tall, short…big boobs, flat chested…

So many flavors to choose from.

A lazy smile tilts my lips as I take my first lazy step down the stairs.

One of them gasps.

It’s good to be a legend on this campus, even if Miss Salty Pants back in class doesn’t appreciate the appeal.

Yes, it’s good to be a Colter.

Pretty damn good...









Dating is like pushing your tray along in the school cafeteria. Nothing looks good but you feel pressure to put something on it by the time you make it to the cashier.



“You’re Drew Colter, aren’t you?”

At the sound of my brother’s name, I pivot on my heel as I’m approaching my truck in the parking lot behind the student union—the same spot I park it when I have biology on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The spot procured for me by the girl in the registrar’s office; a spot I had to take her on three dates to secure.

We do what we must for a bit of convenience. Mostly professors and staff park in this lot—I’m pretty sure it’s off-limits for students, but I was lucky enough to meet a female who works in the administrative building and could steal me a parking pass all because she wanted to be seen on a few dates with me.

It's good to be king.

Of campus, I mean.

Turning, I lift an arm and scratch behind my ear. “Drake Colter.” But close. “Drew is my brother.”

She bites down on her bottom lip. “Oh, you look so much alike.”

Is this woman the only person on the planet who doesn’t know we’re twins? How can this possibly be? I mean, not to toot our horns but like, everyone knows who we are.

“We’re twins.” I rake her up and down with my eyes, perusing her outfit, long legs, long hair. She was amongst the group of sorority girls I’d seen earlier in the quad, her crewneck sweatshirt proclaiming her Property of Sigma Gamma Upsilon.

If I were in a frat, I’d be a member of Masta Masta Beta.


Get it? Masturbator?

Er, yeahhhh…

“Twins?” Her eyes are wide as she comes closer, short shorts accentuating her long legs. Plus the fact that she’s wearing high wedge sandals blows my friggin’ mind.

Living in a world where female coeds wear skimpy shorts and heels to class is a godsend.

So blessed.

I shoot our Lord Savior a thank-you as she stands before me, looking me up and down the same way I’m ogling her, appreciation in her eyes.

She has a tote bag on her left shoulder with big Greek letters embroidered on it.

“Did you follow me from the science buildin’, little darlin?” My Texas twang comes in handy when I’m in the mood to be friendly, my thick dialect coming and going as it suits me—and right now, it’s suiting me just fine.

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