Follow the River (River of Rain Book 1) Page 15

  Thankfully, River took the one diagonal from mine, so he’s as far away from me as possible without sleeping outside.

  I start opening the different bins I brought with me, setting the first on my desk, and begin pulling out the supplies I need to start painting. I want to start setting up my makeshift art studio as quickly as I can, needing the small slice of freedom from my thoughts and tormentor already.

  “What are the crates for? Decided to move in?” River asks from the doorway not even a minute later.

  Why didn’t I think to shut and lock the fucking door?

  Rolling my eyes, I slam the lid back on the one I was digging through and spin around to give him a mocking smile. “No, they’re to hide all the pieces of your dismembered body when I end up killing you before these next five weeks are over.”

  His brows furrow, glancing at the five or so crates, stacked in the corner, not knowing they are filled with paint, canvas, and pads of paper, then at the one on the desk in front of me. “Okay, but we’re in the middle of the mountains with literally no one around. Why wouldn’t you just toss me out back for a mountain lion or something?”

  Jesus Christ, leave it to River to think of a better way to dispose of his own dead body.

  I shake my head. “I fucking can’t with you right now.”

  “You never can with me, Rain, so—”

  I round on him in an instant, pressing him into the doorframe with my forearm on his throat. “For what might be the thousandth time, don’t call me that,” I snap. “In fact, don’t call me anything.”

  “Kinda hard when we’re stuck out here for over a month,” he gasps.

  I crush my forearm against his trachea more. “No, see Lenny, this is how shit is going to go while we’re here. I’m going to stay in this room and when I’m not, you’re going to be in whatever place I’m not.” I lean in, my face inches from his and growl out the rest of my demands. “We are not going to talk. We are not going to interact. We aren’t even going to breathe the same fucking air. This will be the last time you set foot in this room, the last time you see me, the last time you bother me with the annoyance of your presence for the next five fucking weeks. Are we understood?”

  River licks his lip, drawing my eyes down to them. And of course, he notices and smirks.

  “Whatever you want. Just know these little rules aren’t going to last long or you’ll go fucking mad.” His hand wraps around my forearm, ripping it from his neck. “And honestly, baby? I think it’s cute how you think your cock won’t end up in my mouth again before this little vacation is over.”

  My jaw ticks and goddamn it, it’s been ten minutes since Coach left and I’m already itching to make good on my threat to murder and dismember the asshole.

  But I don’t let his taunts gain the hold he wants.

  No, instead I get in his face and shove him hard out the threshold of my room, slamming the door shut and locking it for what might be the next five weeks.

  I awake with a jolt to the sound of shouting.

  Confused and disorientated, I snap up to a sitting position and try to rub the sleep out of my eyes. It takes me a moment to realize I’m not in my apartment, but in the cabin Coach brought me and Grady up to yesterday afternoon.

  Grady.

  He’s probably watching some horror or action movie in the living room at full volume just to piss me off.

  Glancing over at the alarm clock on the nightstand, it tells me it's barely past two in the morning. Jesus, we haven’t even been here twenty-four full hours and he is already trying to do his best to make me fucking miserable.

  With a groan, I roll off the bed and pad my way across the room, my feet hitting the freezing wood floors.

  Shit, he’s awake and can’t even throw logs on the fire or in the wood stove?

  Asshole.

  Throwing on grey sweats, my Colorado Football hoodie, and a pair of socks, I slip out my door and head down the hall to the living room, ready to rip him a new asshole. Except, when I pass through the opening into the living area, I’m surprised to find it dark and empty.

  Huh. Weird.

  I know there aren’t any televisions in the bedrooms, since Taylor and I have come up here in high school for long weekends when we wanted to go snowboarding.

  So what the hell was that sound?

  I brush it off, heading over to the fireplace to grab some logs and throw into the wood stove in the corner of the room. Maybe it was my subconscious shouting about how fucking freezing it is in here, even by the standards of a Colorado native.

