Emir shrugs, an apple-red blush blooming through his cheeks. “Yeah, my mom says I need to try harder to socialize,” he says. “And I thought, well, it was time to be around. To try, like Zach said.”
Sebastian nods like a happy stoner. He likes that every moment with Emir is like being on a rollercoaster for the first time, minus the wanting to throw up bit. “Cool,” he says.
Ten feet away, Grey clears her throat.
“Um, my friends,” Sebastian jerks his head to where Grey is waving like a crazed Nick Jonas fan, “would like you to join us.”
Emir pales.
Reality sinks in. Sebastian’s heart does a trip-skip-flatline. “Hey,” he says, fingers catching Emir’s elbow, “It’ll be fine, okay? They’re harmless.”
Emir’s mouth twists skeptically.
“Okay, Mason is a bit much. But Willie and Grey are cool. And—” Sebastian pauses, aware his next few words will be too gooey-pathetic. “I’d love it if you came over.”
10cc is singing about not being in love over the speakers as Emir whispers, “Okay.”
“Okay,” Sebastian repeats. He might be brain-dead. His fingers skim the meat of Emir’s palm. He almost grabs Emir’s hand.
“Thanks,” says Emir. He takes their ice creams from Barb. His eyebrows silently direct Sebastian to lead the way.
Sebastian does, fingers tingling the entire time.
“Shah, you walk amongst the living.” Mason greets them with spread arms and a teasing grin.
Eyes lowered, Emir stands close to Sebastian. Sebastian sneaks a hand behind him and rubs circles into the small of Emir’s back.
Willie eyes them. “Welcome to the pits of hell, Emir.”
Sebastian says, “Better known as the geeks of the team,” as his friends shuffle and squeeze to make space on the bench for them.
“Speak for yourself!” cries Mason. “I’m the top of the food chain around here.”
Grey sighs. “Face it, you’re a bottom-dweller now that you hang with me.”
Mason mocks her, sticking his tongue out. She chucks rainbow sprinkles in his hair. Willie hefts his legs up; the backs of his knees cross Grey’s lap and his Vans rest on Mason’s thighs, while Mason and Grey bicker.
Sebastian considers disowning all of them.
But then Emir says, “Well, I obviously bring the group’s loser level up five points for having better hair than Riley.” Grey nearly spills her ice cream giggling.
Squinting, Mason points his spoon at Emir. He grins. “You can stay. I like you.”
Emir relaxes against Sebastian’s side.
Well, it’s decided then. This isn’t the worst idea Grey’s come up with.
It’s a hard fit, five teens stuffing their faces with ice cream on one bench, but they make it work, mostly. It takes some Cirque du Soleil maneuvers, with Willie spread out in Grey’s lap and Sebastian smooshed in the middle, Emir’s thigh pressed tightly to his, but Sebastian’s not complaining.
He’s overwhelmed with laughter.
It’s Willie’s fault. For a half hour, he’s been telling grand tales of their adventures, each more embarrassing than the last. Sebastian could do without remembering that time he drank too many wine coolers and took a dare to do keepie-uppies naked. But Grey’s face is streaked with fat tears. Mason is choking. Emir is guffawing, his face pressed to Sebastian’s shoulder. Sebastian can deal.
Mason and Willie argue over their respective teams. Willie stalks FC Dallas and Mason has had a man-crush on Beckham since puberty, so things get heated quickly.
“You’re both wrong,” Grey says. “It’s all about Kansas City.”
Willie scoffs at her. “Who made you the authority?”
Grey says, like a badass, “I just am.”
“Shut up,” Mason says, no heat in his voice. He nudges her, and she quickly turns pink. Mason rolls his eyes when he notices.
Sebastian leans on Emir as Willie continues with another story.
“—and then, like Charlie Brown going to kick a football, the douchebag misses a free kick. It was epic.” Willie’s doubled over, wheezing as he talks. “He went flying but the ball didn’t move.”
Sebastian never gets tired hearing about Mason’s first game, especially not the way Willie tells it.
“Didn’t Coach bench you?” Grey asks.
“Twice!” Willie howls. “I don’t know why Coach kept putting him back in.”
Mason says, smugly, “He knew I was an all-star even back then.”
