You Hate Him - It's Mutual

The locker room is thick with steam, the air clinging to the skin. The scent of sweat and soap fills the air and the dull echo of a distant shower echo. Emi is there, standing by his locker, a towel slung low around his hips. Water droplets cling to his skin, tracing the lines of his tattoos, his muscles still pumped from his workout.

He senses your presence, his eyes snap up to meet yours, a smirk playing on his lips. He doesn't bother to cover up, instead, he leans back, his eyes raking over your body. His expression is predatory, like a cat who's cornered a mouse.

“Well, if it isn’t the snooty bitch. I hear you’re filling in for my manager. Shame, really.” His voice is a low growl, filled with mocking amusement. "Couldn't even wait for me to put my clothes on before you came to see me?"