With You

04. Like a Mosquito

The next day, I found Rowan waiting for me at the edge of the field after practice.

I was sore and sweaty, my legs aching with every movement, and my shirt stuck to my back. My hair stuck to my brow and I ran a hand through the knots, forcing the curls out of my eyes, only for them to flop back onto my forehead in a matted mess.

I limped towards the bench we'd dumped our stuff on, the gaggle of soccer players laughing a few feet ahead of me. Before the team could talk to me – or more likely, ignore me – I grabbed my duffel bag, not bothering to switch my shoes or tug a hoodie on.

I walked straight up to Rowan, folding my arms over my chest and scowling at him.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, not bothering with any niceties. "I said we aren't going to meet up. I was – you misunderstood what I said yesterday."

Rowan raised a brow at me. He had a book tucked under his arm and a satchel slinging off his opposite shoulder.

"Who said I was waiting for you?"

I warmed.

Right.

Obviously.

"Sorry for wasting your time then," I muttered, hiking my duffel higher and turning to leave. Rowan stopped me with a snort and a lifted brow.

"I'm kidding, Bash. I was waiting for you."

I cut him a glare. "Don't call me Bash."

"Well, you never clarified what you wanted me to call you. 'Bastian."

He made me want to tear my hair out. I groaned, my grip tightening around the strap of my bag – a better alternative to throttling Rowan's throat.

"I – ugh. Sebastian is fine. Seb."

"Seb," he echoed, quirking his lips. "I'm Rowan. Though, you already knew that, didn't you? Been stalking me and everything."

"You're the one waiting for me at eight in the morning," I pointed out. "Don't you have better things to do? Places to be?"

He tilted his head and pouted sarcastically. "Oh, but it's so fun to see you embarrass yourself in front of the entire team."

I rolled my eyes. He wasn't wrong. I'd played horribly, yet again. Too many overshot balls. Too many bad touches. Bad footwork.

Flora had helped me yesterday. I'd improved my striking. Except today we had worked a lot on dribbling and defence, and I realised how much I'd let myself slip. I had become so focused on getting the ball past Amar, I hadn't thought of anything else. And today, it really showed.

"So, I heard you've got a match this weekend," Rowan said.

I narrowed my eyes at him, nodding. I had a match every weekend – practice matches, tournaments, and everything in between. Pyrus was a soccer school, so everyone knew about them. Everyone attended.

What was he getting at?

He grinned – slyly, like a panther. "When were you going to invite me? At our Friday hangout?"

"There is no Friday hangout," I replied. "And I wasn't going to invite you. It's an open practice match. You don't need a personal invite. Did you want a red carpet too? A limousine to your door?"

He lifted a brow. "Didn't realise that was an option. I'll take both. Prefer my wine white, thanks."

"You're so annoying," I said.

He smiled condescendingly, his eyes moving over my shoulder. "Oh, hello. Did you need Seb here for something?"

I spun to find Flora waiting behind me, a textbook clutched to her chest and red on her cheeks. Her hair was messy today, strewn all over the place from the wind, though I wasn't one to talk. Half my curls had pressed against my sweaty forehead while the other half had turned to frizzy waves.