Free The Trouble with Faking by Rachel Morgan

someone’s accused me of being self-righteous.”
    “Probably because you’re not.” He smiles at me. “Andi, I was just messing with you. I’m sorry. Some of Damien’s friends are so uptight I can’t help having a go at them.”
    I frown at the floor. “I suppose I’m one of the uptight ones then, since your comments managed to get under my skin.”
    “Nah, I wouldn’t give you the uptight label.” He leans back against the bar. “The uptight friends and family give me horrified looks, then whisper about me when they think I can’t hear. You look me in the eye and give as good as you get.” He gives me a mischievous grin. “It’s a lot more fun.”
    A smile sneaks onto my face. “Fun, huh?”
    “Yip. Besides, no uptight person in their right mind would consider wearing the clothes you wear.”
    I raise my chin as I turn my gaze back to the pool table. “Well. I hope you meant that as a compliment, because that’s the way I intend to take it.”
    “Absolutely. I can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone else wearing combat boots and a ballet skirt, but you’re definitely making it work.”
    “Thanks.” I fluff up my multi-layered tulle skirt.
    “Just a word of warning, though,” Noah says. “When you bend over the pool table, we can see your underwear.”
    “Hey!” I smack his arm, and he flinches.
    “Ow! Watch the healing wound.”
    “What healing wound?” I ask, suddenly alarmed I may have actually hurt him. He reaches back for the neck of his long-sleeve T-shirt and pulls. “Whoa, hey.” I take a step away from him. “I’m not sure stripping is necessary.”
    “Relax, Andi,” he says with an amused smile. “I’ve got a vest under here.” He removes the long-sleeve T-shirt to reveal a tattoo of a bird across his upper right arm and shoulder.
    “Oh, wow, that’s cool.” I lean forward to take a closer look. “Is it really still a healing wound?”
    “No. I was messing with you—again. I had it done the day after I mentioned it to you and Damien, so it’s had a bit of time to heal already.”
    “Okay.”
    I look across at the pool table as Mike groans and says, “Come on, man. Give me a chance before you annihilate me.” He’s still wearing a smile, though, so I guess he doesn’t mind too much that Damien’s beating him.
    “Do you have a lot of tattoos?” I ask Noah.
    “Just the cross, the bird, and the one on my butt.” He gives me a mischievous grin.
    I narrow my eyes at him. “You do not have a tattoo on your butt.”
    He laughs but doesn’t answer.
    “Why did you choose a bird?”
    He pulls his T-shirt back on. When his head emerges, he says, “Birds are free.”
    “And you … want to be free?”
    “Yes.” He looks at me as though this should be obvious. “Doesn’t everyone want to be free?”
    “I suppose. What do you want to be free of?” I ask before stopping to consider whether that might be too personal a question.
    He leans closer and whispers, “The demons of my past.”
    I laugh at his attempt to be dramatic and mysterious. “Oh really? You’ve got demons hiding beneath that goofy exterior?”
    “Goofy exterior?” He does a good job of pretending to be hurt. “And here I thought I was rocking the sexy look.”
    I laugh. “Well, your muscular, sexy look may do it for some girls, but I’m not one of them.”
    “Ah, you like the scrawny look, do you?”
    I laugh harder and shake my head. Damien and Mike look over at us to see what’s going on. “Sorry!” I say. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
    They return their attention to the game, and Noah lowers his voice. “You really should go for Mike, then. He’s got that scrawny, nerdy look.”
    “Hmm.” I consider Mike. He’s about the same height as Damien, but slimmer and with darker hair. He wears glasses, but they suit his face, which isn’t that bad-looking. “Actually,” I say, “it’s more of a cute , nerdy look. Thanks for pointing that out.”
    “You’re