—)(—

He’s doing it again.

I’m in the studio with the rest of Four Seasons, writing down choreo directions in a notebook. For the tenth time in as many minutes, my gaze moves helplessly to Jae.

He’s standing in front of the lone fan in the practice room, plucking at his tank top.  I know he’s just trying to cool off.  I know that we’re all dripping with sweat and taking turns standing in front of the fan. I know that Kangin did exactly the same thing as Jae five minutes ago. But it wasn’t y as hell when he did it, dammit.

How am I supposed to concentrate?

Jae’s leaning forward now, letting the air hit his face. His damp fringe blows away from his forehead—all except a few wet strands that cling to his temples. His eyes are shut against the breeze, a slight smile curving his round mouth. He’s still lightly tugging at the front of his white tank, giving me quick flashes of his toned chest.  Even from here, I can see how hard his s are, drawn tight against the cool air.  

.

A wave of heat rolls through me, making the room feel a million degrees hotter than it already did. I scowl, fanning my face with the notebook. 

It’s been this way for weeks now. This painful, growing awareness of Jae’s every move.  It started with simple things: Feeling a jolt of unexpected heat when he his lips. Feeling my stomach clench when his sweat pants rode low to expose the line of his hip. Fighting the urge to beads of sweat off his pale nape, then follow their path up his neck to…

. What’s wrong with me?

Maybe it’s just the hormones. The doctors warned me that fluctuating hormone levels from my injury would affect my libido, but I didn’t think it would affect what . Or who. And that’s really the problem. While Jae can get me hot just by breathing,