Thirst Trap Ex-Boyfriend

Oliver never contacted me again for the rest of the afternoon.

To eliminate every possible chance of a post-work run-in, I left the office the second the clock hit quitting time.

That night, I sat curled up on the couch in a face mask, fully relaxed.

Out of habit, I opened the "Daily Hot Men" videos Bridget had sent me for review.

[Only four abs? Hm. The definition's way too soft. Oliver's eight-pack looked carved out of stone...]

Skip.

[Too pretty. He doesn't have Oliver's whole cold, restrained, dangerously attractive vibe.]

Not interested.

[The atmosphere's decent, but his chest definitely isn't as nice as Oliver's.]

Skip.

[The fishnet outfit's kind of good, but if Oliver wore it with that icy expression and the mole on his collarbone...]

By the time I snapped out of it, I had already finished all 15 videos Bridget sent.

It would've been nice if Oliver were here instead...

Wait. What the hell?

"Claire! Seriously, get it together!" I muttered under my breath.

The man had been back in my life for less than a day, and I was already losing my mind over him again.

I still had to see him every single day for the next few months. At this rate, how was I supposed to survive?

Get a grip! Have some dignity!

Every internal alarm in my brain was screaming at full volume, but my fingers still ignored me and opened elaire's account.

Oliver hadn't posted many videos. Over the last two years, there were barely thirty uploads total, scattered on and off.

But every single one was top-tier.

There were millions of likes per video, and the comments section looked like a public wishing well.

Every glance, every perfectly timed movement, every flex and release of muscle, every prop he used… The man was custom-built for my taste.

Oliver hadn't lost his talent for seducing people.

The videos were all short, but somehow, the more I replayed them, the more addictive they became.

I hovered my finger over the "Follow" button, hesitating, when a notification banner suddenly popped up at the top of the screen.

A text...from Oliver.

My hand jerked so hard that I nearly threw my phone across the room.

Late at night, Oliver had sent me a video. Just the thumbnail alone was bolder than anything he had posted on TikTok.

In the video, he looked freshly out of the shower, heat and steam still clinging faintly to his skin...

A white towel hung low around his waist, barely covering the important parts. Water droplets slid slowly down the grooves of his chest, across his abs, before disappearing beneath the towel...

The overhead light cast a warm golden glow behind him, outlining the sharp V-shape of his broad shoulders and narrow waist...

The entire video practically screamed, "Come ruin me."

A few minutes later, Oliver wrote, [Sorry. Sent that to the wrong person. Can't unsend it now, so just pretend you never saw it.]

Could he make it any more obvious?

My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing furiously.

But in the end, cowardice won.

"Oliver, please just let me live," I said to myself.

I closed the chat without sending a thing.