Bryan's POV

The second the bathroom door shut behind me, I let out a long breath, pressing both hands against the cold countertop. The mirror reflected back nothing but tension—tension in my shoulders, in my jaw, in the way my hands flexed against the sink like I needed something to hold onto.

I turned on the faucet, letting the cold water rush over my palms before splashing some onto my face. The shock of it helped, but only for a second. It wasn't enough to wash away the lingering heat crawling up my skin, wasn't enough to drown out the thoughts that had been plaguing me since the hot springs.

Amber.

Amber, flushed and breathless, her body trembling under my hands. Amber, staring at me when she thought I wouldn't notice, those dark eyes dragging over my tattoos like she wanted to touch them but wouldn't let herself. Amber, biting her damn lip when I caught her looking, pretending she wasn't affected when it was so painfully obvious.

Fuck.

I gritted my teeth, gripping the sink harder. It was getting worse. Every time I thought we were done with this—whatever this was—something would happen, and the tension would snap right back into place. It was constant, unavoidable, suffocating.

And the worst part?

I didn't want it to stop.

I liked getting under her skin, liked pushing her buttons, liked watching her struggle between hating me and whatever the hell she was really feeling underneath it all.

I turned off the water, bracing my arms against the counter, trying to steady my breathing. This was dangerous.

And then there was the other thing.

Her birthday.

I clenched my jaw, staring at my reflection, hating the way my chest tightened at the thought.

I had known her birthday was tomorrow. I wasn't a complete idiot. I had seen it in her planner before, overheard her mention it to Isabella when I was at their dorm for tutoring. She expected me to forget.

And I hated that.

I didn't know why it bothered me so much, why I suddenly cared whether she thought I gave a shit or not. Maybe because I did—and that was the part that pissed me off the most.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply before grabbing a towel and rubbing it over my face. I needed to get out of my own damn head. Needed to stop thinking about this. About her.

I tossed the towel onto the rack and stepped back into the room, the air-conditioning hitting my bare skin, doing little to cool the fire still smoldering beneath the surface.

Amber was already in bed, curled under the blankets, her back turned to me. I hesitated for a second, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing, trying to figure out if she was asleep or just pretending.

Either way, it didn't matter.

I climbed into my own bed, staring at the ceiling, my hands folded behind my head, but I knew sleep wasn't coming anytime soon. Not with the way my body still felt wired, not with the way her presence across the room felt like a magnet pulling me in, even from a distance.

Amber's POV

I was too comfortable.

That was my first mistake.

The second mistake? Bryan.

Because the second I shifted, feeling the warmth of something firm and solid beneath me, I realized—I was not in my bed.

"Wake up, Amber," a familiar voice rumbled, low and dangerously close.

My eyes snapped open.

And immediately, I wished they hadn't.

My head was resting on Bryan's chest. His bare chest. My cheek was practically glued to the warm, tattooed skin, his steady breathing rising and falling beneath me.

My body went rigid.

Oh. Oh no.

The worst part? His arm was around me. Around me.

Not loosely thrown. Not barely touching. No—his entire forearm was resting over my waist, his large hand draped lazily against my hip, fingers warm through the fabric of my shirt.

I stopped breathing.

Bryan, however, didn't seem nearly as panicked as me. He let out a lazy yawn, stretching slightly beneath me, and I felt every movement—the shift of muscles, the flex of his abs under my arm.

Then, he poked my side.

"Are you alive?" His voice was rough with sleep, laced with amusement.

I shot up so fast I nearly lost my balance, scrambling away from him like he was on fire.

"What the hell?!" I gasped, practically falling back onto my own bed.

Bryan finally opened his eyes fully, blinking at me like I was the one acting crazy. "You're the one who decided to use me as a pillow."

I gawked at him. "I did not—"

"You did." He smirked, propping himself up on one elbow. "I woke up twice to push you off, and you crawled back like a damn cat."

My entire body felt like it was on fire.

I slept on him?!

I crawled back?!

I was going to evaporate.

Bryan stretched again, his abs flexing slightly, the dark ink of his tattoos shifting across golden skin. I snapped my gaze away, pressing a hand to my burning face.

"I hate you," I muttered, dragging a blanket over my head.

His chuckle was infuriatingly amused. "Happy birthday, Ballerina."

I peeked out just enough to glare at him. "You're not funny."

He leaned back, unbothered. "You're laughing a little."

"I am not—"

He threw his pillow at me.

I yelped, dodging it at the last second. "Are you five?!"

"You looked like you needed a wake-up call," he said, completely unapologetic.

I groaned, grabbing the pillow and chucking it back at him. He caught it effortlessly, smirking as he tucked it behind his head.

