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“Just drop it.” Sebastian’s face is hot, his shoulders are way too tense, and he hasn’t had time to process the last ten minutes. Explaining any of that to Mason is an unnecessary task.

“But he hates us.”

“You,” Hunter corrects, biting into his ham sandwich. “He hatesyou, Riley.”

“Whatever.” Mason rolls his eyes.

Sebastian’s hands shake, and a crackling fire licks at his chest. He’s not a violent person, but hell, he wants to punch something or someone. Also, he wants to ask Mason if he’d ever let Emirsitwith them? If, outside of camp, Mason would have a civilized conversation with Emir the same way he talks to all those assholes at their school who pretend to be his friend? But he can’t, because Mason has been a good friend. Along with Willie, he filled that gap in Sebastian’s life where Emir used to be. For that, Sebastian’s grateful.

“So, you guys aren’t friends?” Willie inquires, confused.

“No,” Sebastian says, but the lie sticks to his throat. “I don’t know. Let’s just talk about something else.” His hairline is sweaty; his stomach gnaws its way into his chest.

After a silent conversation with their eyes, Willie and Mason shrug. Mason goes on about Coach’s plans for their first game. Willie complains about the heat. Sebastian can deal with his nauseated stomach as long as he doesn’t have to talk about Emir.

He steals glances at Emir’s empty corner.

The topic turns to the pro leagues. Grey says, “I think—”

But Mason clears his throat, “Show of hands for who doesn’t care what The Brat thinks?”

Of course, Mason is the only one with a hand up, but it’s enough to awaken a little hurt in Grey’s eyes. She lowers her chin.

Sebastian slips an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry about it,” he whispers. He wants to tell her that Mason’s an asshole with a good heart, that his only example for treating someone he might care for was his father, the deadbeat bastard who ditched his mom while she was pregnant with Mason’s youngest sister, but that’s not his baggage to unpack.

Pride overruns Sebastian when Grey smiles with her eyes. Maybe he’s not so bad at this friendship thing.

15

Rain plinks steadily on thecabin’s roof while thunder rumbles in the distance. Fat, heavy, gray clouds sit in the sky like a fleet of battleships making port. A storm is approaching. This early, the rain’s as cold as it is annoying.

Sebastian shakes out his hair; his Bloomington hoodie does little to keep the rain off his head.Why didn’t I just sleep in?This is lazy, beneath-the-covers weather. Now he’s ruined his own day by fighting for ten minutes to drag Emir from under his blankets.

“You’re bloody insane!”

“Are you gonna get up now?”

Sebastian’s smart enough to know that if anyone saw them right now, with Sebastian straddling Emir’s hips, Emir’s wrists pinned to the bed by one of Sebastian’s hands, and Emir’s legs kicking wildly as he tries to squirm away, it would appear pretty suspicious. But the moment “You look like a wet, pathetic dog,” popped out of Emir’s mouth, it was on.

“I hate you!” Emir says through laughter, freeing an arm.

Sebastian’s quick reflexes keep Emir from punching him in the chin. Emir is freakishly strong for someone so skinny. “I’ve heard that before,” he tells Emir, locking his wrists above his head.

“Bastard!”

Sebastian coos at Emir almost adorably. He will never be adorable, though. Not ever. He is ruthless and cunning and a Bloomington Lion!

A very clumsy, preoccupied lion who notices three seconds too late that Emir has wretched an arm free and is tickling Sebastian’s ribs. It’s all over in a yelp as limbs smack against the ground. Sebastian gets an upside-down view of Emir’s smug grin as he peeks over the edge of his bed. He’s going to kill Emir, or at least mangle his stupid face, once he figures out if it’s medically appropriate for his ear to be kissing his knee.

“Jerk,” Sebastian grumbles, twisting until he’s certain he hasn’t broken something. He stands and dusts himself off. Emir shrugs with a bashful smile, as if he didn’t mean to nearly paralyze Sebastian.

Sebastian accepts the half-assed apology.

“It’s raining,” Emir complains when Sebastian insists they practice. It’s hard to take Emir seriously with his hair standing up at absurd heights.

“Rain or shine, the team plays.”

Emir falls back on the bed; his face is covered by a pillow. Sebastian can’t make out everything he’s saying, but he’s heard quite a few of the words used in Judd Apatow movies. He waits, impressed by how long Emir shouts into his pillow. The wet cold makes Sebastian desperately crave his bed.