𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓+𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐒 ✭ 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍

₮ℯη

Phil threw his hands up in the air forcing out a laugh in order to keep his temper. "We talked! We're getting there. Jesus Christ."

Felix grinned, pulling his shirt over his body yelling over sound of water spirting out of the shower heads; screaming boys in the locker rooms was a challenge in itself. "How'd I know this one would be too hard for you? I mean a week passed and you still don't have his number—"

Phil stands up from the wooden bench. "You think I won't be able to do this?" He sneered his eyes, screwing a smug grin to his lips.

Felix rocked on his heels, cocking his jaw. "I'll up the anti—£300 you will not win."

Frustrated, Phil presses his lips together feeling the fire build up inside him. "£500 I will be able to get him."

Felix leaned back nodding his head. "Alright. Deal," in one swift gesture he puckered his mouth and spit directly into his hand sticking it out for Phil to grab.

Following his actions, Phil grabbed a tight hold of Felix's palm clasping his other hand on his shoulder as they concealed their handshake.