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Grumbling, the team powers through their meals.

At Emir’s table, Hunter sits alone, frowning. Sebastian can barely react when Mason whispers, “Total waste of time,” in a voice oddly similar to the one in Sebastian’s head.

14

Sebastian is in an epicallysweet mood the next morning, despite aching like a tackle dummy after a college football practice. Last night, he raided the Hot Box for a spare ball, sandbags, and a few cones to spend hours running drills until his legs gave out on him. He needed the distraction, and now his body is paying for it.

“You’re dead to me,” he mumbles to his cell as the alarm chirps. It’s mocking him, so he stuffs it under his pillow, hoping it suffocates. He considers sleeping in. The vicious orange sun is bursting through the window, and Sebastian just can’t do it.

“Stupid sun and routines andlife,” he says, hopping out of bed. He shivers—the floor is subzero this early—and dances around the room to find socks. He finds them on Willie’s side of the cabin.

Then it hits him: No one is snoring or making out with a pillow or sleep-talking.

Willie’s untouched bed indicates he crashed at Hunter’s. And then, another epiphany smacks Sebastian: Hunter is crushing on Willie. That would explain his I-will-destroy-you death stare when Mason implied liking Willie in a sexual way, as well as why he’s so clingy.

Mason and Willie would make a horrible couple.

Hunter hasn’t shown any interest in anyone. He’s always been single, and never talked about a girl or a guy he might have a thing for. Sebastian figured it was because Hunter’s parents were hardcore religious and constantly on him about his studies. But maybe it’s because he’s not quite comfortable in his sexuality?

Sebastian taps his chin. He shouldn’t be so worried about his friends’ love lives when his own is screwed up. “Whatever,” he says with a sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. Hunter’s a cool guy and Willie’s earned “little brother” status in Sebastian’s book. He can only hope for the best.

But for right now, Sebastian has an entire cabin to himself.

What to do?

He’s a teenager, so his options are always sleep, food, or sex. Sebastian’s leaning toward the last option, but he has one mission on his mind:Emir Shah.

The moment doesn’t totally go to waste, though. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers, socks pulled up to his shins, and a pair of Willie’s cheap sunglasses. Sebastian skids across the hardwood floor to “Old Time Rock and Roll” blaring off his cell, à laRisky Business, like a big kid.

Later, after he finds his sneakers under his bed and a pair of running shorts, he stands in the doorway of his cabin. The leaves are bright green; streams of sunshine break through the gaps. Morning breeze shakes the tree limbs. Sebastian has a clear view of Emir’s cabin at the end of a row. He’s stalling. Sebastian wants yesterday to be a blur, a bad dream, but it’s not. It’s vivid, in color, and it haunts him like a bad trip.

I kissed Emir.

He can’t forget the little things about Emir: his wide, clouded eyes, his stunned breathing, his tongue brushing his lips. Sebastian’s head is filled with happy Taylor Swift pop love songs instead of kickass rock anthems, songs that do not evoke magically falling in love.

It’s not a big deal. He rubs his temples. Emir’s just a guy.

He is sonotjust a guy. He’s Emir Shah, one-time best friend of Sebastian Hughes. Angry, gray-eyed, wickedly handsome when he scowls—

Sebastian groans. “Oh, what the…” He’s doomed.

Marching to Emir’s cabin with his hands stuffed in his pockets, Sebastian decides that if he doesn’t bring up the kiss, then it never happened. What he can’t decide is if hewantsto forget it ever happened. But before he can work out how he’ll get over that part, he spots a Post-It stuck to Emir’s window:“Sleeping! Don’t wake me! —Em.”

Sebastian glares. He rips it off, crumples it, and tosses it to the ground. Fine, whatever.He doesn’t have a single cell in his body that gives a shit if Emir improves or not. Emir’s frustrating. And he’s making Sebastian miserable.

“Asshole.” Sebastian jogs toward the hiking trails. He doesn’t need Emir to have a good run. He’ll just slow Sebastian down, anyway.

Sebastian stops a few feet from the trail. In a cloud of blue smoke, Emir paces a lazy circle. He’s wearing shorts, his BHS sweatshirt, and a beanie pulled close to his eyes. His long, thin fingers idly hold a cigarette with a mound of ash at the end as if he’s forgotten about it.

A knot of confusion spreads from Sebastian’s chest to his limbs, like an infection. He clears his throat. Emir stops cold when Sebastian says, “What are you…?” but the rest of the question never makes it out of his mouth.

“Morning,” Emir says, voice rough with fatigue and smoke.

Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest. He’s trying hard not to lose his mind over how soft and pink Emir’s mouth is when it curls around the end of his cigarette.

Jesus, I need professional help.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Emir drops his cigarette and grinds it out. “I blameyoufor that.”