  Once the stove is burning nice and hot, I grab a blanket off the back of the couch and settle in to watch a movie. The cabin isn’t freezing per se, but between that and whatever startled me awake, I’m not tired anymore.

  Flipping through Netflix, I settle on the new movie about Ted Bundy because why the hell not? I love horror, suspense, and thrillers, but my guilty pleasure is anything true crime. It’s not like I decided to watch The Wrong Turn or Cabin In The Woods when I’m stranded at a cabin in the mountains with no way to leave.

  I’m not a fucking masochist.

  And if I’m going to be stuck here, at least it is with a sexy as sin asshole who hates my guts in an attempt to “work out our shit.”

  Yeah, that was sarcasm.

  Except, Rain is fucking sexy. Dark hair, amber eyes, and some truly phenomenal ink covering the tanned skin of his arms. I still remember the taste and feel when I ran my tongue across the tattoo running down the right side of his V.

  Okay, maybe I am a masochist.

  I sigh in frustration.

  I don’t know how the hell Coach thinks this will work.

  Sure, I know he had success with this tactic in the past, before I came to CU. Hell, he’s even threatened to send the twins out here because they are constantly at each other’s throats for no fucking reason. For sharing the exact same DNA, they are completely different, and I think that is most of the issue in itself. But at the end of the day, they’re brothers. Twins, for fuck’s sake. They have an undeniable bond with each other, and I tend to agree that them spending time out here to work their shit out would be helpful.

  Ciaráin Grady and I are a completely different story.

  We don’t have a bond so strong it can withstand anything. We barely know each other, and what we do know, we don’t fucking like.

  I hate his arrogance, like he is above me because I’m bisexual. I hate how he has to antagonize and torment me about anything and everything. I hate how he refuses to grow up and just accept that, yes, not everyone in the entire world is straight.

  But I also hate how stupidly turned on he makes me when we face off against each other. How his muscles flex when he lifts weights in the gym. How we somehow have this unspeakable connection on the football field, like his hands are a beacon for my arm to throw to.

  Most of all, I hate how, if things were different, I wouldn’t hate him at all.

  Even now, I don’t know if I actually do.

  I shake the thoughts I don’t want to hear from my mind, focusing back onto the movie in front of me, or maybe on being able to fall back asleep now that I’m not as frozen as a popsicle.

  I’m around an hour into the movie, at the part where Zac Efron, who plays Bundy, starts his trial in the state of Florida when an ear splitting scream comes from down the hall, causing me to jump.

  Scrambling to my feet, I rush down the hall to Rain’s room, where I hear him shouting on the other side of the door.

  “No, stop!” he yells, despair evident in his voice.

  Fuck, is someone in there with him?

  I grip the doorknob and twist, but it’s locked.

  “Rain!” I call, pounding on the door as loud as I can, as if he could come unlock it if someone is in there with him.

  Panic rises as I continue to listen helplessly to his shouts, which quickly turns to pleading.

  “Please. Please don’t do this,” Rain sobs, and the sound fucking rips my h
eart to shreds. “I’ll be good.”

  Wait. What?

  That doesn’t make sense to say to someone who is coming in to, what, kidnap him? Kill him?

  Is he… dreaming?

  My brows furrow, but I continue smashing my fists into the door, willing it to open. Of course, it fucking doesn’t.

  “Rain, it’s River. Are you okay? Fucking talk to me!” I keep slamming my fists and yell his name, desperate for a coherent response from him.

  Suddenly, the shouting stops and I hear the tell tale sign of feet moving across the floor just as the door flies open to reveal Rain.

  He’s drenched in sweat, covering his exposed chest and abs, even coating his dark hair to his forehead. My gaze slides down to find him wearing only boxer briefs, and my eyebrows shoot to my forehead when I notice his impressive erection tenting them.

  What the…?

  “What, River?” he snaps in irritation, forcing my eyes up to meet his. They’re dark and angry, but I also see something new and unfamiliar behind them.

  Fear, maybe?

