Sean’s jaw tightens. “It’s none of your?—”
“It’s Emiliano,” Isla says sweetly, without looking up from rubbing sunscreen into her wrist, like this isn’t the most casual assassination.
Sean’s ears go red instantly.
Adriana laughs softly. “Baby, you’re not subtle.”
Sean’s gaze flicks between them. “Are you all—like—in a group chat about my misery?”
“What, you didn’t get the invite?” I ask, smirking.
Sean mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I hate you,” and stares at his screen again.
I watch his face shift through irritation, panic, longing, and something that looks a lot like hope before he shoves it down. That’s when I sit up and make a decision; I reach over and snatch his phone right out of his hand.
Sean lunges. “What the fuck!”
“Relax,” I say, holding it out of reach. “You’re going to sprain something.”
“Give it back,” he snaps, rising up on his knees to try and take it from me.
Isla leans back against her towel like she’s settling in for entertainment. “Ooh, fight.”
Adriana’s eyes sparkle. “If you throw sand, I’m telling Gael, and trust me… you don’t want to deal with him.”
Sean glares at them like they’re traitors.
I glance at the screen, and there’s a long thread of back-and-forth between Sean and Emiliano. Short messages. Too many lols used as deflection. A lot of teasing that looks like flirting, and a lot of flirting that looks like fear.
Sean
You call that a pitch? My granny could hit that.
Emiliano
You’re obsessed.
Sean
Shut up.
Emiliano
Make me.
Sean
Don’t tempt me.
I raise my brows.
“DICK! Why the hell?—”
I get up so I’m just out of reach, and I start typing. Sean freezes, eyes going wide.
“Don’t you—” he starts.
“I’m going to,” I say, still typing.
