It only took a little bit, especially dating Skeet.

Recently he’s been renovating the garden of your guys’ home, lifting planks, plants and letting himself sweat absolute gallons.

Hey! You’re just a girl. You can’t help it.

It’s actually his fault… Letting his shirt ride up whenever he’s hanging up a new addition to the backyard, or letting HIS biceps flex every time he gets down on those knees to pack in dirt.

It’s been so hot, him constantly asking you to bring him a cup of water or some sort of refreshing alternative. You’ve held your tongue of course, why would you speak about those thoughts in your head that could possibly be illegal? Exactly. Lock in.

It’s become disgustingly apparent that you’re just as bad as you thought, while you’re standing there leaning against the back patio fence watching him work…

Sweaty and covered in that dirt he made you pick out from Home Depot. It’s been sickening.

But that’s not the point.

He’s a hard worker…. You wish he would work you though.

“Hunny—!” Skeet calls from the backyard, causing you to rise from the couch and open the back door. “Please can I get another glass of that damn good lemonade you made? Purty please?”

And holy shit.

Just a fucking wife beater, his baggy dirty jeans and sweat running down his tattooed skin… FUCK.