I fall back onto the grass, defeated.
“Is that how that trick's supposed to go?” Nico asks. Some of the other guys that my tricks drew in just laugh at me. Rude.
I lie there, face in the dirt and my dignity gone.
Then Colten is suddenly there, right above me like an angel from heaven.
“Patrick, what’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling beside me.
“You were glowing,” I say, unable to help the accusatory tone in my voice.
He goes red immediately. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, I am worried about it,” I say, more snappish than I mean to be.
He sighs. “Patrick—”
I grab his hand, standing up fast enough I feel a slight head rush, but ignore it.
Looking around, there are way too many people on the field. Too many witnesses. My gaze locks on the equipment shed at the edge of the field, where no one else is.
“Come with me,” I say, not giving him a choice as I drag him off the field toward the equipment shed.
Colten sighs again, but he dutifully lets me drag him.
“Later!” Nico calls out. I ignore him.
We round the shed and step into the shadow behind it. It’s out of sight from the rest of the field. The metal wall blocks most of the noise from the party, leaving only the distant thud of a ball and the muffled hum of music.
No one will interrupt us here.
I stop, and Colten nearly walks into me. For a second, we just stand there, breathing a little hard.
Colten lets out a long, tired sigh before looking me over. “How does your head feel?”
“My what?” I blink at him.
What about my head? It does feel a bit strange, now that he mentions it. Almost like I’m swimming underwater, but it doesn’t hurt, so it’s fine.
“You just got hit in the head,” he says flatly. “Remember? While attempting whatever that trick was supposed to be. Don’t tell me you actually got a concussion.”
Oh, right. The scorpion kick. I had, in fact, forgotten about that.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, which is true enough.
Colten narrows his eyes. “Stay still.”
Before I can protest, he reaches up, fingers brushing through my hair. I freeze, unable to move as he picks pieces of grass off my head.
“Did you black out?” he asks.
“No.”
“Blurred vision?”
“No.”
He hums, his sharp gaze turning to my eyes, staring intensely. “Your pupils look even, if a bit dilated.”
