“Nice?”
“There’s a pool going at the firehouse about whether or not you’re as hot as you sound,” Troy said. “Which we didn’t participate in.”
“I have photos and video on all my social media. It’s not hard to find out what I look like.”
Rhett paled. “We don’t need anyone else knowing how gorgeous you are.”
The words hung in the air between us, his earnestness catching me off guard. This wasn’t the snarky Rhett I was used to—this was something else, something that made my stomach flip in a way I wasn’t prepared to analyze.
“That came out wrong,” he backpedaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I meant—”
“What he meant,” Troy cut in smoothly, “is that we’d prefer not to have a whole firehouse of guys salivating over our best friend’s little sister.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Troy’s casual confidence was as disarming as Rhett’s awkward sincerity. These two idiots were going to be the death of me.
“So,” I said slowly, trying to regain control of the conversation, “what exactly have you heard on the podcast?”
Troy’s lips curved into a dangerous smile. “You mean besides your extremely detailed description of your dry spell? Or the part where you told your listeners that your hot firefighter neighbors even look sexy sweaty and exhausted?”
Oh fuck. I had said that.
“Or maybe,” Rhett added, his eyes sparkling with mischief now, “you mean the episode where you answered that listener question about threesomes and mentioned that you’d never had one?”
Troy smirked. “And she said the idea of being between two strong men who knew exactly what they were doing sounded—how did she put it? ‘Mind-bendingly hot’?”
Double fuck.
“I was speaking hypothetically,” I managed, though my voice came out higher than intended. “As a sex educator, I discuss all sorts of scenarios.”
“Of course,” Troy nodded, mock-serious. “Very educational.”
“And the part where you said your neighbor’s ass looks like it was carved by Michelangelo?” Rhett asked innocently. “Was that educational too?”
Triple fuck.
“That was a metaphor,” I lied. It wasn’t. I’d spent a solid three minutes waxing poetic about Rhett’s ass on that episode.
“Metaphorical or not,” Troy said, “Rhett’s been insufferable since he heard it. Keeps asking me if his jeans make his ass look good.”
“They do, though,” Rhett said with a grin. “Michelangelo good, right, Aimee?”
I pressed my palms to my burning cheeks. “You guys are the worst. Besides, what if I was talking about Troy’s ass?”
“Nah, his is thicker than mine, so surely you would have mentioned the luscious bubble butt.”
Troy blinked. “Luscious?”
Rhett shrugged. “You are well aware that you’ve got sexy curves. But I’m curious which one of us has the, what was it? ‘Arms that could pin you to a wall and make you forget your own name’?”
That had been Troy. But I would rather die than admit it right now.
“My podcast persona is exaggerated for entertainment,” I said, trying to sound stern despite my mortification.
Troy raised an eyebrow. “Very entertaining.”
Something in his tone made my pulse skip. “Anyway, no need to worry. I’m going to stop talking about you on air.”
“But your listeners love the hot firefighter neighbor stories,” Rhett protested.
