“Good,” Lourdes says, straightening up. “I thought I missed you or something, but Benny said you were hanging around awhile.”

David frowns. There are several questions he feels he needs to ask, number one being why Lourdes is waiting around for him, but the one that comes out of his mouth is, “Benny?”

“Benson?” Lourdes says. “Freckles? Tiny?”

Benson is maybe an inch shorter than David. David’s scowl deepens. “I know who he is,” he snaps. “What are you doing talking to him?”

“He was on Team USA with me in U18,” Lourdes says. He’s starting to frown as well, which is a good sign; maybe that means he’ll leave and stop bothering David. It’s not even like he has a win to rub in, and David thinks his goal trumps a secondary assist, even if it was just a tap-in. “You know, when we won Gold.”

It’s not exactly something David’s forgotten.

“Why are you here?” David asks, since Lourdes doesn’t seem inclined to actually explain why he’s choosing to harass David when he probably has plenty of better things to do. Maybe no girls sprawled on his lap to celebrate a win, but David’s sure someone would be willing to commiserate. The Panthers have so many losses they would never be able to go out otherwise.

“Why don’t you like me?” Lourdes asks.

“What?” David asks, taken aback.

“That’s why I’m here,” Lourdes says.

“You’re here because I don’t like you?” David asks incredulously.

“I’m here because I want to know why you don’t like me,” Lourdes says.

“Are you serious right now?” David asks, and Lourdes gives him a look that makes it clear that he is indeed serious about going around asking people why they don’t like him.

David immediately has a half-dozen responses on his tongue, but he holds back, weighs them, and they stick in his throat.

Each one would sound petty if he said it aloud, would make David sound like he’s obsessing over Lourdes’ game, which he isn’t, and bitter that he isn’t as good, but he is as good, and calling Lourdes dirty would just make him sound like a whiner.

There’s nothing he can say, and David hates him even more for that, for making David feel like he’s being mean when he knows he isn’t. Something about Lourdes just pisses him off, puts his teeth on edge. David hates him, and he can’t say why, and he needs a reason. He needs a reason he can say, needs to find one that’s faultless, so he steps forward, chin up so he can look Lourdes straight in the eye. Lourdes is looking back, a little confused, barely a reaction at all.

And David will change that, he can change that. He takes Lourdes by his stupid salmon coloured tie, the fabric slick silk under his fingers, leans up to press his mouth against Lourdes’ slack lips, which are bitten pink like always, something David’s noticed every time he’s seen him, even when he’s tried not to.