Page 19 of Hot Girl Summer

Gulp.

Since the follow-back this morning, I’ve received exactly one message thanking me for my skincare guidance yesterday. I’m trying not to make something out of nothing, because he’s probably being polite, but at the same time, I can’t contain the smile plastered across my face.

“Oh, come on. I know a look when I see it,” April says.

Nothing gets past her. She’s been bugging me since I turned up. Said I was glowing, or some shit like that. Girl, that’s just the green juice I had this morning. And Danny. Definitely maybe Danny.

“I told you, I saw Alex last night.”

I conveniently miss out the part where I ended things in my head.

“No, that’s not it.”

I check my form mid-squat while my friend stares me down in the mirror.

My rest time between sets are spent in fake conversations in my mind with Danny, and I can’t very well divulge that information to my wing-woman.

“Oh my God. It’s that guy from the other night,” April says.

“What guy? No, it isn’t,” I say, springing to my defence a little too quickly.

Busted.

But she doesn’t hear me. Her gaze is fixed towards the edge of the room.

April huffs and lightly nudges me, nearly knocking me backwards, and she points towards the water cooler. “That’s him, right?”

Kitted out in full branded tennis whites, Danny fills up a bottle from the machine. From that angle, outfit number three isn’t looking so bad.

This has to be a record number of coincidences. Either that, or he’s stalking me. God help him if it’s the latter.

I slam the barbell down on the rack and grab my water bottle, then I make my way over to him and clear my throat. He turns to meet my death stare.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He makes a meal out of sizing me up, making no effort to hide the fact that he’s staring. Starting from my trainers, he follows the curve of my legs, stopping for a full second when he reaches my thighs. He pauses to take a breath, while I hold mine, as his honey-green gaze brushes over my bare midriff, chest, and lingers on my neck before locking eyes with mine. My stomach flips.

“The same thing you are,” he says, calm, collected and completely infuriating.

“You don’t intimidate me.”

In an attempt to showcase my best defensive stance, I fold my arms across my chest, and narrow my eyes. In reality, I wouldn’t fare well in the apocalypse, but right now in my head, I’m fucking Wonder Woman.

He smirks, and it infuriates me. “Oh, really?”

Again, I have entered the world’s longest staring contest, but I refuse to back down. I can think of worse things to focus on. Mr Cocky has obviously made a comeback, but this time, there is a soft playfulness to his demeanour.

I won’t lie, I’m a little turned on.

The longer I spend locked in that hazel-green gaze, the more dangerous this game is becoming. After a few moments, he rolls his eyes and gives in, and I’m almost disappointed that it doesn’t last longer.

Almost.

“I play tennis here every Sunday. I have since I was five. So, no I’m not following you. If that’s what you were thinking.”

I feel ridiculous at how conceited I seem, even more so because at some point, I forgot to breathe. Heat spreads across my cheeks, and my lungs deflate. If I cared, I might wish for the ground to swallow me, but I don’t.

“Are you followingme?” he asks, quirking a brow.

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