“Or,” Willie drags out the ‘r’ as he elbows Mason’s side, “we had three players out with mono thanks to the lovely Cara Beckman.”
Sebastian and Mason both make a face. Cara Beckman was a junior cheerleader with excessively teased hair and a thing for athletes. She tried flirting with Sebastian a few times, something he found amusing.
It’s sticky-warm. Mason flicks sweaty dark locks out of his eyes. He says, barely annoyed, “Okay, enough of that, William.”
Willie’s face is scandalized. “Uncool, Riley.”
The moon is out. A fistful of stars accompanies it, but there’s hardly enough light for Sebastian to truly enjoy Emir’s face as he laughs. He likes the crow’s feet around Emir’s eyes. Dark stubble makes the pink of his mouth stand out.
“Um, staring,” Emir whispers. His tongue has a dollop of ice cream on it when he sticks it out at Sebastian.
“Sorry.”
Emir says, “I didn’t say I had a problem with it,” and Sebastian sags with—he doesn’t know. He still hasn’t figured it out. They’re friends, from what he can tell, but there’s also more. Possibly. Sebastian wants more.
Sam made the first move on him. Sam told him she was his girlfriend. Sam said, “I love you” first, words she didn’t mean. Sam broke up with him. First by text and then in person. His reference points when it comes to dating are pretty messed up, so he’s not sure how to approach discussing this with Emir.
Now isn’t the time, though. Not with Emir amused at something Willie’s animatedly explaining, laughing at Mason’s jokes, or putting a hand over Grey’s knee. This is Emir, as himself. Sebastian’s scared of ruining that.
He waits for his moment to direct Emir’s attention toward him. It happens when his friends talk college, a conversation Sebastian’s avoiding like bird flu. Sebastian scoops up a spoonful of ice cream and knocks his knee against Emir’s. When Emir looks at him, Sebastian holds out the spoon. Emir smiles slowly.
“Hey,” Sebastian says, softly, as he feeds Emir, “They like you.”
Emir mashes ice cream around with his tongue. “How can you tell?”
“I just can.”
It’s a good enough reason. He scoops more ice cream. Humming and nodding, Emir pops his mouth open. Sebastian has better reasons, like how Mason hasn’t once been unnecessarily snarky with Emir, or how Willie’s yapping like there’s a fire sale on all their top-priority secrets, but he’s enjoying the glow that radiates from Emir.
Acceptance has an amazing effect on people who pretend they don’t need it.
Emir says, “They’re pretty cool.”
“Yeah?”
Emir shrugs, then nods.
“Oh shit, Shah, did you ever hear about the time our boy Hughes was so nervous dancing with this girl that he blew chunks all over her dress, at her birthday party?”
Correction: Sebastian’s friends are the worst.
23
Sebastian is sprawled on his back, in bed, tossing a soccer ball in the air, then catching it. It’s their last Sunday at camp, but he’s been spaced out since dinner. Something about a good meal and a heap of anxiety puts him under. Only a week of camp remains, then school starts in two weeks. Sebastian isn’t ready for camp to end.
He’s not ready to face his future, whatever that looks like.
Th
e window is cracked open. It’s muggy tonight, and the inside of their cabin smells like Willie’s filthy socks. They’re his “lucky” socks, so Sebastian’s making an exception, but they’re rank. He tolerates so much in the name of friendship.
Outside, Willie and Hunter lead a charge toward the lake; their howls are louder than the chirping symphony of crickets and creepy owl hoots.
“No skinny-dipping!” yells Hunter.
“Boo, Hunter, you’re such an asswipe about nudity,” Jack complains.
“Actually,” Hunter says, breathless, “I just don’t want to see your pale, flat ass anymore. I get enough of it in the showers.”
Willie’s laugh is echoed by the others before their voices drift out of earshot.
Their last traditional bonfire night will be Friday, the day before they head home. It’ll be monumental, but it also means Sebastian still has time for camaraderie. It’s why he’s not pressuring himself to drag his ass out of bed and join the cavalry.
He takes deep breaths. Tosses the ball up. Catch and repeat.
