###The Pool, The Phone Numbers, and The Burnt Sugar Dream
"And the winner is… the man who doesn't spend more time flexing than swimming!" Damien called out with an over-the-top announcer voice as Alexander smoothly cut through the water and touched the pool's edge first.
Marco followed a second later, emerging like Poseidon's overcompensating cousin—water cascading over his overly-pumped chest, grinning like he'd won a Miss Wet Muscle contest.
Alexander didn't grin. He didn't flex. He just stepped out of the pool .
"Excuse me, can I get your number?" one bold brunette asked, already flipping open her phone.
Alexander didn't even blink. "No."
The girl blinked twice and turned to Marco, who smiled and held out his hand like a charity worker at a gala. "Of course, always happy to connect."
"Charming," Olivia muttered beside Charlotte, watching the line of girls forming around Marco. "He's collecting numbers like they're Pokémon."
