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“I have a king to myself.”

“Well, doesn’t it get cold?” she asked.

“Not really. I’m a hot sleeper.” The truth was it did get cold without someone there to share it with. Just not temperature-wise.

“Lucky me,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. But as you can see, the two of us sharing this bed isn’t going to work.” She swept her arms toward the rug. “A cozy space with a fantastic view of the ceiling fan. You’re going to love it.” Her smile was deliciously evil. And I was enjoying myself a hell of a lot more than I should have been.

“I haven’t slept on the floor since I was a broke college student.”

“Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you invited yourself and your family to stay at my place.”

She had a point, but I took a step toward her, drawn to the challenge in her eyes. She stood her ground, lifting her chin and popping a brow. She smelled sweet and floral. Being this close to her, I could feel the heat of her body along my front.

Abigail was hard as nails. Tough. Making her soften would be so sweet and so, so wrong. I ached to touch her, but I couldn’t. That wasn’t what was going on between us. We were faking it—or at least we were supposed to be.

Whatever was going on inside me felt far from fake.

“Tell you what,” I started.

“Here we go,” she sassed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I hear a ‘but.’”

“There’s no but,” I told her, and then my mouth ran away with me again. “I promise I’ll only get in bed when you invite me into it.”

Her scoff was loud, but the flush on her cheeks grew deeper. I liked that almost as much as I liked the wicked smiles she’d been flashing at me all evening.

And I could have none of them. Firstly, because Abigail would never go for a guy like me. I wasn’t impulsive enough, spontaneous enough, or criminally inclined enough to keep up with her. And secondly, because Gabe was my best friend, and dating his little sister would be a dagger to his back.

It was hard to worry about Gabe when Abigail was right here, looking like a fantasy I wasn’t supposed to have, standing beside a bed I wasn’t supposed to occupy.

Abigail, still pink-cheeked, shot me a dark look. “Never gonna happen, fireboy. I’m not inviting you anywhere after this. If I did, you might drag your entire extended family along, and I’m not that kind of exhibitionist.”

“What kind of exhibitionist are you, specifically?”

Her eyes flashed, and it wasn’t anger. I needed to step away from her or I’d do something stupid.

Heart beating erratically, I checked my watch. Donny and Blair were probably close. Abigail and I needed to be in our places as the happy little couple in the happy little house, and I needed to get my thoughts back in line and remember that Abigail was my best friend’s little sister, and she was only doing this because I’d essentially blackmailed her into it.

Sex wasn’t on the table, and that was a good thing.

Maybe if I kept repeating it to myself, it’d sink in.

“They’ll be here soon. Do you mind if I hide this in your closet?” I asked, walking my duffel over to the wardrobe.

“No, wait—” Abigail called, but it was too late. I opened the closet door, and an avalanche of laundry tumbled out to the floor, spilling out onto the rug that would be my bed, covering my shoes and piling up against my legs.

I stood there, looking over the pile. Maybe Abigail’s laundry habit hadn’t changed in high school. “What’s all this?” I asked.

“None of your business.” She rushed over, scooped up the garments, and shoveled them back into the closet with a grunt, then shoved the door closed and used her full weight to get it to latch. A single piece of silky fabric slipped by her. I reached down and picked up a lacy purple thong.

I imagined her straddling me, purple lace framing all the most intimate parts of her. My cock throbbed at the mental image, my hands itching to feel all that soft skin. Reeling myself back in, I painted a teasing grin on my face. “You forgot one.” I swung the panties around on my finger. “Nice butt floss.”