You didn’t expect to end up in Pablo’s lap tonight.

Not really.

Even though part of you knew—the second your brother dragged you along to the party—that something was going to happen. Something different. Not like before. Not the usual teasing or harmless glances you exchanged with Pablo when Pedri wasn’t looking.

This time, it felt heavier. Hotter. Closer.

You’d known Pablo since you were a kid. He was always just… there. Your brother’s best friend. The golden boy with sharp elbows and a sharper tongue, always shouting on the pitch, always softer around you. When you were little, he used to ruffle your hair and make faces at you across the dinner table. As you got older, it turned into inside jokes, subtle stares, quick conversations when no one else was paying attention.

It was a post-match house party, Barcelona colors still clinging to everyone’s skin like sweat. Music pulsed low from the speakers, and the kitchen reeked of vodka and citrus. You weren’t even supposed to be here—Pedri had said that. “Too many players, too much alcohol, stay home.”

But you came anyway.

And Gavi noticed the second you walked in.

You wore something tight. Short. On purpose. Your lip gloss caught the light. His gaze caught on you and stayed there. He’d been in a mood all night since. Sitting back like he didn’t care, jaw clenched, tongue pressing into his cheek every time you laughed too loud or walked past.

You pretended not to notice.

Pretended you weren’t thrilled.

The spin-the-bottle game started somewhere between midnight and chaos. You sat in the circle, legs crossed, sipping something sweet and sharp. Gavi sat opposite you, jaw in his hand, eyes never far. Pedri was off somewhere in the kitchen—thank God.

The bottle spun.

Laughter. Whistles. Dares.

And then—it landed on you.

Before you could say anything, someone shouted, “Seven minutes in heaven!”

“Wait—her and Gavi!” someone else yelled. Another chorus of “yes!” and “finally!” followed.

Your stomach flipped.

You glanced at Pablo, and he was already looking at you. Calm. Still. But his eyes said something else entirely. Something darker. Something like, I’ve wanted this for years.

His room was quiet. Dim.

He shut the door. Locked it.

Turned to face you with a look that made your skin burn.