"You always did like keeping yourself buried under projects," he says, amused. "Guess you get that from me."
"Probably." I grin, even though he can't see it. "How's work for you?"
"Oh, hectic," he admits, though he sounds proud about it. "We're finishing designs for that new oceanfront resort in Miami. The client wants the grand lobby to look like a glass cathedral—don't even ask. Half my team thinks it's impossible, which means I'm going to prove it's not."
I laugh. "Sounds like you."
"Yeah, well, keeps me young. Anyway, I should let you go, sweetie," Dad says after a beat. "I've gotta head into the office. Just wanted to check in... and because I miss my little princess."
That makes me smile, my heart swelling.
"I miss you too," I whisper, smiling at the sidewalk like an idiot. "Both of you. I'll see you this weekend."
"Alright, sweetie. I love you."
"Love you too, Dad."
The call ends, and I'm still smiling as I slow down near the dorm.
Few minutes later, I step off the elevator and my eyes land on a very familiar figure waiting by my door.
Zach.
Casually leaning against the wall. Hands shoved in his pockets, ankles crossed, looking unfairly good for this early in the morning.
What is he doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be at team workouts?
I keep walking, suddenly all too aware that I'm dripping sweat like a human sprinkler.
Perfect. Just perfect.
My legs feel heavy, not from the run, but from the fact thathe's here.I fuss with the loose strands that fell out of my ponytail, looping them behind my ears.
"Zach?" My voice comes out more breathless than I want.
His head whirls toward me, and then that grin spreads across his face—the kind that lights him up like the sun just clocked in for work.
"Hey, beautiful."
Beautiful. While I'm red-faced, sweaty, and smelling like gym socks. Sure.
"What are you doing here? Did you come to check on Sam?"
"Yes," he says smoothly. Then adds, "And no."
I arch a brow as I keep walking closer. "Okay...?"
"I wanted to ask you to eat—" His words trip, cut off halfway when I'm finally within reach.
The grin fades as his eyes drag over me, slow and unhurried, like he's memorizing every drop of sweat clinging to my skin.
His mouth parts, and he just... stares. The kind of stare that steals the air from my lungs.
My throat tightens as his gaze traces my cheek, my jaw, down the line of my neck. The tiny beads of sweat sliding over my collarbone feel suddenly scandalous under the weight of his stare.
I want to swipe them away, but I can't move—pinned by the electric tension buzzing between us.
Then one rogue drop betrays me, slipping lower, following the slope of my chest until it disappears beneath the neckline of my sports bra.
