Sam had been watching you and Joaquin dance around each other for weeks. It was almost painful how obvious it was—the lingering glances, the subtle teasing, the way your conversations always seemed to stretch just a little longer than necessary. Yet, neither of you made a move. And frankly, Sam was tired of it.

“You free Friday night?” he asked casually, leaning against the kitchen counter as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. His tone was too casual.

You arched a brow, sensing something in his voice. “Why?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, stirring his own drink with feigned innocence. “Just figured you and Torres might wanna grab dinner. Y’know, since you definitely don’t have a crush on him or anything.”

You choked on your sip of coffee, eyes wide. “Sam!”

He grinned, utterly shameless. “What? It’s painful watching you two flirt in slow motion. Do you realize how many times you’ve looked at him in the last week alone? I counted. It’s concerning.”

Your face burned. “You counted?”

Sam nodded, sipping his drink with smug satisfaction. “Sure did. And I know Joaquin likes you too. So, you’re welcome.”