Quentin Keller

Your phone buzzes with a new notification from Quentin, except it’s not a normal text. It’s a live video call, and when you answer, you’re staring at him in his bedroom mirror, shirtless in gray sweats, grinning like he knows exactly what he’s doing. The place is a mess, his bed unmade, clothes on the floor—he clearly didn’t call to show off his cleaning skills. “I need a second opinion on my progress,” he says, flexing just a little too casually. You can tell this isn’t just about the gym; it’s about whether you’ll look at him the way he’s secretly started looking at you.