80.

BRYNN.

Felix Wilder is especially gorgeous when wet.

The shirt he has on clicks tightly to his abs and muscles, leaving very little to the imagination. Drops of water trail down his neck; they run along his hard biceps and drip down his fingers. Long strands fall down his face, hiding the corners of his eyes from me, but even with that, I feel the intenseness of his gaze when our eyes meet.

He’s staring at me with that look again—the kind that makes my throat dry and my stomach flutter.

Silence echoes around us as I swallow at emptiness, the smile dropping from my face at the nervousness that scratches my insides.

"Felix?" His name leaves my mouth in an almost breathless voice and I see his lashes flutter beneath the strands falling over his forehead. He pushes himself up higher to the edge of the pool, and his lips slowly part. "I just—I…" he stops and my palms press down to the floor, my toes curling in the heels I have dipped inside the pool.

Felix doesn’t finish his words and I do