  “Did you really wake me up just to fucking gawk at me half naked? Because I swear to God, if you keep fucking looking at my cock like that, I’m going to make good use of it and shove it down your throat. Again.”

  I clench my jaw, doing my best to keep my temper under control.

  But for fuck’s sake, he was shouting and screaming and sobbing in his sleep moments ago. Sue me for giving a shit.

  “I heard yelling,” I state calmly. “I was checking to see if you were okay. When you didn’t respond…” I trail off when I see his dark brow quirk up in amusement.

  Fuck him, he doesn’t deserve my worry.

  “What, you were concerned for my well-being?” he scoffs. “Tell me something I’ll actually believe. Because the idea of either one of us actually giving a flying fuck about the other is more farfetched than flying pigs on Mars.”

  I do my best not to wince at his words. We might be enemies, but I’m not so demented that I wouldn’t care if something bad happened to him. Still, he must catch my flinch, because he lets out a low, unamused laugh and shakes his head.

  “I’m fine, River. Go back to fucking sleep,” he says with a growl before slamming the door in my face for the second time today.

  I’m lounging on the couch in the living room, a paperback in hand when Rain comes barreling down the hall in a blur.

  He made himself scarce after the first day we got here, not leaving his room unless it was to take a piss or grab something to eat from what I can tell. Who fucking knows what he is doing in his room alone for twenty hours a day other than doing his best to avoid me?

  I can’t say I blame him. I want to be stuck here with him for a month as much as he wants to be here with me.

  Not at all.

  “Where’s the fire?” I laugh in an attempt to defuse any tension when he almost trips on his own damn feet.

  We haven’t spoken a word to each other since the first night, when he woke me with his shouts and screams from what I’m assuming is a nightmare.

  He’s had them every night since we got here.

  I know, because for the past couple days, I’m startled awake in the dead of night to the sound of him battling whatever haunts his dreams. And every night I grab a blanket and pad over to his room, sliding down the wall to sit and wait. Listening to make sure he’s okay. Waiting until he manages to evade his demons and slip back into what, I hope, is a more peaceful slumber.

  The lack of sleep on my end is a bitch, but at least I know nothing is hurting him.

  Physically, that is.

  “There isn’t one, that’s the fucking problem,” he grumbles in a huff as he storms over to the fireplace. He begins building a fire, the muscles of his back and arms taunting me as they flex under the fitted long sleeve shirt he’s wearing.

  Why couldn’t the bastard be less attractive?

  The saying might go all good guys are either gay or married, but they forget to mention the sexiest ones are always homophobic assholes.

  Case in point? Ciaráin fucking Grady.

  “Need a hand?” I offer, dog-earring my worn copy of Orwell’s 1984.

  “I’ve got it,” he grunts as he strikes a couple matches, tossing them into the pile of logs and newspapers. Soon, the fire is roaring to life, giving the living room a little more heat.

  He unfortunately discovered the first night that this cabin, while stunning and on a gorgeous, secluded plot of land, doesn’t have electric heating like all the resorts and homes down in the town of Vail.

  Rain grabs a blanket from the basket beside the recliner adjacent to the couch I’m laying on and wraps it around himself before sitting on the floor directly in front of the fire.

  “Jesus Christ, how do you people survive these kinds of winter? My hands are fucking freezing.”

  “Feel free to put them down my pants.”

  The words tumble out of my mouth before I have the chance to think twice. It’s a crude comment, one I’d make with any friend and it would almost always be laughed off.

  Except this is Rain.

  And by the way his spine just snapped to attention, I’m about to regret my lack of filter.

  “The fuck did you say to me, Lennox?”

  In all honesty, there are two ways I can play this. One would be to apologize, say I didn’t mean anything by it.

  On the other hand…

  “I mean you’d get your hands warm and I’d get some action in the process. Sounds like a win-win to me, Grady.”

  Goddamn it, River. Why do you have to antagonize him at every available opportunity?

  But I know why. As strange as it is, fighting with him is my favorite kind of foreplay. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get me a little hot and hard.

