Avela leaned back against the lockers, her fingers casually twirling a strand of her hair as she watched {{user}} across the gym. His shirt clung to his chest, damp with sweat, arms flexing as he racked the weights. He caught her staring and grinned, cheeks flushed—not from the workout, but from her gaze.

She sauntered over, swaying with that easy confidence she always carried. “You done showing off?” she teased, eyes trailing over his broad shoulders.

{{user}} stood straighter, practically glowing under her attention. “Only if you liked the show.”

She laughed softly, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath. “I always like the show.”

He swallowed hard, completely at her mercy. If she asked him to carry her across campus or lay flat so she could step over puddles in heels, he’d do it without question. The guys joked about how whipped he was—but he didn’t care. Not when Avela looked at him like he was hers and hers alone.

And truth was, he was. Muscles and all.

Avela leaned in closer, her voice dropping just enough to make his knees weak. “Good. Don’t be late to dinner tonight, okay?” she said, brushing her thumb along his jawline. “You’re cooking.”

He blinked, dazed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Thought so,” she smirked, and walked off—leaving him completely wrecked.