Zach swallows. Hard.
His Adam's apple bobs, and his gaze drag back up to mine—slow as molasses, heated and unguarded.
And just like that, the hallway feels too small, the morning too charged, and me? Way too sweaty for this kind of eye contact.
I should move. Say something. Anything. Instead, I just stand there like an idiot, every nerve in my body wired to the way his eyes are glued on me.
And then—God help me—his gaze drops to my mouth.
It's scorching. Like being touched without a single finger laid on me.
His eyes linger there, heavy, deliberate, and it sends a rush of heat pooling low in my stomach. My breath stutters, shallow, because I canfeelthe weight of it—the unspoken, the want. My lips tingle and part on instinct, traitorous and desperate, as if they already know what he's thinking.
My knees threaten mutiny, and I feel about two seconds away from melting into an actual puddle on the dorm floor.
The way he's looking at me... it's dangerous. Like he's a starving man and I'm the last bite of dessert in the universe. Likeone wrong move and he'll close the distance, and I won't even pretend to stop him.
My heart's pounding so loud, I'm half convinced he can hear it. The hallway disappears, the world disappears, and it's just his eyes on my lips, and me trying not to combust under the weight of it.
And if he doesn't look away soon, I swear I'm going to burst into flames.
The spell breaks when the door suddenly swings open.
Both Zach and I spring back like guilty teenagers caught sneaking around, eyes darting everywhere but at each other.
I suddenly find the ceiling tiles fascinating. He looks like he might propose to the linoleum floor.
Sam stands there, hair sticking out in every direction like she just fought a war with her pillow and lost. Her sandy blonde waves are a tangled halo, her eyes still half-shut, a yawn cracking her face as she blinks between us.
"I just woke up and heard your voice..." she mumbles, pushing the door wider with her shoulder.
Zach recovers first, plastering on that easy, casual grin like he wasn't just staring at my mouth like it was his last meal. "Hey, angel. How're you feeling?"
We all shuffle inside, he's trailing right behind his sister, hovering close in that big brother’s way.
For some reason, my feet take me straight to my desk.
"Better," she says, her voice clearer than last night. "It was just a minor cold. I'm fine now."
Still, he steps forward, brushing his hand over her forehead like the human thermometer he's always been.
Relief softens his jaw, his shoulders dropping an inch. "Good."
I try busying myself with straightening absolutely nothing on my desk, because why would I act weird? Nothing happened outthere. Definitely not. Just my overactive, delusional imagination working overtime again.
Yep. Totally that.
Sam stretches, then pats her stomach. "I'm hungry."
Zach's already nodding. "Let's head to the dining hall then. We'll eat together."
"I—" I start to protest, but my stomach chooses that exact moment to roar like a caged lion. Both Westbrooks snap their heads toward me, grinning like hyenas.
Stupid. Traitor. Belly. Couldn't have waited two minutes? Subtlety? Ever heard of it?
Sam's laughter bubbles out, light and chirpy, so different from her exhausted groans last night. "Then it's settled. Hurry up, guys—I'm starving!"
And just like that, she's bouncing toward her dresser, voice bright and clear, proof she really is back to herself again.
