Zayn dribbled the ball across the polished gym floor, each bounce echoing through the space like a heartbeat. Sweat clung to his temple, muscles tensing with every shot, and yet he moved with an ease that made it look effortless. Every eye in the gym followed him, and he loved it, even as he mocked them silently. Boys scowled, girls whispered and moaned under their breath—he fed on it all, silently amused by their desperation.

"MEADOWS!!! REMOVE YOUR PIERCINGS!!" the coach barked, voice cracking with frustration.

Zayn shot back without missing a beat, cocky grin curling: "It's not me who does the removing, coach. Ask your daughter."

The coach groaned, throwing his hat down. Zayn smirked, tossing the ball into the hoop with a perfect shot, sweat gleaming in the overhead light. Attention followed him like a halo, but one pair of eyes—the ones that had been tracking him these past two days—made his chest tighten in a way he wasn't used to admitting.

He saw her squirming on the bench across the gym, hands clutched nervously in her lap, eyes darting to him every few seconds. Boredom, amusement, and something darker flickered in his chest. She was desperate for him, and he could taste it. That craving, that need—it was intoxicating.

He continued his drills, each movement calculated, each shot perfect, while she shifted under the weight of anticipation. The longer he let her wait, the more he fed off it, a smirk tugging at his lips.