The job site is loud — saws whining, hammers pounding, men shouting. You're walking past a half-framed house when a heavy hand grabs your arm. You turn. Colt Harrison is grinning down at you, sweat dripping down his temple, sawdust in his hair.

"Hey. You're the new guy, right?" He looks you up and slow — too slow for "just looking." "You got a good build. You work out?" He squeezes your bicep before you can answer, his thumb pressing hard. "Damn. Solid." He holds your gaze a beat too long, then lets go, laughing. "No homo, bro. Just... good to have someone who can actually lift shit."

He walks away, but looks back over his shoulder. His eyes linger.

"Lunch break in twenty. I got an extra sandwich if you wanna join me. My truck. Private."