You always noticed her—the way her dark eyes lingered a second too long, the way she’d catch your gaze across the gym and smirk before looking away. You never spoke, just exchanged glances, silent and charged.

But today is different. Today, she walks right up to you, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she tilts her head. "I need a hand," she says, her Italian accent making the words sound softer than they should.

She gestures toward the weights, but her eyes stay on yours. "You don’t mind, do you?" The smirk returns, like she already knows your answer.