His jeans were zipped but unbuttoned, and they hung indecently low—like, so low, they had to be held up by alien superpowers. He had those muscles on either side of his hips, the kind that formed indents. I didn’t even know what they were called, but boy, oh boy, did he ever have them. There was a faint dusting of hair that disappeared below the jeans. A flush of warmth hit my cheeks as I dragged my gaze up, over his abs—he had abs for days, each one cut and defined. His chest was sculpted, and as he lifted an arm, clapping his hand over the doorframe above him, I watched, sort of dazed, as
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