Chapter 3: Emmett

I let out a heavy sigh, lying flat on my back, my arm draped across my face. A delicate hand grazed my chest, making me flinch. I pushed it off, hearing an irritated hiss from beside me.

"Giana, stop," I muttered gruffly, sitting up and grabbing my socks off the floor.

"You're such a dick," she spat as her arms wrapped around my bare torso.

I chuckled coldly, pulling away to slip on my pants. "You knew what this was," I said, yanking my shirt over my head. "We hook up. That's it."

Her brows furrowed as she clutched the sheets around her. "I know," she snapped, "but couldn't you just hook up with me? Not Sarah. Or whoever else."

I clicked my tongue, shaking my head as I grabbed my shoes. "You catching feelings now?" I asked, glancing at her flushed face.

Her eyes flared with anger. "No," she barked, though her tone betrayed her.

Before I could put my shoes on, the door burst open. The air turned tense as Giana's father stormed into the room, his face red with fury.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath.

He lunged toward me, and I leapt onto the bed, scrambling for the window. I threw my shoes out first and followed, landing awkwardly on the ground outside. Luckily, it was only a one-story jump.

"I'll kill you, Pierce!" her father roared as I sprinted to my car, laughing.

Sliding into the driver's seat, I locked the doors and started the engine. You're probably wondering why I live like this—hookups, drama, and all. The truth is, eventually, I'll have to settle down. My father's company demands a clean-cut, one-woman image for its heir. But for now? I'm enjoying myself.

Don't get me wrong, I love my family—my parents and my sister mean everything to me. My mom raised me to respect women, and I make sure every girl knows what they're getting with me. No strings, no promises. I want the kind of love my parents have, sure. But that fairytale crap only happens in books.

When I pulled into the four-car garage at home, my sister Isla was already waiting for me in the doorway, arms crossed.

"Move, Red," I said, brushing past her.

She blocked my way, glaring up at me with her dark eyes. "You left her hanging."

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"The girl who looks like she stepped out of Barbie's dream house. Your partner for the end-of-year project," she snapped, poking a finger into my chest.

"Oh," I said, my eyes widening.

"Yeah, oh," she repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I pushed past her, heading upstairs. "Don't ignore me, Emmett!" she called after me. "One day, you're gonna regret how you treat people!"

Shutting the door to my room, I flopped onto the bed and pulled out my phone. I scrolled through my contacts and typed out a message to the only name I could think of for her: Pinky.

"Sorry, something came up. You pick the time to meet up—preferably after 7 if it's a weekday."

Satisfied, I tossed my phone aside and relaxed. She'd text me back. We'd get the project done. Simple.

By Monday, I still hadn't heard from her.

"I'm ready to quit, bro," Kyle groaned as he slumped onto the bench beside me.

I shut my locker, looking down at him. "What now?" I asked, trying not to smile.

"My partner wants me to read the book alone," he whined, holding up the novel like it was a death sentence. "You know I hate reading."

"At least you've started something," I muttered, leaning against the locker. "I haven't even talked to my partner yet."

Kyle snorted. "Why do you care? Even if you fail, your dad will still get you into some Ivy League school."

Damien's voice cut in from behind us. "He's right."

I turned, my teeth clenching. "That's not the point."

Kyle clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Relax, man. Don't let him get to you."

"Yeah," I muttered, brushing it off.

As we walked to class, I spotted her—the girl Isla wouldn't shut up about. She was all pink again, from her bow to her shoes, standing out like a bubblegum dream among a sea of neutrals.

We took our seats, and I watched as she hunched over her notebook, avoiding my gaze. The sunlight streaming through the window made her skin glow, and her light brown curls looked softer than ever. Her lips were rosy, her cheeks flushed, and she looked so small—like a shy little bunny.

I leaned toward her, lowering my voice. "No text?"

She flinched, her hand flying to her ear as she turned to look at me. "You didn't text me," she whispered.

A slow grin spread across my face. Before I could reply, Mr. Wesley started class, and I leaned back, letting it go.

When the bell rang, she bolted from her seat. Ignoring the people trying to talk to me, I followed her into the hall.

"Hey," I said, grabbing her arm gently.

She jumped, her wide eyes staring up at me. I let go immediately, raising my hands in surrender.

"I'm sorry," I said, meeting her gaze. "I messed up. Something came up on Saturday, but I shouldn't have blown you off."

She hesitated, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. "Well, you're the one who needs the A," she said softly. "I have things to do too, you know. If this happens again, I think we should work separately."

I stepped closer, trying to catch her eyes. "I promise it won't happen again. I really do need this grade. Let's start over. My house, 7:30 tomorrow, after practice?"

She nodded quickly, her cheeks pink as she turned and walked away.

I stood there, watching her retreating figure, a small smile playing on my lips. She reminded me of a nervous bunny.

A cute, pink bunny.