Sebastian refuses to call this this sulking, despite humming Bon Iver and Crowded House, the music of the sulk people. It’s introspection. A bit of reflection is good, in doses. Besides, Sebastian figures the longer he does this, the faster he’ll fall asleep. Practices are grueling this close to the end, and he could use the extra rest.
“Son of a—!”
Sebastian’s head snaps toward the window, where Emir is crawling in—and then crashing to the floor.
Emir’s a pile of upside-down, skinny limbs, grumbling “Stupid window, stupid camp” as he rolls to his stomach. He stands and dusts off his shorts. At least Emir’s scowl isn’t directed at Sebastian. This time, he reminds himself.
Emir stops straightening out his jersey with a sheepish smile. “Well, hey.”
Sebastian’s brow rises. “What’s up?” He’s transfixed by Emir’s fluffy hair. The lamp sweeps honeyed light over Emir’s brown skin and softens the tense line of his shoulders. Sebastian turns the soccer ball like a globe between his hands. “Everything okay?”
“You mean besides your window trying to kill me?” Emir waves an arm behind himself. “Yeah, I just…”
When Emir’s voice drifts off, Sebastian squints at the jersey that’s too big for Emir’s slight frame, and then reality smacks him. Emir’s wearing Sebastian’s jersey, the one he keeps hung up in his locker. Nothing has ever been so poorly-fitting and arousing at the same time.
“I borrowed it,” Emir says, one finger hooked in the collar, pulling.
Sebastian resists saying You stole it because his chest is tight, half with pride, the rest with confusing fondness. “Cool.” His mouth turns up happily. “People might talk if they see you in it.”
“I’m used to people talking about me.”
Sebastian snorts. Emir isn’t rejecting the idea of people assuming something’s going on between them. That threatens to make Sebastian get on one knee for more than one reason.
Emir rocks on his heels and pulls on the jersey’s hem. He’s fidgeting like a child who needs to use the bathroom. He looks the way Sebastian feels. “So. Are you busy?”
“Pretty un-busy,” Sebastian says. He drops the ball to make a grand sweep of the room with his arms.
Emir’s eyes are blown black with a hint of gray remaining. He gives Sebastian a loaded look, one of those “we need to talk” expressions.
Sebastian’s chest tightens. Maybe this is it. Maybe Emir isn’t comfortable with how Grey seems to be catching on. Or how Sebastian got a little too bold the other night after ice cream, blatantly ditching his friends to walk Emir back to his cabin.
Is Emir calling it quits on their non-relationship, or whatever this is?
“What is it?”
Emir stares at his hands. His eyes gradually lift. The pinched corners of his mouth relax. He says, “I was thinking about something.” Artificial light dances over his softly dilated eyes.
“Yeah, sure.” Sebastian waits, holding his breath.
Emir stuffs a hand in his pocket. He yanks out something; his white-knuckled fist is closed. He tosses an object on the bed near Sebastian’s hip.
An ache spreads through Sebastian’s belly, but it’s not panic, not when he identifies the object as a condom. He’s on autopilot, trading glances between the crinkled foil and Emir’s eyes. He believed Emir wanted to cut things off, but Emir’s jumpy about approaching the topic of sex with Sebastian. Go figure.
Shyly, Emir says, “So what do you think?”
“Like, right now?”
Emir shrugs, not making a fuss. But it’s a pretty big deal to Sebastian. He’s nearly choking on his own spit.
Emir says, “If you’re interested.”
Sebastian is seventeen, perpetually horny, and this is Emir; of course he’s interested! Voicing that intelligently is a completely different matter, though. He nods and chews hard enough on his lower lip to draw blood. He pats an empty spot on the bed. “Now is good.”
Heat flashes across Emir’s cheeks. It’s the first time Emir has been this shy around him in forever. He squirms, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his shorts, and—Okay, this is happening.
Sebastian’s keyed up. His brain is fried. His fingers wrap around Emir’s wrist and give a small tug until Emir falls forward.
“Whoa.” Emir has his palms flat on either side of Sebastian’s head, half straddling him, and his eyebrows touch Sebastian’s hairline.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” Emir accuses, amused.
“You’re right.”
