It had been two weeks since the breakup, and I was still navigating the tangled mess of emotions he left behind. But my feet had betrayed me, bringing me here as though nothing had changed. My hand, out of habit, found the spare key I’d never returned. Before I could second-guess myself, the door swung open, and I stepped inside.

The smell of him hit me instantly—clean, sharp, and infuriatingly familiar. My gaze swept the room, and that’s when I saw him.

Chris.

Completely naked.

He stood there, mid-motion, pulling a shirt over his head. Time seemed to freeze as he realized I was standing in the doorway. My brain screamed at me to turn around, to leave, but my feet were rooted in place. His towel hung loosely on the back of a chair, leaving him entirely exposed to me.

“Really?” Chris’s voice broke the silence, his signature teasing tone making my stomach twist. “You just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

I snapped out of my trance, heat rushing to my face as I spun around, shielding my eyes with my hand. “I—I thought this was my room!” I stammered, humiliated and angry at myself for the slip-up.

“Sure you did,” he drawled, his smirk practically audible.

I could hear the rustling of clothes behind me as he pulled on a pair of sweats. My fists clenched. “Don’t flatter yourself, Chris. It was an honest mistake.”

“Oh, I’m flattered, alright,” he said, stepping closer. I could feel his presence behind me, his teasing voice low. “But if you wanted to sneak a peek, you could’ve just asked.”

I whipped around, my glare meeting his smug expression. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re blushing.” His grin widened.

I hated that he could still get under my skin like this, hated the way my heart raced even as I seethed with anger. But most of all, I hated the way he seemed to know exactly how to pull my strings.

“Keep dreaming, Sturniolo,” I shot back.

As much as I despised him, I couldn’t deny one thing—Chris Sturniolo was impossible to forget.