That late-night drive reminded me of simpler times, when Nate first got his license and drove straight to my house just so we could listen to the new Kings Of Leon album together. We barely spoke then, just let the music fill the space between us, but I felt untouchable with him there. Last night felt the same, yet different, charged with something new and unnamed.

Back home, the house is silent when I slip inside. With headphones still in, I head upstairs, my body humming from exertion but my mind clearer, the morning fog lifting just enough to breathe. I push open the bathroom door and my breath catches. My phone clatters to the floor as I collide with a wall of muscle. Nate stands there, fresh from the shower, with only a towel slung low on his hips. Steam curls around him like something out of mythology. Water trails down his face, catching in dark strands of hair. His skin glistens, each muscle and contour sharply defined as if carved from marble. The scars mapping his skin tell stories of battles fought and won, only adding to his allure. My heart aches with a mixture of awe and something deeper, more dangerous.

I'm staring, and we both know it.

The pull between us is magnetic, impossible to resist. My breath hitches as my gaze drops to his chest, then snaps back to his eyes. My heart pounds so hard I swear he can hear it.

He catches my eye and grins. "Hi."

Words jam in my throat. He laughs, stepping closer, and the air between us crackles with electricity.

"You're naked," I blurt out.

The laugh sends shivers down my spine. I'm speechless, still unable to look away. He leans in close enough that his breath fans warm across my cheek, the scent of mint toothpaste teasing my senses.

"If you're gonna keep staring," he whispers, his voice dropping to a velvet rumble as his smirk deepens, "at least buy me dinner first." The words hang between us like a promise, an invitation in the narrowing space.

"I—I wasn't⁠⁠—"

"Your face says otherwise," he teases, folding his arms and flexing, making it impossible not to notice every defined muscle.

I roll my eyes, attempting deflection, but my racing heart betrays me. This isn't the Nate of my childhood anymore—he's transformed into something more, something overwhelming.

The greenish-gold of his eyes burns fierce, but there's a shift. The vulnerability I've glimpsed these past few days vanishes, replaced by raw hunger that steals my breath.

"Are you done?" My voice wavers.

"Are we done?" His tone is low, teasing, with an edge that sends electricity through my veins.

"What?" I blink, disoriented.

"Huh?" He tilts his head, clearly enjoying my struggle to keep my eyes off his ripped body.

Shit.

My body refuses to move, every nerve ignited. Nate bends down slowly, grip tightening on his towel as he retrieves my forgotten phone. He stays on one knee, looking up through those impossibly long lashes, lips curled in that infuriating smile that makes my stomach flip.