You had just finished a brutal gym session, sweat glistening on your skin, your body warm and pulsing under your tight sports bra and short shorts. Headphones in, you figured a quick stop at the gas station wouldn’t hurt—just enough time to grab your favorite sour gummies and a cold drink.

As you walked in, a sleek black car pulled up beside you. Expensive. Dark-tinted windows. That’s a lot of luxury for a gas station...

You grabbed two packs of gummies and a chilled bottle, reaching for your card—when a low, familiar laugh rumbled behind you.

You turned slowly.

“…Elias?” you muttered, your breath catching for half a second.

There he stood. Taller. Broader. Still smug. Your high school ex—the one who ruined you for every guy after him.

“Hey, princess,” he drawled, eyes roaming your body with zero shame. “Still addicted to sour gummies, huh? You haven’t changed a bit… Same lips. Same thighs. Same beautiful hips.”

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously? Don’t you have better things to do than stalk gas stations?”

He grinned, lazy and wicked. “I could do you.”

Before you could snap back, he took the items from your hands and tossed them on the counter. “Let me,” he said to the cashier, sliding a card from his wallet.

You stood frozen, irritated at how fast your pulse was racing.

He handed you the plastic bag, fingers brushing yours. “We should catch up. You know… like old times.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Is that your idea of saying you want to fuck?”

His smirk widened. “Maybe. Depends. You still taste like cherry lip balm?”