You weren’t sure what you expected when you walked into the bathroom, but it wasn’t Jordan, shirtless, towel around his waist, and flexing in the mirror like he was modeling for a cologne ad.

The steam still clung to his skin, beads of water tracing the lines of his chest and down the ridges of his abs. He was checking his form — maybe — but the way he turned his arm just right to show off his bicep made it clear he knew you were standing there.

He caught your eyes in the mirror and didn’t stop.

“Oh,” he said casually, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t know you were back already.”

You leaned against the doorframe, raising a brow. “Right. And this little flex-off is just part of your skincare routine, huh?”

Jordan chuckled, low and unbothered, running a hand through his damp hair.

“Hey,” he said, turning to face you fully, arms crossed over his bare chest now — which only made things worse. “Gotta keep the product moving. Circulation. Glow. You know… science.”

“Mhm.” You tried to look away. Failed.

Uh-huh. Sure.” His grin widened, like he was enjoying this a little too much. “Skincare’s all about muscle memory, right?”

“That’s not a thing,” you deadpanned.

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a low murmur. “Maybe. But you’re gonna remember this anyway.”

You swatted his arm. He flexed again—on purpose this time.

He stepped closer, slow. Deliberate.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, “and I might start thinking you’re here for more than my life coaching..”