Page 36 of Never Your Girl

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” I demand without turning around.

He chuckles. The sound is low and infuriating. “Getting ready for bed. What’s wrong? It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.”

I mutter under my breath, yanking out a tank top and shorts. With my back turned to him, I strip off my shirt and bra, trying not to think about the fact that he’s just a few feet away. The thin black tank slides over my head, hugging my curves as I pull down my leggings. The heat of his gaze feels more like a physical caress.

Hoping that it’s just my imagination, I glance over my shoulder and then scowl when I catch him watching me. “Do you mind?”

He flashes a grin. One that’s full of mischief and meant to irritate. He knows all my buttons to push. “Not at all. Please, continue. It was just getting interesting.”

“Turn around, Sanderson,” I snap.

He raises a brow, clearly enjoying himself. “For someone who strips in front of an audience, you’re surprisingly shy.”

“That’s a job that pays the bills,” I bite out with an icy glare that hopefully shrivels his balls.

He smothers the laughter brimming on his lips. “Relax, Tate. You can have a little bit of privacy while I use the bathroom.” He grabs something off the dresser before strolling out.

It’s not until the door clicks shut behind him that I realize I’ve been holding my breath. A shaky exhale leaves my body as I lean against the bed for a moment and try to calm my racing heart. Being around Bridger feels like standing too close to a fire. Warm, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.

I shake off that disturbing thought and quickly strip off my leggings and underwear. I’ve never been able to sleep in panties. They’re way too constricting. Guess that’s coming back to bite me in the ass.

I toss them into my bag and zip it up before running my fingers through my hair.

It’s almost crazy to believe how much my life has been turned upside down in one short hour.

When the door creaks open, I spin around. My breath catches when I see him wearing nothing but boxers. Somehow, he’s even more chiseled than two years ago. Every line of muscle, every sharp angle, looks like it was carved from stone. My mouth goes dry, and I force my gaze to the ceiling, pretending I didn’t just eye-fuck him.

“Ready for bed?” he asks, his voice rougher than usual. The gravelly tone of it sends an unwelcome shiver cascading down my spine before pooling like warmed honey in my core.

I nod stiffly, not trusting myself to speak, and climb into bed, tugging the blanket up to my chin. He follows, sliding in on the other side. The mattress dips beneath his weight. The space between us feels nonexistent, every movement amplified. I’m painfully aware of the heat radiating from his body and the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusts the pillow.

The silence that stretches is suffocating. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to block out the fact that he’s lying right beside me and I can feel every shift of his body, every subtle intake of breath.

“You okay over there, Tate?” There’s a tightness to his voice that makes me wonder if he’s having second thoughts about forcing me into his bed.

“Couldn’t be better,” I bite out, not bothering to open my eyes. “This is exactly how I wanted to spend my night.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

With gritted teeth, I turn my back to him and stare at the wall. Already, I know it’s going to be a long-ass night. I can’t focus on anything but the sound of his steady breathing while mine feels erratic, like I’ve run a marathon.

As much as I want to hate him, as much as I tell myself that there’s nothing between us, I can’t shake the way my body reacts to him. The way he seems to draw me in no matter how hard I fight it.

The worst part is, I’m pretty sure he knows it.

12

Bridger

The first thing that registers when I wake up is the warm weight pressed against my side. My brows pinch together as I blink against the weak sunlight streaming in through the window.

What the hell happened last night?

I haven’t had a one-night stand since someone decided to stalk my every movement and post it online for the world to comment upon.

I carefully turn my head and glance at the girl sacked out beside me. That’s the moment everything from last night slams into me with the force of…

Well, the force of a Holland Tate sucker punch to the gut.

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