Page 31 of Faking It with the Firefighter

“What?” Abigail demanded, planting her hands on her hips, which made the silk camisole pull tight against her breasts.

I waved a hand in her direction. “Is that what you wear to bed all the time?”

Abigail glanced down at herself. “What, pajamas?”

“Those aren’t pajamas, Abigail.”

She reared back, glaring at me. “Excuseme?”

“That is lingerie.”

“This is a tank top and shorts! And you’re not even wearing a shirt!” She waved a hand at my chest, cheeks turning faintly pink.

“Sleeping without a shirt is completely normal.” I paused. “For a guy.”

“Oh, and a matching pajama set isn’t?”

“It’s shiny fabric and has lace trim.”

“Does lace trim offend you?”

“It does now!”

Abigail winced, and I realized what I’d said. She probably thought I meant that she looked bad. But what I meant was, how was I supposed to keep my thoughts pure about my best friend’s little sister when she looked likethat?

Turning her nose up in a very Abigail fashion, she responded, “Well, you can look away if my sleepwear is so repulsive to you. Goodnight, Rex.” She climbed into bed, punching her pillow aggressively before slamming her head onto it.

Guilt squirmed through me…and I realized that Abigail wassensitive. It hit me like a punch in the gut. She acted tough, and she always had a quick word to let someone know when they’d misstepped, but she used that to defend against the fact that her feelings were easily wounded.

I thought about her night in jail and her desire to keep it from Gabe. Did it hurt her feelings when Gabe ragged on her? Did it hurt her feelings whenIragged on her?

“I didn’t mean that your PJs are repulsive,” I told the back of her head. When she didn’t respond, I said, “They look good.”

That earned me a snort.

From the floor below us, the squeaking started up again. Blair’s throaty moans floated through the floorboards.

I lay back on my pillow and stared at the ceiling. Donny’s low murmur reached my ears, and I closed my eyes. Wonderful. Now I had to hear the evidence of my brother’s premarital bliss from my place of honor on the floor at the foot of Abigail’s bed.

The woman in question sat up suddenly and glared at the floor. “Do you think they’re doing that on purpose?”

“You mean having sex? I hope so. Not sure how it can happen accidentally.”

Her scowl was magnificent, and it made the corners of my lips tug. At least she was looking at me again.

Blair let out a scream that ended in a protracted squeal.

“Was she that vocal when you were dating her?”

I huffed. “I don’t really remember.”

Abigail arched a brow at me. “I don’t believe you.”

I shrugged. “You don’t have to.”

She flopped back down onto her pillows, and I shifted to my side. Nope. That made the floor dig into my hip and shoulder. I turned onto my back again, then tried the other side.

The only sounds in the bedroom were the shouts coming from below (seriously, how long were they going to do that?), the rustle of my bedding, and the soft whisper of Abigail’s breath. I tried very, very hard not to think about those tiny shorts and those long, long legs hiding under her covers.

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