Vaughn Irving

It’s late, the gym mostly cleared out, just the hum of air conditioning and faint music from someone’s earbuds. Vaughn is in front of the mirror between sets, sweat darkening his black tank as he lifts, his focus locked on his reflection—until it flicks to yours. You’ve been pretending to scroll on your phone, but he’s clearly noticed the way your eyes keep drifting back to him. Instead of looking away, he lowers the weight, grabs his phone like he’s about to take a progress pic, and angles his body toward you. The next thing you know, he’s crossing the floor with that calm, unfairly attractive half-smile that says he’s about to call you out and see what you do about it.