  Rain shoots up from the floor and is instantly hovering over me, both hands plastered to the back of the sofa on either side of my head. His face is so fucking close I can smell the mint of his toothpaste on his breath. I have the urge to close the space between us and taste his mouth.

  Attraction is a strange thing, and the kind I have for him is dangerous.

  Makes-me-stupid-and-reckless kind of dangerous.

  Ruin-my-life kind of dangerous.

  “Why, River? Why do you have to egg me on when you know it will blow up in your fucking face every time?”

  I grin. “You make it so easy. Like right now? There are so many things I could do with that ‘blow’ comment you just made. But I’ll keep it to myself if you promise I’ll get rewarded for being a good boy.”

  I feel Rain clench the fabric of the couch cushion in his fists and watch in fascination as he winces slightly before his stubbled jaw ticks in anger. My breath hitches when I think about what it would feel like to run my tongue along it, then down his neck, nipping at his pulse before trailing wet kisses down his pecs...

  Fuck, now I’m hard…er.

  “Stop fucking with me. Especially with anything related to blowing. Or shit is gonna get ugly.”

  “Not my fault you can’t handle me giving you the best blowjob of your life, man.”

  “You didn’t, not even close,” he spews, his voice laced with venom.

  I cock a brow. “Really? So you’re telling me you didn’t grab onto my hair and fuck my face until you came so damn hard down my throat, my voice was hoarse the next day?” I nod my head in mock acceptance before continuing, sarcasm dripping from the words. “Okay, yeah. I believe you.”

  “That’s not—”

  “What happened? Oh, I know. Not at all.” An indignant laugh escapes me. “Why can’t you just accept it? It’s not a big fucking deal a dude blew you and you liked it.”

  Rain pushes off the couch with a huff. “I don’t even like you, let alone what you did to me in that locker room.”

  What. A. Liar.

  Rolling my eyes, I stand and get in his face. “I think you like me a lot more than you’re willing to let yourself admit.”

  �
��And I think you’re fucking delusional and Coach locked me up here with someone who is certifiably insane.”

  “And I think I’d rather be batshit crazy than be so uncomfortable in my sexuality to the point where I have to constantly lie about being attracted to someone of the same sex.”

  The pulse in his neck is beating rapidly and I can practically see the steam coming from his ears.

  Good, I’m getting under his skin.

  “In fact,” I continue, “I think the real issue you have is you’re also bi. Just unwilling to acknowledge it. You know, methinks the lad doth protesteth too much and all that.”

  Jesus, I’m asking to get decked today.

  Again.

  “Fuck this,” Rain mumbles, brushing past me to head down the hall, and I’m sure, to the safety of his room.

  But do I let it go and relish in my victory?

  Nope.

  I chase after the douche canoe, reaching his door as it slams closed. Trying the knob, I find he’s already locked himself inside.

  “Let me in, Rain,” I growl, pounding my fist against the wood.

  “I thought I told you not to fucking call me that?”

  Yeah. You did. But all it accomplished was giving me something to use against you.

  I ignore his question. “You need to face this head on, man. You can’t run away and hide from me for an entire month. And especially not from the truth about who you really are.”

  His roar is muffled by the closed door between us. “Just fucking watch me, Lenny!”

  I scoff before yelling back. “I mean, yeah you can try. I guess I never took you for a fucking coward!”

  From the other side of the door, I hear a slam and a fist connecting with the wall.

  Looks like I hit a nerve with that one.

  Satisfied with his little meltdown, I spin around and head into the bathroom we’ve been sharing. I desperately need to relieve my aching cock from his excitement our little tango caused. Stripping out of my clothes, I turn on the water to the walk-in shower.

  Coach might’ve skipped on some first world necessities, such as central heating, but he most definitely made up for it with the bomb ass design of this bathroom. Well, mostly this shower, with the glass divider and door separating the rest of the room from the river rock mosaic floor and rough stone wall of the shower. They contrast with the smooth, cut tiles on the adjacent walls situated with the shower heads. There’s two of them, allowing water to pour down from both sides.