Sebastian doesn’t know where to put his hands. Great. He’s every bit the virgin Mason teases him about being. A frustrated wrinkle appears between Emir’s eyebrows before he’s inclining until they’re chest to chest, their noses almost touching. Sebastian goes for his hips, a safe bet.
“I can’t stop thinking about you. All the bloody time,” whispers Emir huskily. He gets a hand under the collar of Sebastian’s shirt; his thumb ghosts the curve of Sebastian’s collarbone. “It’s proper annoying.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Both,” Emir rasps. He shivers when Sebastian’s fingers curl into the waistband of his shorts.
“Good.” Sebastian pulls. “I’d hate to think you were losing your touch.”
Something dark and hungry glazes Emir’s eyes. “How did this bloody happen?”
“Not sure.”
Emir’s lips part. Sebastian palms his cheek; the stubble is scratchy and rough against his skin. Emir turns his head enough for Sebastian’s thumb to nudge his lips. His eyes flicker shut.
Sebastian whispers, “Are you mad it did?”
“Yes. No. How the hell am I supposed to know?”
Sebastian has no clue himself. But he figured Emir has more common sense than he does. Maybe they’re both two extremely lost teenagers? Maybe, when they’re older, they still won’t have it all figured out. It’s not something Sebastian needs to dwell on because he’s in bed, with a guy.
This isn’t about reflection. This is scratching an itch. It’s sex, and Sebastian doesn’t need to overthink it.
They kiss. It takes them a moment to find a rhythm between mouths and bodies. Emir’s hand is flat against Sebastian’s chest. Sebastian has fingers in Emir’s hair. Their foreheads thump at a wrong angle. Emir hisses “Ouch,” but then Sebastian attacks his mouth, and they’re good again.
Not perfect, but imperfectly amazing.
Sebastian is wasted on bliss. His legs get caught in his stupid jeans. Emir reclines, biting his lip, and shoves the condom into Sebastian’s open palm.
No turning back.
He gazes into Emir’s glassy eyes, which are bright like stars. Emir’s right. Girls can be handsome and boys—boys like Emir—can be beautiful too.
Sebastian gets his shirt off and goes for Emir’s—nope, his—jersey next, but Emir swats his hands away. “Can I—” Emir pauses, inhaling. “I want to keep it on.”
Sebastian blinks so hard fizzy dots cloud his vision. His fingers release the hem of the jersey; his hands drop onto his belly. Emir’s hunched over; the lamp casts pale light across his features. His breaths come in short bursts. Sebastian nods. “Yeah, that’s—that’s hot.”
Fluttering eyelashes and crooked lips are Emir’s only response.
“I’ve never done this,” says Sebastian. Leaving that out was an option but, if he’s bad at this, he at least owes Emir the truth. “Not with a guy or a girl, so this has major chances of sucking.” Sebastian winces at his own words.
Emir’s eyes are amused.
Perfect, Sebastian is a joke.
Inching closer, Emir says into Sebastian’s mouth, “You won’t.” Before Sebastian can protest, he whispers, “Trust me; it’s not hard to figure out.”
Sebastian’s calmer, something he never imagined after his last admission. But that’s Emir’s fault. He hates Emir Shah for making him this hungry for anyone, ever. He’s going to write a list of all the ways Emir has screwed up his life, starting with this moment.
Sebastian slept through Sex Ed his sophomore year. He tenses trying to figure out the condom. Emir doesn’t comment.
“Ready?”
Emir rolls his eyes like he can’t believe Sebastian. Sebastian doesn’t mind. This is all he’s ever wanted.
* * *
Sebastian is hardcore smiling.
It’s an amazing feat, since he’s breathing so hard he sounds asthmatic. Emir’s laughing into a pillow next to him. Fortunately, considering Sebastian already lacks an ego, Emir isn’t laughing at him. His blush is only an aftereffect of what just happened. The incredible, toe-curling thing that just happened. And, no, he isn’t going to tell anyone he thought that, ever.
Sebastian is sprawled on his back. Emir’s flat on his stomach. Sebastian’s arm is still caught under him, and there’s a searing line of heat where their thighs touch under the sheets. The open window provides minimal circulation without the usual nightly draft. His nose wrinkles at the cabin’s new scent: sweat and an earthy, boyish smell.
Running with Lions Page 19
