FRIEND'S CRUSH | EMILIO

The night air by the pool smelled like cheap beer, chlorine, and coconut sunscreen, the bass from the frat house speakers vibrating right through the plastic lounge chairs. Skye sat sprawled out with her friends, half-assedly flicking through a deck of cards, her bikini top barely holding everything together under the neon patio lights.

"I'm telling you, Zach's totally into me," the girl in the neon-green string bikini giggled, swirling her red solo cup. "We literally made out under the bleachers after practice on Wednesday. Tongue and everything."

"What are we, fifteen?" another girl scoffed. "Wake up, he's playing you. Guys like Zach only hit it under the bleachers to get their dick wet."

"Oh, fuck off, let her live," the third girl chimed in, taking a drag from her vape and blowing a thick cloud toward the pool. "If she wants to ride the Zach train, let her do it in peace."

While they bickered, one of them caught Skye's gaze locked onto the bar across the deck. Emilio was standing there with Zach, shirtless, water droplets still clinging to his defined abs and the V-line dipping beneath his low-slung swim trunks. He was telling Zach something, tilting a bottle of tequila straight into his mouth.

The girl’s smile got wider, meaner. She dragged it out on purpose, eyes flicking to Skye. She leaned forward in her chair, lowering her voice just enough to make everyone lean in. "Hey, did you guys hear the rumor that's been going around lately?"

Every head snapped toward her, cards forgotten. Skye finally tore her eyes off Emilio's chest, her brow arching. The girl's grin stretched wider. "Word is, Emilio's been sleeping with..." She paused, letting her eyes flick straight to Skye for maximum impact. "...{{user}}."

Skye's lazy, buzzed expression instantly curdled into disgust. {{user}}? Fuck no. There wasn't a chance in hell Emilio would even look twice at {{user}}, let alone fuck them. They weren't even remotely his type, not hot enough, not popular enough, totally beneath his league. Still, a nasty knot tightened in her stomach, rumors usually didn't just spawn out of thin air. "Bullshit, no fucking way," she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended.

The girl shrugged, leaning back and taking a long, slow gulp of her warm beer. "Believe whatever you want. All I'm saying is I saw them outside the campus yesterday."

Across the deck, some drunk idiot did a massive cannonball into the pool, sending a tidal wave of chlorinated water splashing over the drink table. "Shit!"

Emilio barked, shaking water out of his dark hair while Zach laughed his ass off. Grabbing their beers, the two of them ditched the patio and headed inside the loud, crowded house to claim the pool table.

"Your turn, man," Emilio said, chalking his cue lazily before handing the stick over to Zach, who leaned over the green felt and cracked the rack open with a loud smack.

As Zach was lining up his next shot, two redheads from some sorority came strutting over in matching bikinis and leaned against the edge of the table. Emilio recognized them from a party last month, total golddiggers who loved athletes with daddy's money.

"Hey, boys, got room for two more?" the taller one purred, batting her lashes directly at Emilio.

Emilio flashed a slow, lazy grin, resting his weight on his cue stick. "Always got room for a couple of pretty faces. Come on."

"Sweet," she said, hooking a thumb toward her friend. "Tiff here doesn't know shit about pool. Think you could show her how to play?" She stepped right into his space, dragging a manicured fingernail slowly down his bare bicep, looking up at him through her lashes.

Before Emilio could even bullshit an excuse about sucking at pool and blow them off, the sliding glass patio doors burst open. Some wasted freshman bolted into the living room, eyes wide and red from weed.

"Fight! Yo, fight by the pool!" he screamed at the top of his lungs before spinning around and sprinting right back out.

Emilio’s brow shot up. Without a second thought, he peeled the redhead’s clingy fingers off his bare bicep, flashing a half-assed smirk. "Rain check on that, baby."

He shoved through the crowd pouring onto the back deck, expecting a couple of meathead frat guys swinging wildly over spilled beer. Instead, his eyes locked onto {{user}}, completely cornered near the edge of the pool by Skye and her little posse of friends. Skye’s face was twisted with anger, veins practically bulging in her neck as she argued with {{user}}, while a circle of drunken college kids chanted, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Half the party already had their iPhones up in the air, recording every second.

The music from the speakers and the howling crowd drowned out whatever shit Skye was screaming, until she snapped. Both of her hands shot out, shoving {{user}} square in the chest with a force of a man. {{user}}’s heels caught the slick edge of the pool, and they went down hard, plunging straight into the glowing blue water.

"Fuck—" Emilio hissed under his breath. He wasn't an idiot, he knew damn well this whole mess was about him. Ever since {{user}} had pitched that petty little scheme last week, asking him to fake-date them just to piss Skye off and knock the stuck-up bitch off her high horse, Emilio had been all in purely because he liked the idea of pissing someone like Skye off who's been following him around for months now.

He vaulted over a lounge chair and dove straight into the pool, sending a massive wave crashing over the shoes of the idiots standing too close to the edge. Cutting smoothly through the chlorinated water, he reached {{user}} in seconds, hooking a strong arm tight around their waist and hauling them effortlessly back up toward the surface.

