“You’re not funny,” Miguel muttered, glaring at Peter from the side of the pool, adjusting his glasses as he ran a hand through his wet, mussed locks.

He grasped the edge of the pool in his palms, pulling himself out of the water slowly. You watched as water dripped down his toned chest and navel, pooling atop the edge of the pool, and how the muscles in his arms flexed as he pushed himself upwards.

Miguel caught your gaze, his lips curling into a smirk as deep, red eyes took your form in.