Page 89 of Running With Lions

Sebastian bets she’ll kick Mason in the junk. Hemightlaugh at that. In fact, he’s leaning in favor of it.

O’Brien clears out of the way. Mason moves like he’s playing a practice squad. He’s lazy. He tries to fake her out by going left, then right. “Come get it, Patrick.”

Grey bites her lip, watching him.

“Silly girl,” teases Mason. “This is the big leagues.”

Grey growls, then goes after him.

Mason has sick tricks and amazing footwork. He’s top in the conference for a reason. But Grey counters everything. She’s on him like a cougar chasing its prey. The teamoohswhen Mason can’t get around her, and Mason says, “You’re not that great.”

Grey slides a foot between them, tripping him up. It’s legal, so O’Brien doesn’t call her on it. But Mason’s unprepared.

“No shit,” says Smith, whistling.

Before Mason can react, Grey hooks a foot on the ball and sprints in the opposite direction.

Zach cups his hands around his mouth. “Down goes Riley!”

Sebastian bites his knuckles. Okay, he’s a dick for silently rooting for Grey and not for his best friend, but Sebastian’s a sucker for the underdog. Grey’s making him a believer.

“You little brat!” Mason yells, trailing behind Grey, but it’s too late. He’s beat, and Grey is going, going, gone.

The guys are half-stunned as Grey celebrates. They give her a standing ovation. Leave it to Grey to unify this team again.

Sebastian says, “Grey Patrick is a legend.” Today’s a day for the record books. He mentally dubs itThe Day Mason Riley Had His Ass Handed to Him by Grey Patrick. It’s long, but catchy.

By the time Mason catches her, he’s wheezing. He collapses in the grass, sprawled like a paralyzed starfish. His hair is sweat-flat across his brow; his cheeks are flushed. The clouds circle over Mason, mocking him.

“So that’s what defeat looks like.” Cracking up, Willie elbows Sebastian’s ribs.

Grey saunters up, hands on her hips, towering over Mason. “I’ve watched you play for years, Riley.” Curls slip from her ponytail, framing her cheeks. “I know you better than you know yourself as a player.”

Mason scuffs the grass with his shoe.

“You’re weak on your left side and way too confident.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re amazing, just not perfect.”

On the bleacher below Sebastian, Rollins and Mikey sit a little taller. Not many people have successfully put Mason Riley in his place. By the start of the season, Sebastian bets the freshmen will be wearing T-shirts with Grey’s face on them.

Mason’s slight head-turn reveals a mouth twitching into a smile. He twists, getting his elbows under him for leverage. “So, what time do you want me to pick you up?”

“Never.” Grey ignores his melodramatic collapse on the green. “For years, I’ve let you be a jerkface because I’m younger. And because I’ve got a crush on you.” Her voice hardens. “It sucks to be me sometimes, so I don’t need you to rub my face in it.”

Mason’s sputtering.

Grey lifts her foot and presses it lightly against Mason’s chest. “I don’t want a date, Mason. I just want you to know that I accept that I’m young and I’m a weird girl.” Then, she hovers closer. “Also, you just gotownedbecause I’m young and a weird girl.”

Mason thumps his head against the grass. “Wait, what?”

Grey’s already stepping over him. She scoops up the ball and turns it between her hands. A true badass. After all, Grey just flushed Mason’s reputation down the toilet. Her eyes meet Sebastian’s, and she mouths “Grey freaking Patrick.”

Sebastian’s lips split into a smile.

“That’s it boys, hit the showers! Dinner’s in a few.” Coach’s voice is stern. Grey sidles up to him. Coach hooks a big arm around her small shoulders. He whispers to her, and Grey shakes with laughter as they leave the pitch. The team follows.

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