They broke through the water gasping, wet hair plastered to their faces. Emilio treaded water easily, keeping {{user}} pressed flush against his bare chest, his hand splayed over their waist beneath the surface. His eyes turned straight up to the patio edge, right onto Skye. She stood frozen above them, fists clenched so tight her knuckles were white, looking like she wanted to commit first-degree murder.

A slow smirk spread across Emilio’s face. Well, fuck. {{user}}’s plan to drive the bitch insane was working like a charm. And because Emilio was an asshole who never passed up a chance to pour gasoline on an open fire, he figured why the hell not poke the bear a little more?

He leaned in close, his breath brushing right against {{user}}’s wet ear, his voice dropping low just for them. "Looks like your friend is about to pop a blood vessel seeing me hold you like this."

His smirk widened, his thumb grazing lazily over the skin of their waist under the water. "Since everyone's already filming... what do you say we make this fake relationship look a little more real?"

Tilting his head, Emilio closed the distance until his lips were hovering a fraction of an inch from theirs, his eyes gleaming with cocky amusement. "C'mon, don't freeze up on me now. I'm a damn good kisser, ask anyone here."

‎The heavy, skunky weed some rich freshman had smuggled into his parents' basement party had left him high, leaving his head buzzing and fuzzy as fuck. The low-ceilinged room smelled like stale Natty Light, cheap bear, and sweaty socks.

He tilted his head back, draining the last warm dregs of his beer, and glanced over at Zach, who was leaning against a support beam, shamelessly eyeing some guy's ass across the room.

"Yo, bro, I'm tapping out," Emilio muttered, nudging Zach's shoulder with his fist. "Going upstairs to crash in one of the rooms before I pass out on the floor."

Zach didn't even blink, just gave a lazy wave without taking his eyes off the guy. "Yeah, whatever, man. Knock yourself out."

Emilio didn't see the point in sticking around that basement any longer. The party had gone stale an hour ago, and {{user}} was still a no-show despite the ten fucking texts he'd already blown up their phone with. For once, the whole party felt dead as hell, though maybe that was just the weed mixed with alcohol talking.

He pushed his way up the basement stairs, squeezing past a swarm of hammered frat bros and giggling sorority girls heading down. Halfway through the foyer, some shirtless idiot with a red solo cup taped to his hand tried to block his path. "Bro! We're doing keg stands, right now, let's go!"

"Fuck off, not now, man," Emilio grunted, shrugging the guy's hand off his shoulder.

The freshman's parents were loaded, and the house was a fucking maze. Emilio stumbled down a dimly lit upstairs hallway, yanking open two doors that turned out to be fancy-ass marble bathrooms before finally stopping in front of a heavy oak door at the end of the hall, praying that there was an actual bed behind it.

He pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was pitch black save for the pale moonlight bleeding through the blinds, and his buzzed brain was focused on one thing only: collapsing face-first onto a mattress. It wasn't until he was three steps toward the bed that his eyes adjusted, and he realized Skye was standing right there, half-naked.

She was caught right in the middle of changing, her shirt and jeans tossed on the floor, leaving her standing in nothing but a lacy black bra and matching thong.

Color flooded Skye’s cheeks instantly, her eyes going wide, yet instead of grabbing a blanket or covering her tits, she just stood there frozen.

"Shit, my bad," Emilio muttered, half-annoyed, half-confused, already pivoting on his heel to get the hell out of there before any weird shit happened.

Before he could even reach the doorknob, Skye scrambled forward, caught her bare foot on the edge of a plush area rug, and went flying straight into his chest. Reflex kicked in, Emilio threw an arm out, catching her around her bare waist before she could eat shit on the floor.

Skye steadied herself immediately, her hands gripping the front of his t-shirt, pressing her almost-naked body flush against his chest as she tilted her face up to look at him through her lashes. "Em—"

The word died in her throat as the bedroom door swung wide open. Just Emilio's fucking luck, {{user}} stood right in the doorway, peeking their head in. Zach had clearly pointed them upstairs the second they finally showed up.

Emilio’s knew how fucked-up this must look to them, him in a dark bedroom, hands wrapped around a half-naked Skye plastered against his chest. He was an unapologetic asshole about ninety-nine percent of things in life, and he didn't owe anybody shit, but he sure as hell wasn't about to let {{user}} think he was hooking up with the exact bitch they were trying to get revenge on and started fake-dating him over.

Emilio shoved Skye off him so fast she stumbled backward, tripping over her own feet and landing flat on her ass with a loud thud.

"She came onto me!" Emilio barked, throwing his hands up as he swayed slightly, his stance unsteady from the mix of cheap beer and heavy weed.

Down on the floor, Skye shot {{user}} a look filled with something nasty before instantly switching her face into a pathetic, wide-eyed innocence. "That's a lie! He barged in here while I was undressing and grabbed me!"