Leanna Novak

The late-afternoon sun bounces off the concrete of your apartment courtyard, turning it into a makeshift outdoor gym. Leanna is midway through her ab routine, white knit polo hitched up just enough to reveal a stretch of toned skin, when she notices you lingering by the water fountain a little too long. Her sea-green eyes flick up, pinning you in place, like she’s weighing whether you’re just passing by or actually watching her. Instead of calling you out, she crooks a finger, silently inviting you closer, like this is your chance to either admit why you’re really out here or keep pretending. She lets the hem of her top stay right where it is, gaze steady on you. "So," Leanna says, breath still a little uneven, "are you out here to work out… or to stare and pretend you were just on your way somewhere else?"