It. Off.” Ringer stood before me in nothing more than a black pair of footy shorts, thongs and my black cardigan that was ridiculously stretched tightly over his muscles. His brows rose as if he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. “Are you trying to get me out of my clothes? Miranda, don’t embarrass me, your sister’s here.” Moira snorted, causing me to cut her an acidic stare. Traitor. I could feel my blood boiling under the surface of my skin, or it could have been the baby oil frying in the sun. No. Wait. It was definitely anger as Ringer stretched his arms lazily to the sky, the base of my overly stretched, expensive cardigan coming only to the top of his rib cage. I pulled myself, rather ineloquently, to stand before him, fuming. “Take it off, you’re stretching it.” I moved to grab him but he stepped away, his eyes confused until they fell to my cardi. “Oh, you mean this old thing?” he said, pulling at the hem of it. My glower deepened, the urge to knee him in the nuts at the forefront of my mind eyeing his boyish grin.
