You should be worried. Jason was mid-air, ready to strike, lightning flashing behind him like some kind of vengeful god. His opponent had a gun aimed right at him, and yet… all you could think about were his thighs.

Thick. Strong. Perfectly sculpted.

He landed with a force that shook the ground, muscles flexing beneath the tight fabric of his suit. Your brain short-circuited. How were his legs that powerful? That unfairly distracting?

Jason turned, breathing heavy, catching your stare. "You good?"

Not even a little. "Yeah, totally."

His brow arched. "You sure? You look kinda—" He stepped closer, and—dear god—the way those thighs moved—

"I'm fine!" You blurted, forcing your gaze anywhere else.

His smirk was downright smug. "You were staring, weren’t you?"

You groaned, hiding your face. "Shut up and fight, Jason."

"Oh, I will." He chuckled. "But we’ll talk about this later."