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“Christ,” he hisses, mopping at the sweat on his brow with his T-shirt. He shoves the shirt into the back pocket of his jeans. He’d walk around in just his damn boxer-briefs if he dared, but he’s self-conscious just being shirtless. Lately, familiar words keep looping in his head:Bastian the Trashcan. After months of skipping his workout routine, he’s not rocking a Hollister model’s body. His confidence is shot. The bags of cheese puffs while streaming Netflix didn’t help either.

He glares at his stomach’s post-dinner pudge. “You’ll get it back, eventually,” he says with a sigh. Muscles straining against the load of bricks-heavy bag of equipment, he starts his walk again.

“Want help with that?” Grey asks. The black sports car she leans against is sleek. Sebastian can’t identify the make and model, but the paint is glossy, so it must be new.

“Looks like you’ve got enough to carry.” Sebastian grins, nodding his head toward the bags at Grey’s feet.

“Possibly,” she says, smiling. “Maybe you can help me?”

Sebastian pokes his lips out. “Now Grey, you haven’t turned into a spoiled rich girl who expects big, strong guys like me to rescue you, have you?”

Grey rolls her eyes. Besides the team, Grey is all Coach has, so maybe she’s a tiny bit spoiled. But Grey is too cool and goofy to adopt a diva attitude.

She points at the car and says, “It was a sweet sixteen gift from Coach.” She never calls him Dad. Sebastian isn’t sure if it’s because Coach married her mom when Grey was old enough to know the truth or because she’s stuck in a sports headspace all the time. “I told him not to.”

Sebastian whistles, impressed. “Too flashy?”

“Too girly.” She sticks her tongue out. “I wanted a muscle car.”

Sebastian snorts.Welcome back, twelve-year-old Grey!

“Coach is trying to bribe me into joining the girls’ soccer team,” she says dryly, blowing upward to get the curls out of her face. They fall right back. “I’m not interested, though.”

“Why not?”

“Justbecause,” she whines, pouting. At least that hasn’t changed either. She digs the toes of her Chuck Taylors in the dirt. She asks, cheeks crimson, “So, um, how’s Mace doing?” Curls curtain her face as she stares at her shoes.

“Still hung up on that crush?”

“Nope.”

Sebastian doesn’t believe her, but whatever. He gets it. He hasn’t crushed on anyone since he was like, eleven? He met Sam at a party, they exchanged numbers and made out at a movie, and that was it. The unrequited infatuation phase never happened.

“Look at you!” He adjusts the balance of equipment on his shoulders. “He has you lovesick right now, doesn’t he?”

“Shut the hell up, I don’t like—” She pauses, more abashed than angry. Her eyes meet Sebastian’s, and he levels her with his best disbelieving stare. “Mace is just a good guy, okay?” she says. “Awesome player. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s it.”

Sebastian expects her to stomp her foot. When she doesn’t, he considers her a little more carefully. “He treats you like garbage, Gee.”

Her shoulders slump. “Not all of the time.”

It’s a weak effort, but Sebastian empathizes. Sam wasn’t the best at feeding his own superhero confidence.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Then ask him out already.”

Grey freezes, tension gripping her mouth. In a hushed voice, she pleads, “I can’t. You know how Coach is about anyone trying to date me. He’d kick Mace off the team.”

Yeah, that would suck. Being in love sucks, actually! How does anyone do it?

“Plus,” Grey sighs, tucking curls behind her ear, “Mace wouldn’t be interested, anyway.” She’s trying to smile through the words, but all the cracks in her usually hardcore armor are visible.

Sebastian says, “You’re Grace-freaking-Patrick, dude. I’ve never seen you back down from a fight.” He once witnessed Grey get in the face of a defenseman twice her size for an illegal tackle against Mason. She didn’t blink when he growled at her. “Work it out, okay?”

Grey beams as if Sebastian’s a victorious gladiator. Any time she smiles, he’s as overwhelmed as if he’s just slain Godzilla.