Page 50 of Running With Lions

Finally, Emir climbs out of bed. That’s good, because Sebastian is tempted to drag him, half naked, kicking and screaming, into the rain. Emir stomps around like one of Mason’s little sisters when she’s pissed he won’t play Barbies.

“You will suffer,” whispers Emir, too close for comfort. Warm breath skims against the side of Sebastian’s face before Emir continues shouting about how soccer sucks.

Sebastian, deft as a ninja, pulls his hood over his head to hide his mortified expression.

“You look like your dad,” Emir says while destroying his cabin in search of clothes.

“Do I?”

“Oh, my god, you’re a bloody Manchester fan like him, aren’t you?”

“Of course!”

Emir chucks a shirt across the room; a pout puckers his lips. “Yeah, whatever. Have you taken Ms. Haverly’s history class yet? It’s proper dreadful, mate.”

“Really?”

“The worst.”

They fall into an easy conversation about more teachers they hate. It’s weird, at first, but Sebastian doesn’t want to give Emir a reason to shut down again. Then he changes the topic to last season and the guys. In the middle of Sebastian’s ranting, Emir says, “Zach’s pretty good.” His head is stuck in the collar of his shirt, so it’s muffled.

Sebastian steps forward and tugs down the shirt. “He’s come a long way,” he tells Emir, trying not to laugh at Emir’s tousled hair. But then his eyes drop. Emir is pants-less in tight boxer-briefs. Sebastian tenses.

“Too bad he’s such a dick,” Emir says through a yawn.

“It was a rough night for him, that’s all.”

“If you say so.”

“Get to know him.”

Emir hums, running fingers through his hair. “Maybe I will, if I’m on the team long enough.”

“You’ll be fine, man.”

“Quit being nice,” Emir says with a huff negated by his tiny grin.

“It’s my job,” Sebastian says, gently punching Emir’s shoulder.

The heavy clouds hood Emir’s cabin in dramatic shadows. His eyes shine silver and moss in the dark. The cabin is eerily quiet with just the echo of thunder and the constantplink-plunkof rain on the roof.

Finally, Emir says, “I’m not going out inthat,” with a frown. Now Emir’s eyes remind Sebastian of a cold, gray sky in November. All of this is unhealthy for his overcrowded brain.

“What’s a little rain?” he asks, pretending he didn’t just choke on the words.

“That’s alotof rain, idiot.”

Sebastian doesn’t even flinch. Emir’s insults bite with less venom now. He retaliates by punching Emir’s arm; Emir slugs back with a high-pitched laugh. Sebastian has an urge to toss Emir on the bed for a wrestling match. But that could lead to—no, itwouldlead to—something involving a lot less clothing.

And there it is, like a kick in the head. Would Emir kiss him back? Does SebastianwantEmir to kiss him back?

“Let’s get this over with.” Emir sighs.

Sebastian follows Emir to the door. In the back of his mind, he’s stuck on how their brief kiss seemed like a wild summer in the heart of an ice storm.

“Let me win!”

“For what?”

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