"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.

"You dropped this."

"Right. Thanks." The words sound foreign in my ears.

He stands and somehow the space between us is even smaller. I try to brush past him, his heat nearly suffocates me. When he finally lets me pass, I slam the door behind me. Only when his footsteps fade do I exhale, pressing my forehead against the cool surface. Just as I'm about to shower, a knock startles me. I reach for a towel only to realize there are none.

Perfect.

I crack the door open carefully, hiding behind it. There's Nate—fully clothed now, thank God—holding fresh towels, his smirk unchanged.

"You might need these." His eyes glint knowingly.

"Thank you," I manage, clutching the doorframe like a lifeline while keeping my naked body hidden behind it. "Wouldn't want another naked run-in, would we?" The words escape before I can stop them, hanging in the air between us like an accidental invitation.

Nate's eyes darken perceptibly, the transition so subtle yet so powerful it steals my breath. He leans against the doorframe with one arm, the defined muscles of his forearm tensing visibly beneath sun-kissed skin. His bicep flexes against the fabric of his shirt, the cotton stretching taut over the curve of muscle. His body angles closer to mine, close enough that I catch the lingering scent of his cologne and now I feel drunk off his scent alone.

Dear God.