You make conversation?

The floral-romper girl’s question hung in the air like bait on a hook.

Ethan swallowed hard, his hands glued over his cock as if he could physically restrain his own humiliation. Four pairs of eyes tracked every twitch of his muscles, every shallow breath, every tremor of his thighs.

He **** a smile. A weak one. A doomed one.

“Well,” he said, voice wobbling, “I like to think I bring out the best in… community engagement.”

The brunette snorted. “Oh my God, he’s cute.”

“Cute?” The redhead raised an eyebrow, eyes on his hips. “That’s not the word I’d use.”

“I’d use gifted,” glasses-girl murmured, pushing her frames up her nose without breaking eye contact.

Ethan laughed—high, thin, terrified. “Wow. Okay. Great notes, everyone. Love the feedback. I’ll… uh… pass it on to HR.”

“We are HR,” the brunette said. “Hotness Review.”

“Unauthorized department,” he muttered.

“Not anymore,” the redhead grinned. “We’re unionizing.”

Glasses-girl leaned in slightly, studying his hands. “Honey… you’re trying so hard to cover, but you are not built for modesty.”

He made a strangled noise. “I’m built for panic. Completely different muscle group.”

Floral-romper girl smirked. “You’re adorable. That blush is all the way down your chest. Are you sure you’re not enjoying this a little?”

“Nope,” he lied instantly. “Negative percent enjoyment. Absolutely dry. Sahara desert vibes.”

The brunette cocked her head. “Then why are your fingertips… glistening?”

His soul left his body.

A door opened behind him.

Gaby reappeared, twirling a small silver key between two fingers.

“Good news,” she announced brightly. “I found it.”

Ethan practically lunged for it. He snatched the key from her hand with the reflexes of a man saving a child from traffic.

“Thank youthankyouthankyou—”

Gaby closed her hand around his wrist before he could flee, her smile soft and cruel.

“Ah-ah,” she murmured. “You’re not done yet, sweetheart.”

Ethan froze. “What? I got the key. Mission accomplished. Roll credits.”

“Nope.” She turned him—gently but decisively—so he faced the women again. “Your girlfriend’s door is that way.”

His stomach dropped.

Because to reach Chloe’s apartment…

…he had to walk directly through the semi-circle of book-club women.

The ones still staring at him like he was dessert.