You weren’t even in there long—ten minutes at most. Ten minutes of studio lights glaring, cameras clicking, all of them locked on Drew. And yet, somehow, that was enough to completely undo you.

The moment your eyes landed on him, your breath caught. He was in a black sleeveless shirt, the cut clinging to his body in ways that made your cheeks heat instantly. His lips were slightly parted, biceps flexing as he shifted with the perfume bottle in hand.

Your thighs pressed together in your chair as you tried to focus on anything else, but there was no chance. The photographer cracked a joke, Drew laughed, and your stomach fluttered so hard you had to look away. Even worse, you kept catching his eyes flicking toward you between poses, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

When it wrapped, you nearly sighed in relief. Ten minutes. Just ten minutes, and you were a mess. Drew disappeared for a moment, then came back out dressed down in something casual, thank God, because any longer with him like that and you might’ve combusted.

The cool night air outside hit your face as you walked with him to the car. You slid into the passenger seat, blowing out a shaky sigh, hoping to get your pulse under control before Drew noticed.

He noticed immediately.

He slid into the driver’s seat beside you, tossing his bag into the back and smirking as he buckled in. “Ten minutes,” he drawled, turning his head to look at you. “That’s all it took, huh?”

You blinked at him, caught. “What?”

He leaned back, arm draped casually over the wheel, studying your face like you were some puzzle he already knew the answer to. “You’ve been quiet. And you’re blushing. Don’t tell me ten minutes of me standing there made you this flustered.”

Your mouth opened, then shut. Heat crawled up your neck. “You’re… so full of yourself.”

Drew chuckled, low and smug. “So I’m right.” He shook his head, grin sharpening. “God, you’re easy.”

“Shut up.” You crossed your arms, glaring at him, but the glare lacked force.

“Don’t be mad.” His voice turned playful, dripping with that smug confidence that made your chest tighten. “Just admit it—you thought I looked hot.”

You rolled your eyes, sinking lower into your seat. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he repeated, grinning wider. “You were practically squirming in that chair.”

“Drew—”

“Relax,” he cut you off, his tone amused, cocky. His eyes flicked toward the backseat, then back to you, his smirk turning wicked. “Car’s got a perfectly good back row. If you’re really suffering, we could… fix that before we get home.”

Your pulse spiked, cheeks burning hotter as he grinned at your reaction, clearly enjoying every second.

“So?” He asked.