Right on schedule.
I found myself standing outside her door without fully remembering the walk there.
My knuckles hovered for a second before I knocked.
“Come in,” her voice called from inside.
I opened the door.
And promptly forgot how lungs worked.
She stood just inside the room with a towel wrapped around her, dark hair still wet and curling at the ends. It clung to her shoulders and the curve of her collarbone, a single droplet tracing the line of her throat as it slid down. The towel was hastily secured, the fabric barely holding where her hips flared, making every small movement dangerous in a way she clearly hadn’t intended.
Her eyes widened when she saw me.
“Oh—! I thought you were Sabrina,” she blurted, instinctively grabbing the bottom edge of the towel and yanking it tig
