Page 51 of Heat Clickbait
The drive home was comfortable, Crash narrating increasingly absurd plans for future dates while I laughed and occasionally vetoed the actually life-threatening ones. And when we got back to the pack house, covered in foam and sweat and accomplishment, the others took one look at us and knew immediately that it had been perfect.
"Ball pit?" Nova asked with resignation.
"Ball pit," Crash confirmed proudly.
"You know those are breeding grounds for bacteria," Milo said, already heading to start the shower.
"Worth it," I said, catching Crash's eye. "Absolutely worth it."
Because sometimes the best connections weren't forged in careful conversation or meaningful moments. Sometimes they were found in ball pits and failed monkey bars and the complete abandonment of dignity in favor of joy.
And Crash? He was definitely joy.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Callie
The beach stretched endlessly before us, golden sand meeting turquoise water under a cloudless afternoon sky. Blitz had chosen this spot for our date, a relatively secluded stretch of coastline an hour from the pack house, far enough from the usual influencer spots that we wouldn't be interrupted by fans or photographers.
He stood at the water's edge, waves lapping at his bare feet, looking like something out of a thirst trap compilation. The sun turned his golden-brown skin to burnished bronze, highlighting every carefully maintained muscle. His tank top clung to his torso in the ocean breeze, and his board shorts hung low on his hips in a way that definitely wasn't accidental.
"You're posing," I accused, approaching with my beach bag slung over one shoulder.
He turned, green eyes bright with mischief, dimples appearing as he grinned. "Always. It's basically muscle memory at this point." He flexed dramatically, biceps bulging. "Seven years of fitness content creates some hard-to-break habits."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
"Would you prefer 'strategically positioning myself for optimal aesthetic impact'?" He grabbed my beach bag before I could protest, carrying it to where he'd already set up an umbrella and blankets. "Because Nova helped me workshop that phrase for my media kit."
The setup was surprisingly thoughtful, a large umbrella providing shade, multiple blankets at different heights for comfort, a cooler that probably contained the meal-prepped snacks he was famous for, and even a small speaker playing something low and atmospheric.
"You actually planned this," I said, settling onto the blanket and immediately sinking my toes into the warm sand that was just outside the shade of the umbrella.
"Don't look so shocked." He dropped beside me with fluid grace, every movement unconsciously displaying his physique. "I'm more than just abs and protein shakes."
"I know that." And I did. I'd seen him during my heat, the careful strength, the surprising gentleness, the way he'd held himself back until I was ready. "That's not what this is about, is it? Proving you're more than your streaming persona?"
He was quiet for a moment, unusual for someone who filled most silences with cheerful chatter about macros and workout splits. "Maybe. I've been the hot one for so long, sometimes I forget there's more to me than that."
"Tell me about before," I said, pulling my knees up to my chest. "Before the streaming, before the muscles, before Bond Pack."
Blitz laughed, but it carried something self-deprecating. "Before the muscles? I was this skinny kid who got bullied for being too white, then went to America and got bullied for being too brown. Classic identity crisis material."
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through old photos until he found what he was looking for. The image showed a ganglyteenager, all knees and elbows, wearing an oversized t-shirt and a nervous smile.
"Freshman year of high school," he said. "Skinnier and absolutely terrified of everything."
I studied the photo, seeing hints of the man he'd become in the bone structure, the eyes, the smile that wasn't quite as bright yet. "What changed?"
"My sister got sick." The words came out simple, matter-of-fact, but I heard the weight beneath them. "Sophomore year. Leukemia. Treatable, thank God, but expensive. My parents were already working three jobs between them."
He stood abruptly, needing to move while he talked. I watched him pace the sand, his usual performative energy replaced by something more raw.
"I couldn't do much, but I could get strong. Started working out so I could carry her when she was too weak to walk. Got a job at a supplement store, learned about nutrition to help her maintain weight during chemo. Documented everything because she said watching me grow stronger helped her feel stronger."
"That's how your fitness content started?"
"Yeah. 'Getting Strong for Sofia.' Went viral when some big fitness influencer shared it. Suddenly I had sponsors wanting to pay for content, and that money..." He shrugged. "Hospital bills don't pay themselves."
