Kaya POV The day goes by as the media crews clear out slowly, their chatter fading behind me. I stay by the doorway, half-hidden in the shade, clipboard clutched tightly that my fingers ache. Flynn disappears inside first, towel slung over his shoulder, jersey sticking to sweat-slicked skin. For a heartbeat, my breath catches, the way the light hits him, sweat tracing along sharp lines of muscle, abs flexing with every easy stride. It shouldn’t do this to me. It shouldn’t matter that he looks exactly how I built him, strong, graceful, absurdly perfect. But under the shine of sweat, chest still rising and falling from practice, there’s something almost human about him that scrapes under my ribs. Tom follows close behind, helmet in hand, jaw tight enough to crack stone. The locker room door swings open wider, giving me a glimpse, benches scattered with gear, smell of sweat, soap and steam curling from the showers. Inside, their voices bounce off the tile and steel. Tom’s cuts
Last Updated : 2025-07-31
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