I inhaled deeply, forcing myself to ignore my lingering embarrassment. New subject, Amber. Move on. Pretend it never happened.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, rubbing my temples. "Whatever. I have plans today."

Bryan raised a brow. "Plans?"

"Yes. Food market. Exploring. You should love it," I said, standing up and stretching my arms over my head.

His smirk widened. "Oh, I do love trying new things."

I froze.

The way he said it. Slow. Amused. Low.

I narrowed my eyes. "You're disgusting."

His smirk did not fade.

I huffed, crossing my arms. "I hope you get food poisoning."

"Damn," he said, laughing. "That's dark."

I shot him a glare, then grabbed my dress and stormed toward the bathroom.

But not before I had the last word.

Pausing at the doorway, I glanced over my shoulder, giving him the most unimpressed look I could manage.

"You drool in your sleep, by the way."

The smirk on his face vanished instantly.

I grinned, slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door before he could respond.

That. That was a win.

The second I stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, I exhaled sharply, pressing my back against it.

Okay. That was embarrassing.

Waking up practically draped over Bryan had not been part of the plan. The warmth of his body, the slow rise and fall of his chest under my cheek, the way his arm had been loosely wrapped around my waist—it had all felt too natural. Too comfortable.

And, of course, because life hated me, the first thing out of his mouth had been some smug comment about how I was using him as a pillow.

I groaned, rubbing my hands down my face. I needed to snap out of it.

Today was my birthday. I refused to let Bryan Munoz and his stupidly comfortable chest ruin it.

Shaking off the embarrassment, I turned toward the mirror, assessing myself. My hair was a mess, strands sticking up from sleep, and I still had faint pillow creases on my cheek. Fantastic. I grabbed my hairbrush and got to work, tying my hair up into a loose bun while leaving some strands down to frame my face.

Once I finished, I turned the shower on, letting the steam fill the small space before stepping in. The hot water soothed my muscles, washing away the leftover tension from yesterday, and I let myself relax for a few precious moments.

But of course, my brain refused to cooperate.

Because the other memory was still there.

The hot springs. Bryan's hands. His mouth. The quiet, rasping sounds of his voice when he whispered things that made my entire body tremble.

I let out a slow breath, pressing my forehead against the tiled wall. Why did I let that happen?

It was supposed to mean nothing. Just a moment of pent-up tension snapping. But now, I couldn't even look at him without remembering how he had made me fall apart with just his fingers.

I turned the water colder, hoping the chill would snap me out of it.

My outfit for the day was simple—denim shorts, a white halter and underneath, my bikini, since we'd likely end up near the water again. The lightweight fabric hugged my figure in all the right ways, dipping just low enough to feel confident but still casual.

Satisfied, I slung my crochet tote bag over my shoulder and took a deep breath before stepping back into the room.

Bryan was sprawled on the bed, scrolling through his phone, still shirtless—again. The morning light cut sharp angles over his sculpted torso, his tattoos standing out against his tanned skin. He had one arm bent behind his head, making every muscle in his body flex effortlessly, like he was posing for a damn magazine cover.

And, unfortunately, my eyes had zero self-control.

I lingered a second too long, and he definitely caught me.

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk as he tilted his head. "Like what you see ?"

I snapped out of it instantly, narrowing my eyes. "I was actually wondering how someone with so many tattoos still looks like a walking red flag."

His smirk widened. "And yet, you keep staring."

I rolled my eyes dramatically. "I was staring at the wall behind you."

"Mmhmm," he hummed, stretching lazily, making his abs tighten. "Right. The wall."

Oh my god.

I was about to throw a pillow at his stupid, smug face when he suddenly sat up and patted the bed beside him. "Sit."

I blinked. "Why?"

"Because we need to talk," he said simply.

Instantly, my stomach flipped. Oh no.

I pretended to check my non-existent watch. "Oh wow, look at the time! We should really—"

"Amber." His voice dipped into something lower. Something firm.

I sighed dramatically and dragged my feet over, sitting beside him—but not too close. Just close enough to make it obvious I was barely tolerating this conversation.

Bryan exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw like he was debating how to start. "Look, I'm not gonna act like nothing happened last night."

I held my breath.

"And I'm not gonna pretend it didn't—" he hesitated, running his fingers through his dark hair before exhaling again. "—mean something."

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I wasn't prepared for that. Not at all.

"But," he continued, turning slightly to face me, "I need to know where your head's at. Because I don't know what the hell we're doing, Amber."

My hands curled around the frayed edges of my shorts. "I don't know," I admitted quietly. "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about all of this."

Bryan let out a slow breath, studying me. "Then we figure it out."

I laughed dryly. "It's not that simple."

His brow lifted. "Why not?"

I swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in my throat. How was I supposed to tell him that I wanted to trust whatever this was, but I was terrified it would end in disaster?

Instead of answering, I stood up quickly, adjusting the strap of my tote bag. "We should go. The group's probably waiting."

Bryan didn't move right away. He just sat there, watching me like he was trying to figure me out. Like he was waiting for me to say something real.

Finally, he stood, stretching again—and God, why did he have to do that?—before grabbing his own bag. "Fine," he said. "But don't think this conversation is over."

"Oh, trust me, I wouldn't dream of it," I deadpanned, stepping toward the door.

After the conversation with Bryan, my mind was still spinning. It was like I couldn't get a read on him—one second he was teasing me, the next he was serious, and now... now he was acting like we weren't just on the verge of ripping each other apart in the hot springs last night.

I shook off the thought and focused on finishing getting ready. I adjusted my white halter top, making sure the bikini straps underneath weren't too obvious, then grabbed my tote bag, tossing in my phone and some sunscreen. Today was going to be a long day, and the last thing I needed was to be sunburnt on my birthday.

Bryan was already waiting at the door, looking way too good in a white t-shirt that stretched over his biceps and some dark cargo shorts. His tattoos peeked out from under the sleeves, a constant reminder of how unfairly attractive he was.

"Ready, cumpleañera?" he asked, holding the door open for me.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the way my stomach flipped at the nickname. "Yeah, let's just go before we're late."

The entire class was already gathered outside the hotel, chatting excitedly as our professor gave a quick rundown of the day's itinerary. We were heading to one of the most famous local markets, packed with fresh produce, handmade jewelry, and authentic Costa Rican street food. My stomach rumbled just thinking about it.

The market was alive with color and movement, a bustling maze of fresh produce stands, handcrafted goods, and the delicious aroma of grilled street food. The sound of vendors calling out their prices mixed with the laughter of tourists and locals alike. My eyes darted from one stall to the next, excitement bubbling in my chest. Despite the lingering exhaustion from the hot springs, the energy of the place was infectious.

As we made our way into the crowded market, Ethan and Kevin appeared from behind one of the fruit stands, both holding cups of fresh juice. Ethan's face lit up when he saw me, his smile wide and easy.

"¡Mira quién llegó! La cumpleañera," Ethan said, grinning as he stepped closer. He switched back to English immediately. "Happy birthday, Amber."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Thanks, Ethan."

Kevin gave me a fist bump. "How does it feel to be a year older?"

I pretended to consider it. "Incredibly wise. Full of knowledge."

Ethan smirked. "Yeah? Drop some of that wisdom on me."

I waved my hand dramatically. "Always check the weather before making plans, never trust a seagull, and never—ever—take Bryan seriously."

Kevin and Ethan both laughed, but I felt the weight of Bryan's stare from beside me. When I turned my head slightly, he was watching the exchange with a neutral expression, but his jaw was a little too tense.

"Real funny, Ballerina," Bryan murmured, voice low.

Ethan, completely oblivious, nudged my arm. "Let me treat you to something from the market, birthday girl. Your pick."

Before I could respond, Bryan suddenly reached past me, plucking a small mango from a fruit stand and tossing it toward Ethan. "Here. There's your gift."

Ethan caught it, brows lifting in amusement. "A mango? Generous, Munoz."

Bryan shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Thoughtful, too."

I bit back a smile, catching the way Bryan was watching me, like he was waiting for my reaction. He was jealous. Not that he'd ever admit it.

Rolling my eyes, I looped my arm through Ethan's. "Ignore him. We're going shopping."

Ethan grinned, leading the way toward a stand filled with colorful handmade jewelry. I could still feel Bryan's eyes on me as I browsed, his presence lingering a few feet away like a shadow.

I admired a set of delicate beaded bracelets, fingers running over the tiny charms attached.

"And this one," I told the vendor, pointing to a bracelet. "For my best friend."

Izzy would adore it. She was obsessed with anything ocean-related, and this piece had her name written all over it.

"You're sweet," Ethan said, watching as I paid.

I smiled, pocketing the small bags. "She deserve it."

As I turned, I nearly collided with Bryan, who was suddenly much closer than before. I hadn't even heard him move.

"Getting souvenirs?" he asked, voice low.

"Yeah," I said, tilting my chin. "What, jealous I didn't get you anything?"

His lips curled into something between a smirk and a scoff. "I doubt you'd find anything here that suits me."

Ethan hummed in thought. "Maybe a bracelet that says 'Certified Asshole'?"

Kevin nearly choked on his juice, laughing.

I gasped dramatically. "Perfect! Bryan, what color do you want?"

Bryan shot Ethan a glare. "Real funny, pendejo."