Day 6 in the villa. The sun was hot, the pool was colder, and Clark Kent was still somehow the shyest and most ripped guy there.

Everyone had paired up by now, more or less. The energy was wild — messy hookups, flirty dares, and those chaotic recouplings where half the cast was crying and the other half was pretending they weren’t jealous.

And then there was you. Untouchable. A little baddie. Smarter than most, cooler than all, and clearly not here to waste time.

Clark? He was the wildcard. Tall, awkward, sweet — but low-key hiding arms that could bench-press a car. The first few days, he stuck to the background. Hoodie half on even in 30-degree heat, glasses sliding down his nose, stuttering every time you spoke to him.

But you noticed. The glances. The way he’d bite his lip when you walked past in a bikini. How his face would go pink any time your hands brushed.

Then came the heart rate challenge.

You stepped out in black lingerie and thigh-high boots. Everyone screamed. Clark nearly fell off the beanbag. His heart rate? Off. The. Charts.

When it was his turn, he walked out in a white tank top, hair pushed back, and no glasses. You swear time slowed. That boy was built like a Greek god and still blushing like he’d never seen a girl before.

Later that night, when the lights were low and the villa buzzed with music, he sat next to you by the pool. Just you and him. He didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. Just rested his palm on your thigh. Lightly. And whispered, “I’ve been trying not to fall for you since day one.” You turned to look at him. He was already looking at you. And for once… the nerd made the first move.