I open it, and as the attachment loads, I read the message underneath the photo.
Zach:Miss you.
My stomach tightens instantly.
Then the image loads, and I nearly walk straight into the bike rack.
“Holy shit,” I mutter under my breath, stopping dead in the middle of the sidewalk.
It’s a post-workout selfie, and Zach knows exactly what he’s doing.
His shirt is pushed up just enough to expose the sharp lines of his lower stomach, his damp skin glistening under the harsh gym lighting. Sweat disappears beneath the waistband of his shorts, and my eyes immediately focus on the thick vein trailing down his abdomen.
His hair is damp and messy, like he’s been dragging his hands through it between sets, and his lips are parted slightly from exertion, but it’s his eyes that completely ruin me.
Focused.
Heavy.
It doesn’t feel like he was looking at his phone when he took the picture. It feels like he was looking directly at me.
Heat blooms low in my stomach so fast it’s embarrassing.
This is my fault.
The second I started flirting back, I should’ve known where this would go. Zach Evans has never understood moderation a day in his life. Give that man an inch of encouragement, and suddenly he’s acting like he’s starring in a thirst trap compilation.
Damn it.
Honey:You’re insufferable.
The typing bubble appears immediately.
Zach:You’re still looking at it, aren’t you?
Unfortunately, he knows me too well.
Honey:I hate you.
Zach:No, you don’t.
Another bubble appears before I can answer.
Zach:You’re thinking about me.
I glance back down at the photo and immediately regret it.
Honey:You’re so full of yourself.
Zach:Don’t worry, Honeycomb. I’m thinking about you too.
Chat: Let’s Get Honey and Zach Back!??
Madison:I can’t believe we’re still here. I thought that cruise would be it, and we’d be planning their wedding.
Olivia:Nope. Honey needed more time, and Zach finally learned to give her space.
Tiff:Which, as you know, is huge growth for him.
