And that’s what nags at me. Is it just concern? Or is there something else sitting beneath it?
My phone buzzes again.
Theo
Alright, I’ll admit it. I’m actually impressed.
I blink at the screen, rereading the message. Impressed?
I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter what he thinks about my questionable indoor camping setup. And yet, a little spark of satisfaction flickers to life in my chest.
I tap out a response, keeping it breezy.
Me
High praise! Bow before my superior survival skills.
Theo
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You haven’t actually survived anything yet.
Me
Details.
I toss my phone onto the sofa and stretch my arms above my head, groaning slightly. My entire body feels sticky, the heat clinging to my skin like an unwelcome second layer. The effort of wrestling with the tent has left me feeling both triumphant and gross, and there’s only one solution for that.
Shower. Immediately.
I drag myself to the bathroom, peeling off my yoga pants and T-shirt, both damp with sweat, and step under the blissfully cool spray. The water runs down my body, washing away the stickiness, the tension, the lingering thoughts about Theo and his praise and why it made me happy.
When I’m done, I wrap myself in a towel, but the moment I step into my bedroom, the heat presses against my skin again, thick and suffocating.
Nope. Not happening.
The towel drops.
I collapse onto my bed, sprawling across the thin summer duvet, naked and completely done with the day. Thefan hums softly in the corner, offering only the weakest of breezes, but I can’t bring myself to care.
I stare at the ceiling, limbs spread like a starfish, the last messages from Theo replaying in my head.
I’m actually impressed.
It shouldn’t make my stomach flutter. It’s just Theo. We banter, we wind each other up—that’s what we do. It’s normal. But that stupid little compliment is now lodged in my brain, circling like a persistent mosquito.
I groan, rolling onto my side, but my thoughts refuse to settle. Instead, they wander back to that afternoon at Jasper’s, when we were all in the hot tub.
Nothing had happened—of course nothing had happened—but now, lying here naked, my brain decides to dig up details I had absolutely not needed to store.
The way Theo looked in those black shorts, his chest bare, just some sprinkling of dark hair. I remember noticing the way his muscles tensed when he moved, the water clinging to him in a way that made my mouth feel dry.
And the trail of dark hair on his stomach, snaking down beneath the waistband of his shorts…
He has this lean, muscular physique that I put down to his determined efforts to feed Lucy healthy food and, by extension, himself — though the yoga is clearly doing things too. Unfair things.
At our last class, Lucy encouraged him to show me some of his advanced moves. The ones he does at home. Shirtless, I imagine. With serene breathing and zero shame.
He held himself up like gravity was a mere suggestion. He did crow pose and another one with a name that sounds like a mildly sensual pasta dish, and didn’t evenbreak a sweat. I, meanwhile, was trying very hard not to stare at his arms. Or his everything.
