Furia and Bradshaw: [ UNBUTTON ] : due to heat or stress or other reasons, sender unbuttons the top of their shirt to reveal their neckline.
Summary: Decisions are supposed to be easier when you make a list of pros and cons, but it doesn’t always work out that way.
a/n: A fill for a prompt from the lovely @commander-krios: “Furia and Bradshaw: [ UNBUTTON ] : due to heat or stress or other reasons, sender unbuttons the top of their shirt to reveal their neckline.”
The buzz of low voices held its own sort of comfort, especially as he tried to turn his mind around his own problems. He counted her among them, but only in so much as he just needed to try and get her out of his head. It always got tougher to keep thoughts of her at bay whenever she was in close proximity. And right now, it was really rough. The purr of her voice and the trill of her laughter reverberated off the stone. The quickest shift in his gaze and his train of thought could easily derail; and did, often.
Furia seemed oblivious. She scribbled furiously on the pages spread between balled up Freckle Bitch’s wrappers and half empty soda cups sweating in the heat. When she sat back down, the tails of the purple and lavendar plaid shirt she was wearing flared with a flash of her trim waist and the curve of her hip above her low slung jeans.
With a click of his pen, he looked back at the list on his pad. The cons ran down the page. The pros, however, were short but convincing. Just three letters—her.
“This heat has to end soon,” Peaches growled.
“Not according to the weather report,” Furia noted.
The others at the table, and Troy glanced at her. They were surprised to discover that she knew the forecast, but he wasn’t. She spent too much time driving too fast with the radio cranked up too loud not to have caught a newscast here and a weather report there. It be more surprising if she didn’t know.
“It’s going to be around at least through the weekend,” she added.
“Ugh!” Peaches groaned. “It’s going to ruin the block party.”
“We’ll just have the guys grab extra ice,” Troy offered from across the room.
“We could use a little right now.”
Mikey chuckled. “Yeah, set a bowl behind that fan and it would do wonders.”
Furia laughed and reached for the button at her throat. It was the only one buttoned for whatever reason that fashion dictated. Troy couldn’t look away. He studied the way the light glistened off the sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. The multicolored beams of light streaming in through the stained glass windows and glinted off the divot at the base of throat and the crest of her color bones as she waved the thin fabric of the shirt to create her own personal breeze.
His throat went instantly dry. In his mind, those three letters loomed even larger with more influence. He wanted her—physically and more.
You need to get out more, he told himself. He tore the page off his pad and balled it up. Or at least out of here.
“Lock up when you leave,” he said to them, intentionally not looking toward the table at all before he headed for the door.
