Or in case he decides to go after Elias again.
“Let’s be quick, before your nipples fall off,” Colten says.
I snort. “That’s not a thing.”
“Aren’t I a flashlight?” he reminds me. “Anything’s possible, so I’m not ruling it out.”
I have to agree with him on that point. Besides, the afternoon sun is starting to dip lower across campus, and the air is getting chillier.
After the second time I shiver, Colten wordlessly hands me his leather jacket. I take it. It’s too small for my shoulders, but I can put it on like a cape, the warmth from his body surrounding me.
I take a deep breath in; the scent of his bergamot shampoo is as wonderful as always. I should steal his shampoo one of these days.
Colten walks beside me, quiet again but not tense anymore.
I bump his shoulder lightly. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“If you start flying, you have to warn me first.”
He rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Patrick.”
I grin because he’s smiling when he says it.
Chapter 3
We claim a quiet corner of the field, the late afternoon sun still warm against our backs. It’s not quite warm enough to be shirtless, but summer is in the air.
The rest of the soccer team is scattered across the grass running drills, and the football guys are practicing further down by the bleachers, their helmets flashing as they knock their heads together. Today is the last day for finals, which means the whole field has this loose, relieved energy, like everyone’s brain collectively unclenched.
Music is playing from someone’s phone while a few people are laughing near the benches. It’s nice, relaxing even.
Colten, of course, has me practicing drills. At least he’s doing it with me.
He taps the ball toward me, and I trap it easily before sending it back.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
We’ve practiced this together so many times that we don’t even really have to look. Our feet just know where the other one is going to send the ball.
The sun catches the loose strands of Colten’s dyed black hair escaping the ponytail. It’s long enough now that when he doesn’t pull it back, it brushes his shoulders.
He should probably cut it. The NCAA might allow longer hair these days, but it’s still looked down on. He might not aspire to go pro anymore, but as long as he’s playing D2 soccer, he has to be careful.
I hope he keeps it long. I like helping him dye it.
“So, what are you doing this summer?” I ask super casually.
He rolls the ball under his foot, thinking. “I’ll probably go home for a bit. My mom’s been asking.”
“Aw, Freeman family reunion,” I say, taking back the ball as he kicks it over. “Going to see your dad, too?”
Colten stiffens, but still easily catches the ball with the inside of his foot, smooth and controlled.
