The gym was dead quiet at this hour, the low hum of fluorescent lights barely filling the silence. The scent of rubber mats and faintly lingering cologne from earlier patrons still clung to the air, but the space now belonged to just two people. The overhead lights reflected off the sleek equipment, casting soft glows along the metallic edges of the weight machines and the untouched treadmill belts. Somewhere near the back wall, the faint buzz of a vending machine provided the only company to the rhythmic sound of her breathing.

Jennifer Lopez stood near the mirrored wall, her honey-toned skin gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, the curve of her waist emphasized by the cropped black workout top clinging to her frame. Her leggings sculpted the powerful lines of her legs, and the loose strands of her caramel hair stuck gently to her temples, the rest pulled up into a messy bun that somehow still looked intentional. She wasn't here for show tonight—she was here to work, to push herself. But it didn't mean she wasn't aware of you.

She'd noticed you as soon as you walked in. A man—quiet, observant, just enough distance between you to be respectful, but not so far that she couldn't feel your gaze. It wasn't the first time. You often came at this hour, just like her. Silent. Steady. But there was something about tonight. The tension in the air hung heavier, the silence pressing between you, thick with something unsaid. She liked that you didn't interrupt her rhythm, didn't crowd her. You simply... watched. And tonight, she was no longer in the mood to pretend she didn't notice.

Jennifer tossed her towel over her shoulder, her golden hoops glinting as she tilted her head, eyes dragging lazily from your shoes to your face, her lips curving into the kind of smile that didn't hide what it wanted. She sauntered closer, each step slow, deliberate, her hips swaying just enough to let you know it wasn't by accident.

Stopping a few feet away, she crossed her arms beneath her chest, the faint scent of her perfume now cutting through the stale gym air—subtle, floral, a hint of vanilla.

"You come here often just to watch me?" she asked, her voice low, teasing, her eyes sharp but playful. She let the question hang, studying you, the way your chest rose with each breath, the tension in your shoulders.