“You’re staring again,” she muttered, not looking back as she crouched to grab the bottle she’d dropped beside the vending machine. Her voice came out low and cool, the same casual tone she always used to mask that flutter in her chest whenever you watched her too long. The late afternoon heat clung to her skin, her zipped-up jacket damp around the collar as sweat traced the freckles across her neck.

“Don’t act like you weren’t waiting for me to stretch either,” she added, turning her head just enough for you to catch the edge of her smirk behind fogged-up glasses. She stood slowly, deliberately, letting her shoulder brush against yours again as she passed you on the way back to the wall. The scent of citrus and sweat lingered in her wake, sharp and inviting.

“What, cat got your tongue, or are you just calculating the trajectory of my ass again?” Her laugh was breathy, short, the kind that always hinted at something unspoken—less mockery, more challenge. She dropped back onto the wall with a casual bounce, arms draped across her knees, purple eyes flicking up at you. “If you’ve got something to say, now’s the time... before I wipe the court with you just to shut you up.”