The Bookworm's Guide to Faking (The Bookworm's Guide #2) - Emma Hart Page 0,31
bed, Sebastian? I’m not going to offer again.”
“You don’t want to share with me.”
“Not really,” I admitted. “But I’m also not going to make you sleep on a damn sofa if you don’t have to. This room is big, and as long as you wear pants to bed, it’s fine.”
“Do I have to wear a shirt?”
“I’d prefer it.”
“Then you’re gonna need to wear a bra.”
“I am not sleeping in a bra,” I argued. “It’s bad enough that I run the risk of being stabbed by an underwire during the day. I don’t need to take the risk of certain death at night.”
“Certain death? What does an underwire have to do with dying?”
“Uh, everything. What if it punctures my lung?”
“An underwire is not going to puncture your lung while you sleep.”
“Have you ever been stabbed by an underwire?”
“I can’t say a bra is something I wear on a regular basis,” he said dryly.
“There you go, then. You can’t possibly know the pain or risk involved just to keep my boobs contained. So, no, I won’t wear a bra.” I sniffed. “My insurance doesn’t cover death by bra.”
“I can’t imagine it’s something they usually have a claim for.”
“Keep arguing, and we can find out.”
He grinned. “You really don’t mind?”
“I’m starting to think I do after all that,” I answered honestly. “So move quickly before I change my mind.”
His grin widened, and he did just that, holding up one finger before he darted out of the room to the main room. There was a big rummage and a bang followed by a muffled, “Motherfucker!”
I clapped my hand over my mouth so a laugh didn’t burst out of me.
That, my friends, was the universal sound of a stubbed toe.
“Are you okay?” I called, still desperately trying to stifle my laugh.
“Stop fucking laughing!” Seb yelled back.
I did not stop laughing.
I didn’t even try this time.
I buried my face in my hands and laughed my ass off.
“Shut up,” he said, coming back into the room.
I peered through my fingers. “Are you all right?”
He stilled, glared at me, and flared his nostrils.
I giggled. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re right. I’m not.”
He tossed his phone on the bed. It bounced, almost hitting my bowl of ice cream, and he disappeared into the bathroom with a pair of gray sweats in hand.
Either he was doing that deliberately, or the sweats were payback for my lack of a bra.
It depended if he was wearing a t-shirt when he came back out.
Two seconds later, I got my answer.
I glared at him. “Put on a t-shirt.”
He grinned. “Do you know how many women want to—”
“No, nor do I care,” I said, looking down at my tablet.
Seriously.
I had to look away from the abs.
There were loads of them. I didn’t even know people had that many stomach muscles. I sure as hell didn’t, but then I also liked pie, so…
“You’re fucking adorable when you blush.” The bed squeaked when he got on.
“I am not blushing.”
“Tell your cheeks that.”
I flicked my gaze over at him. He wore that shit-eating grin that bugged the hell out of me, and I had to turn my attention back to my tablet so that I didn’t do something rash.
Like punch him.
Or maybe kiss him.
Wait.
No, not that. That was random. I was definitely not doing that.
Why was that even crossing my mind?
Those fucking sweatpants!
I opened my book and checked the location. It was where I’d left off this morning, so I went back to my ice cream and my wine.
I had to forget that I had a pitching god settling down next to me in bed.
With one million abs, gray sweatpants, and the kind of V-shaped hip muscles that made smart girls do stupid things.
It’s me.
I’m the smart girl.
I groaned internally. By all accounts, this had been a terrible idea. Even if he was keeping his distance and a whole other person could fit between us.
I still knew he was there, and that really, really sucked.
He didn’t turn on the television, but he lay quietly on his phone after plugging it in. He wasn’t under the covers yet, and when I’d finished my ice cream, he got up and turned off the main light.
This time, he got under the covers, but kept the space between us. I kept reading until I’d finished a chapter, then clicked off my tablet and snuggled down myself, switching it out for my phone.
Then we lay there, backs to one another, not talking, with our eyes on our phones.