12. Did She Just Moan My Name?

CHAPTER 12

DID SHE JUST MOAN MY NAME?

WESTON

I look around the living room as the movie winds down. We’ve all had cake, and we’re half-dozing in front of the TV.

It’s hard to believe, but Dad saved Christmas just before the buzzer. It’s not that I really needed the Christmas Eve waffles or the cake shaped like a log. I’m a big boy. But it’s nice to see him trying to find joy again.

Abbi gets the assist, too. She kicked Dad’s ass last night and it made all the difference. He’s a new man today. A very contrite one.

My fake girlfriend is quiet now, tucked up beside me on the couch, near enough that I can smell her shampoo. She’s smiling, too. Whenever Macaulay Culkin pulls off another feat, she laughs.

I already knew Abbi was resilient. I knew she was alone in the world. But I didn’t really understand how that must feel until I watched her lose it over a gift from my dad.

It’s humbling to think about how easy I’ve really had it. Sure, my parents had an ugly divorce. But even that drama will be old news eventually.

My gaze wanders over to my father, who’s yawning as the credits roll. “I’m going to bed, boys. And Abbi. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, Dad. Thanks for everything tonight.”

My brother and Abbi chime in with the same, and Dad just shrugs. “My pleasure. Sleep well. Sleep late. We’ll have brunch before you guys shove off to Burlington,” he says to me.

After he goes, my brother puts on another movie. And then he nods off.

I poke Abbi’s knee gently to get her attention. And then I point at Steve, who looks particularly stupid with his mouth hanging open.

Abbi squints at him. And then she leans in so close to me that I feel her silky hair tickle my ear. “He’s faking,” she barely whispers.

What? I glance toward Stevie again, but I can’t really tell.

“Why?” I mouth.

“To spy on us,” she whispers.

I chuckle, because that is definitely something Stevie would do. Well, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. “Stevie,” I bark.

His eyes open with exaggerated stubbornness. “Whoops, I guess I nodded off.”

Yeah, he was totally faking it. “We’re going up to bed,” I say with a sleazy wink. “Don’t hurry to follow us.”

Stevie reaches for the remote control and clicks off the TV. “Actually, I should head to bed too. It’s important to get enough sleep.”

Abbi gives me a pointed look that asks, Can you believe this bullshit?

We all get up. Abbi carries our glasses to the kitchen, and Stevie checks the fireplace to be sure it’s sealed up tightly. I turn out the lights. Then we all walk upstairs in a line. “Sleep tight,” Stevie says outside of the bunk room. Then he gives me a grin and goes inside.

Okay, so now this is back to being awkward as fuck. Abbi and I find ourselves in close quarters a moment later, whispering to each other. And we both know Steve is right on the other side of the wall.

“He’s so smug!” she whispers. “I don’t like to lose a bet.”

“Easy, killer.” I put my hands on her shoulders and chuckle. “It was never a fair fight. This doesn’t reflect badly on your girlfriend skills. It’s all on me.”

“Pfft,” she says. “ It’s not you, it’s me . Girls love hearing that.”

I crack up, because Abbi is hilarious. And while I’m distracted, she darts away to claim the bathroom before either Stevie or I can get to it .

When I go out into the hall, he’s standing outside the bathroom door, arms crossed, waiting. “Your so-called girlfriend is hogging the bathroom.”

“My girlfriend ,” I say with exaggeration, and no small amount of loyalty, “can take her time.”

Stevie just smiles. “She’s the best, Weston. I can see why you’re actually tempted.”

I open my mouth and then close it again. Because I am tempted. But I can’t discuss this with my brother, because I have a ruse to maintain.

So I leave him there and head downstairs to use my dad’s bathroom instead.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m wearing my brand new Westie pajama pants, and lying carefully on my side of the bed, as Abbi slides in beside me. The bed wiggles a little as she arranges herself at as polite a distance as she can manage in this small space.

I'm wide awake, and overly conscious of how close we are together. What would Abbi do if I rolled over and kissed her?

She’d kiss me back, that’s what. I know this on a gut level. But I’m still not going to do it. I invited her here as friends. And I promised her that I would be a gentleman. And it’s not fair to change the rules just because I’m attracted to her.

The silence seems really loud. I can tell Abbi is lying there, much like I am, too aware of the confined space to be restful.

“Thank you for the kickass pants,” I say. “They’re pretty awesome.” And so are you , I want to add.

“Thank you for the fuzzy, yet slightly egotistical sweatshirt,” she whispers.

