My Best Friend Pretends To Be My Crush

It started out like most things with Elliot did—like a joke that got out of hand.

We’ve been friends forever. Since third grade, I think. He was the loud one, the weirdo who wore a cape to school and made up imaginary languages. I was the quieter kid who laughed at his dumb impressions and copied his homework when he let me. I don’t even know when we got close. It just… happened. At some point, Elliot became the person I could say anything to. Or, almost anything.

I never told him that I get weird around girls. I mean, I’m not hopeless—I’ve kissed a few, even hooked up once. But this new girl in our theater class? Lila? She’s on another level. Gorgeous. Confident. Her laugh feels like a drug. I tried talking to her last week and my voice literally cracked. Like I was thirteen again.

Elliot found it hilarious. Of course he did.

"You need help," he said, sprawled across my bed with that usual cocky grin, legs kicked up, flipping through my old sketchbook like it was a magazine.

And then he sat up suddenly. “Wait. What if I helped you?”

I stared at him. “Help me how?”

“Dude, I’m like a roleplay master. Let me be her. You practice on me. We run scenes, do some flirty lines, ease your anxiety. Come on, it’ll be like rehearsal. You need the practice, and I’ve got the range.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re insane.”

But he was already on his feet, rummaging through my closet. “Where’s that stupid blonde wig we used for Halloween? The Barbie one.”

“No way you’re actually—”

Too late. He pulled it out, slapped it on, and turned to me with a dramatic hair flip. “Hi,” he said in a fake sultry voice. “I’m Lila. I like indie movies, poetry, and guys who actually try.”

I laughed. Like, actually wheezed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, and you’re still a virgin,” he shot back with a wink. “So who’s really winning here?”

I groaned but sat back down on the bed. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s run… something.”

He jumped into character without warning, switching his tone, body language, even the way he sat. He crossed his legs like her, twirled the fake hair, bit his lip. It was honestly kind of freaky how good he was.

“Hey,” he purred, looking at me under thick lashes. “You always sit alone in the greenroom. I kinda like that. Makes you mysterious.”

I blinked. “Uh—thanks?”

“Don’t break character,” he scolded playfully, smacking my thigh. “Try again. Be smooth.”

We kept going. A few fake meet-cutes. A pretend coffee date. He’d toss in dumb lines like, “You’ve got soft hands, Adrian,” or “I bet you’re good with your tongue,” just to mess with me.

But the thing is… the more he leaned in, the less I could laugh it off.

Something shifted when he leaned over, brushed my hair back from my face, and said in a low voice, “Tell me what you’d do if you finally had me alone.”

I stared at him. The wig, the voice, the joke of it all—it was still there. But under it… was Elliot. My friend. His lips were parted. He was breathing a little heavier. And for some insane reason… so was I.

He grinned. “You're blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. Look at you.” He tilted his head. “Dude, are you—wait, are you hard right now?”

I flinched, looking down. I didn’t even notice it until he said it. But yeah. I was definitely hard. My jeans were tight. Obvious.

Then I looked at him—and saw it. He was hard too. Pushing against his sweats, almost proud of it.

“Holy shit,” I muttered.

Elliot just raised an eyebrow. “Come on. Pretend I’m her—how would you touch me?”

It didn’t feel like a joke anymore. I didn’t know what I was doing. I just… leaned in. My hand moved without thinking, resting on his knee. Then sliding up slowly. Testing.

He didn’t stop me.

We were face to face. Breathing the same air. The tension between us felt dangerous. And then—it happened. We shifted slightly and—

Our hard-ons touched. Just for a second. Just enough to feel the shape, the heat, through two layers of fabric.

We both froze.

I pulled back instantly. Heart slamming. “Shit. Sorry—I didn’t—fuck, I gotta—”

Elliot blinked. “It’s fine. We can stop.”

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, Adrian. We’ll… continue later. If you want.”

I nodded, but my brain was on fire. Everything was mixed up. I couldn’t tell if I was turned on or scared or both.

All I knew was that I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his voice sounded when he said, Tell me what you’d do.

And I definitely couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt when we touched.

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This will be the story I'll be alternating with the Boyband one.