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He imagines crying babies, Mr. Drake’s boring history class,anythingto stop images of Emir, neck kisses, and their bodies tangled. He’s seriously frying brain cells. Emir isn’t helping one bit by complaining, “You aren’t going away, are you?” in a husky voice.

“I mean…” Sebastian’s sweating. His fingers are curled in Emir’s sheets. “It’s not as if youaskedfor my help, so, whatever. I can ditch, if you want.” He didn’t mean it as a desperate question, but it comes out that way. His embarrassment is at nuclear levels.

Emir sighs. “No, it’s okay.” He rolls over behind Sebastian and pushes up on his elbows. Sluggishly, Emir crawls from under the blankets. He plops down next to Sebastian. The frustrated line between his eyebrows is replaced by a sleepy smile, and he shoves Sebastian’s shoulder when he stands. “I really hate you.”

“Well, thank baby Jesus, the feeling’s mutual!” Sebastian teases. Then, seriously, he says, “Do you?”

“Nope,” Emir says around a yawn, standing on his tiptoes with his hands stretched toward the ceiling. “But you’re annoying in the morning.”

Sebastian can take that. But his brain only accepts Emir’s attitude because his eyes are busy darting over Emir’s body. In just a pair of briefs and socks, Emir’s sepia skin pales to gold under the sunlight. He’s on the skinny side, but small muscles are defined everywhere. It doesn’t help that his hair sticks up in a tall fluff. And then there are his narrow hips, angles hiding behind the waistband of his underwear, the material stretched—

“Um.”

Sebastian snaps his head up.

Emir’s headshake is followed by laughter. He says, “Hey, it’s cool. Don’t you ever get morning wood?”

If there was a blurb in the biography of Sebastian’s life, those last two words would be bolded and italicized. He clears his throat, then shrugs, playing it smooth. He focuses on the nearby wall, studying its matte-finished, golden wood—

Christ, his mind is seriously screwed up, and the wall is no longer a good distraction.

“Dude.” Emir punches Sebastian’s arm. “It’s a guy thing, I get it. You’re just sizing up the competition, right?” At the mahogany dresser in the corner, he pulls out clothes. In a mildly deprecating voice, he says, “I’m not that impressive.”

In what alternate universe?All the gold hexagons the sun creates over Emir’s skin accentuate his amazing features. His messy hair is an inky spiral. And just when Sebastian can get past Emir’s appeal because he’s been an uncalled-for asshole, Emir turns his head, and his blinking, pale gray eyes attack Sebastian.

It’s an unfair use of good genes.

“Bastian?”

Sebastian raises his hand like at roll call during homeroom.

“What time is it?”

Sebastian pulls out his phone. “A little after seven.”

“What the bloody hell,” Emir whines while pulling on a hoodie.

Obviously, Sebastian’s ears burn with love at Emir’s British accent coiled around his name. It’s all downhill from here. By the time he stops spacing out and drooling, Emir is at the door, fully dressed, scowl included.

“You coming?”

Sebastian scolds his brain for thinkingnot yet.

Emir taps his foot. He’s gone from sleepy morning nymph to raging demon in five minutes flat. “Let’s get this over with.”

Sebastian couldn’t agree more. Then he can run to his cabin, put a sock on the door, and pray Willie has an extra-long breakfast.

13

Sebastian is ready to takeon giants.

Their run through Oakville was uneventful. Sebastian spent most of it shuffling through playlists. Emir kept pace while panting like an asthmatic dog. Sebastian was running at half-speed, but he’ll credit Emir for his efforts. It was an equally brutal and amusing sight.

And now a very determined monster is staring him down from halfway up the field, complaining, “This is pointless!” like a disgruntled Godzilla.

“Emir,” Sebastian says while Emir stares resolutely at the ball in front of him, “I’m not letting you give up, okay?”

“No,” Emir says, as peevish as ever. “It’s stupid.”