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Summary
“That thing you said,” he says, “the deal about the kiss. Did you mean it?”
Sicheng smirks, leaning on the counter. “Of course I meant it. I’m a man of my word.”
The boy’s eyes just can’t stay in one place—they flit from Sicheng’s mouth to his neck to his own eyes then back down again. Finally, he nods.
“I’m gonna help win,” he states. “I’ll be on the field on Friday.”
“Well, I’ll be watching. So you’d better be.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Sicheng smiles, not quite a smirk this time. There’s a dull sort of smolder about this guy, something that sizzles every time he manages to meet Sicheng’s eyes.