Page 51 of Running With Lions

“Because I said so!”

Raindrops drip from the end of Sebastian’s nose over his top lip to his unruly smile. His clothes are soaked from the storm.

“I don’t do charity, Emir,” he yells over the rolling thunder. “Beat me!”

The howling wind carries away Emir’s shouted “Arsehole!”

Sebastian’s laugh echoes in his ears. He licks the metallic flavor of rain from his lips. Emir slicks the limp fringe off his forehead and focuses on the ball. They’ve bypassed drills today and started their morning with an epic scrimmage that has gone scoreless.

“Let’s go, rookie.”

“Rookie?” Emir’s voice squeaks.

“Yeah, you heard me.” It’s a diversion; Sebastian goes for the ball. Emir one-ups him, spinning while the inside of his foot keeps the ball close. His speed is a nice counterattack, but the grass is slick. It’s impossible for him to get far without stumbling.

Emir goes down hard in a patch of mud, screaming, “Kiss my ass!”

Sebastian doubles over, hands on his knees, hacking a laugh into the cold. His hair’s gotten longer over the summer; it drips into his eyes as Emir gives him a middle finger salute from the ground.

Okay, so it’s not exactly Godzilla versus King Kong, but Sebastian’s sure Hughes versus Shah is still pretty legendary.

Emir grumbles, “I had you,” as Sebastian helps him up. He’s got an ugly brown smear from his armpit to his thigh. His hair sits drab and flat on his forehead.

Sebastian tries, and fails, not to snicker, gripping Emir’s hand until he’s on steady feet. Then his hand lingers in Emir’s. His fingers weave between Emir’s as if they belong there.

“You’re getting slow.”

“Bite me, Emi.”

“Or I could kiss you.”

“Wait, what?” slips out of Sebastian’s mouth, but he’s too late to recognize the distraction. Emir sweeps his foot between them. He snags the ball, and Sebastian is left in awe as a rookie smeared in mud takes the ball all the way up the field for a goal.

Emir meets him midfield, smiling wryly. Sebastian stands, hands on his hips, scowling, but he’s impressed.

“Ready?”

Emir drops the ball between them. “Areyouready, Hughes?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I guess you’re about to find out, dude.”

Emir’s mouth opens to retort. Sebastian uses the advantage to swoop in and steal the ball. Emir is shouting after him when he’s already down the field knocking in a goal. It’s a total douche move, but he fist-pumps the air when Emir finally reaches him.

“Again,” demands Emir.

They trade goals, back and forth. Their cleats are caked in mud; brown and green are the new colors of their clothes. Thunder booms off to the left. Rain turns to mist. Their battle continues without a break. Breathless and red-faced, they keep going.

“You’re cheating!” Emir whines.

“You kicked myshinlast play, Emi,” Sebastian argues. His feet try to keep up with Emir’s and come up short. Emir weaves around him, but Sebastian manages to hook a few fingers in Emir’s hoodie to drag him back.

“Cheater!” yells Emir. His thin fingers coil around Sebastian’s hips, tugging. The ball pops out and rolls away, but they still wrestle for control.

Emir has Sebastian’s nape in a cold hand. Sebastian is sneaking a hand under the hem of Emir’s hoodie when Emir says, “You lost,” with a trembling laugh.

“Did not.”

“You let me win?”

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