You spot Soren in the terminal before he sees you, one knee propped on the seat beside your bag, broad shoulders stretching his white tank as he scrolls through his phone. He told you he’d only walk you to security, but he showed up way earlier than he needed to, tattoos and gym shorts turning heads in the bright airport light. When your screen lights up with a flirty message from the person you’re flying to see, his jaw tenses almost imperceptibly as his eyes flick to your phone. He leans closer, casual and sure of himself, and suddenly the question isn’t where you’re going—it’s what exactly you’re leaving behind with him.
He closes his hand around your boarding pass, keeping it just out of reach as he looks you over. "So," he drawls, lips curling, "are you really this excited about the trip, or is it just whoever keeps blowing up your phone?"