I chuckle into the darkness. “They all have player numbers on the back, you realize. I didn’t invent that.”

“Of course you chose your own number, though,” she says in a teasing whisper.

“Well, sure,” I argue. “If you’re going to have some guy’s name on your back, why not mine?”

“I’m surprised it wasn’t sold out already,” she says with a giggle.

“They went fast,” I insist. “That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. ”

“Uh-huh. I’m going to wear it tomorrow in front of Stevie. This isn’t over. I don't accept defeat easily.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” I’m realizing that it only took a couple of minutes for the awkwardness to blow over. Abbi is the best. She makes everything fun.

“He's right on the other side of this wall, right?” she whispers.

“Yup.”

“I have an idea. Did you see When Harry Met Sally? ”

“Yeah, why?”

“The diner scene.”

I’m just processing this as Abbi wiggles a little. The bed responds with a creak. Then she moans . "Ohhh. Oh, Weston ."

Holy … All my nerves stand at attention. Did she just moan my name ?

She shifts again, and the bed begins to creak in a slow, rhythmic way. She must have braced a toe on the floor. "Mmmmm..." She sighs. Loudly.

And, wow, it's very convincing. I'm convinced. My dick is also convinced. Suddenly he's up and at 'em, wondering when the party starts.

"Oh Weston ," Abbi croons. Then she elbows me.

“ What? " I hiss as the bed continues its erotic rhythm.

"A little help, here," she hisses back.

Oh I'd LOVE to help ! my dick screams.

What is happening? My brain and my body are on opposite tracks. On the one hand, I’m mildly amused that Abbi is trying to fake out Stevie with sex noises. It’ll never work.

But on the other hand, my body is on board this train. As the bed rocks gently I have no trouble at all imaging myself as the conductor.

I swallow roughly. "You realize you have to keep this up for a really long time, right? This is only a believable scenario if I last half the night."

“Oh, yes baby.” Abbi moans, before suddenly clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. She's amused. She finds this whole thing funny.

I'm just turned on. This is torture.

And then she moves a little closer to me, and my senses all go haywire. But it turns out she’s just trying to say something privately. “Jeez, Weston. Even you must be capable of a Christmas quickie. Just play along.” Then she increases the tempo of the bed's movements. “Yessss...." she cries out. "Faster."

Then she elbows me again.

Shit .

It’s risky to play this game. If I say anything, she'll be able to hear how turned on I really am. I clear my throat. And then I clench my teeth and think about hockey drills. "Okay, yes!" I say woodenly.

“Is that the best you can do?” She hisses. “Really? You sound like you’re watching a game on TV. I suddenly feel sorry for all those women at the Biscuit.”

Wait, what? Is she questioning my skills? "Oh hell ," I grunt. "You did not just say that.”

“Yes, yes ," she moans in answer. “Let me hear it, baby.”

And now it's me who's stifling a laugh. Abbi is fearless, as well as hot. She pushes all my buttons.

" Weston ," she moans, and then covers her mouth. I can feel her shaking with laughter.

Time to step up, I guess. "What, baby?” I pant. “You need more? I got more.”

" Harder ," she manages to yell, but she’s clearly laughing over there.

I roll over and brace a foot on the floor. "Oh yeah ," I call, nudging the rocking bed into a gallop. “Like that?”

“Yes! Yes!” she moans. “Just. Like. That… ”

Oh God . My dick is trapped against the mattress. There’s some friction from the motion of the bed, and Abbi’s breathy moans in my ear. I’m dying, here. “Hurry, baby,” I groan.

And I’m not kidding. This torture has to stop. I move the bed even more, until the headboard smacks the wall on every stroke.

“ Westonnnn !” she shouts.

And it’s so, so easy to picture the real thing—Abbi flushed and climaxing beneath me as I strain against her soft, supple body… “Uhnnngh,” I moan, because I’m so worked up. And then I flop down onto the mattress one last time and go absolutely st ill, which is a necessity. If I move any more I’m going to blow just from listening to Abbi fake it.

I force air into my lungs as the room goes still.

There’s no more sound from the other side of the bed, either. I’m expecting a joke, or maybe a compliment on my expert acting skills.

But all I can hear is Abbi’s rapid breathing.

And then I push my face into the pillow and smile. Because I think Abbi got a little more than she’d bargained for, too. I hope it keeps her awake. It’s only fair.

It’s going to be hours before this crowbar in my new pajama pants goes away. She might as well suffer, too.

Happy Christmas indeed.