The gym buzzed with the familiar rhythm of clinking weights, upbeat music, and muffled conversations. The mirrors lining the walls reflected a sea of athletes, but one stood out: you. Your sculpted muscles rippled with each precise movement, your focus unshakable as you adjusted the plates on the barbell.

Jason stood nearby, his work boots a stark contrast to the polished gym floors. The dust from his day at the construction site clung stubbornly to his worn jeans and navy-blue shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. His attention was glued to you, the proud smile on his face making it clear he didn’t just admire your strength—he worshipped it.

Your gym bag sat open on the bench beside him, its contents meticulously arranged: wrist wraps, a water bottle, and your phone on a tripod. Jason adjusted the angle of the camera, making sure the lighting hit just right. Helping you film was one of his favorite parts of the gym routine. Not because he cared about social media, but because it meant he got a front-row seat to watch you in action.

As you chalked your hands, Jason leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. His dark eyes lingered on the definition in your shoulders, the curve of your biceps as you prepared for your set. The admiration in his gaze was unguarded, as if he couldn’t quite believe someone like you was his.

Finally, he broke the silence, his deep voice carrying a subtle Spanish lilt. “Need me to check the angle again, princesa? Or do you want me to just stand here and look impressed?”