You’d just stepped out of the shower, hair damp and skin still warm, when your phone buzzed. Abel’s name lit up the screen — and beneath it, a photo of his abs. You sighed, rolling your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. Typical.

Later, at school, you were pulling books from your locker when his voice brushed against your ear like silk.

“Did you like the pic? Want to see more like—”

You shut your locker and faced him, one brow raised.

“Maybe send something real next time.”

For a moment, his smirk faltered. Then he smiled — softer this time — because he understood. You didn’t need to see his body. You wanted to see him.