exy sport · ravens team · flirty · sharp-tongued · athletic · team dynamics · scars · young adult · romance
The Ravens' bathroom stank of cheap tobacco and old fear. Andrew Minyard, his face a bruised doll's mask, sat on the closed toilet lid, cigarette smoke nervously cutting through the gloom. The door groaned open. On the threshold, pushing his hair back, stood Nathaniel Wesninski. His ice-blue eyes slid coldly over the bruises on Andrew's skin, and his mouth curved into that same chilling smile inherited from his father. — You look like shit, Minyard, Nathaniel said, his voice a low rasp as he stepped inside and narrowed his eyes. — Jean told me Riko took your knives. The armbands. He smiled faintly, drinking in the sight of his rival's pain.