Page 140 of Before We Ever Spoke

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Page 140 of Before We Ever Spoke

"Don't, it's dark. I'll just dry them here by the fireplace. You mind?" He moves to unbutton his white dress shirt. His jacket has long been hung up to dry.

"By all means," I say, drawing my eyes away from him.

But the moment he gets to the last button and slips it off, I can't help but look at the way the fire dances across his toned body.

Michael Ferguson has an actual eight pack. He really does. I thought only the most disciplined of all people could do that. How in the world does he have such a rock hard body? I mean besides being a professional athlete and all.

And now I'm gawking. I tear my eyes away from him and focus on the fire taunting me.

I can see the whisper of a grin stretch across his face from the corner of my eye, but he holds it back as he hangs the shirt nearby and returns to his spot next to me. This time just slightly closer. Enough that his leg is touching mine.

"We need to address the elephant in the room," he says, leaning back on one hand and placing the other on his bent knee. He looks so relaxed—shirtless and sitting by the roaring fire.

I look around the room. "I don't see any elephants here."

He smirks before saying, "You don't like me."

That takes me by surprise.

"That's an unfair assumption."

"Is it? Because I get the feeling that I make you uncomfortable."

Says the half-naked man sitting just mere inches from me.

"You don't make me uncomfortable." Just horny. Stop it, Libby. You are a grown-ass woman. Act like it.

"Ever since Zane joined the team, I've been trying to figure out how to talk to you about what happened between us, and it just never felt like the right time."

"And now seems right? You with no shirt and me...in my pajamas." That I caught you checking out my ass in.

He shrugs.

"Fine, let's talk," I relent.

He sits up and moves even closer to me, and my heart starts to pick up speed as he does. I swallow hard as he brings his face up to mine, our breaths intermingling. What is he doing?

"I didn't say talk. I said address," he says sternly before placing a hand on my hip and pulling me toward him.

"Michael...“ his given name slips from my lips. Up until this moment, I haven't been able to call him this. He's Fergie. Only Fergie. Michael is too... personal.

"Libby," he whispers onto my lips.

With the heat of the fire behind me, the rain pattering against my window and the man I shouldn't want drawing me to him—it's a losing battle.

My phone goes off, Avicii's Hey Brother bleating through it's speakers doing the work of a cold shower all in a matter of seconds.

"That's Zane," I breathe out.

Michael shifts back to his original seated position and nods.

I reach for it and try to shake the fogginess of whatever was just happening.

"Hey!" I say into the phone.

"You okay?" Zane asks.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I look over at Michael, who is watching my every move.