Follow the River (River of Rain Book 1) Page 4

  Thinking of them brings a tightness to my chest. Siena and Roman were everything to me, they’ll never be replaced. I still frequently talk to Siena, even if it’s only through text messaging a couple times a month. I know she’s busy going to school at University of Michigan. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love her, miss her, or think about her on almost a daily basis.

  Or even Roman, regardless of the state I left our friendship in the night before he left for college. The night he made a move I never saw coming, and it led our friendship to a turning point we wouldn’t be able to come back from.

  The night he bent us, but I made sure we broke.

  A knot lodges itself in my throat, but I manage to speak to Elliott around it. “I’m gonna head out, man. This isn’t really my scene.”

  He chuckles, “Yeah, mine either. I’ll see you at practice. Want me to let Riv know you’re heading out?”

  My eyes slip back to River, but he’s completely engrossed in conversation with a couple guys from the team, sipping his beer without a care in the world. With his arm still slung over Abbi’s shoulder.

  Even after he just gave me the universal signal he’s DTF.

  And there’s that fucking twang of jealousy, rearing it’s ugly head once more.

  “Yeah, whatever,” I answer noncommittally, shuffling past him and the crowd gathered near the door, breaking into the freedom of the night.

  I catch an Uber easily seeing as it’s a Saturday night in a college town. But on the ride back to my apartment, I’m only able to latch onto one thought running rampant in my brain.

  How the fuck did this happen…again?

  August has flown by in what seems like a split second, and with it the first few games of the season. Thankfully, due to the talent of yours truly, all those games were also huge W’s as well.

  Okay, well I’ll admit, it’s not just my talent making this season look like we could possibly go undefeated.

  A huge portion of that comes in the form of CU’s newest wide receiver.

  The guy is a beast on the field during the game, laser focused on the ball and the ball alone. I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it. Or felt anything like this when it comes to playing with someone this new to the team. Meshing doesn’t seem to be the right word.

  We’re damn near unstoppable.

  But with that, also comes a small issue.

  He’s also turning into the object of my latest obsession.

  This chemistry we have, it’s screwing with my head. It’s distracting to say the very least because it’s all I can do not to watch and try to evaluate every goddamn move, and word, and glance he makes.

  Which is difficult because he’s been pretty distant since the party I took him to a couple weeks ago after our first game.

  No, that’s putting it mildly. Ciaráin has been avoiding me anywhere that isn’t the football field. We don’t talk in the locker room while getting dressed like we did that first game day, and any time I see him somewhere on campus, he turns the other way like he didn’t see me toss him a friendly wave.

  Why? I have not a fucking clue.

  I guess the only thing I can be grateful of is whatever is going on with him doesn’t seem to be messing with the vibe we have while we are on the field.

  Small miracles, it seems.

  But part of me, the part of me that’s ever the hopeful optimist, can’t help but wonder.

  Does the on-field chemistry we have translate into something other than football? And more importantly…would he want it to?

  I’d have to be blind and possibly stupid to not notice how good looking the guy is. He’s a walking bad-boy sex doll, what with his sharp jaw and inked arms and I don’t give a fuck attitude. Add in that he is a top-tier athlete and has the body of a fucking god?

  He’s every deadly sin wrapped in a single heartbreaking package.

  But even if that single look on the first day of practice is the only one I’ll receive, I still want to be his damn friend because he seems like the kind of guy that, once you’re in, you’re in for fucking life.

  Doesn’t mean I don’t want to stem his rose.

  But my guess to either option, seeing as we’ve barely spoken since the party two weeks ago, is a resounding no to all the above.

  Which, let’s be honest, is probably for the best.

  The last thing I need is to fall into bed with my teammate and cause a huge stir-up with the dynamic we have flowing as an entire unit. It’s why I created my set of rules in the first place; everyone is happiest when I follow them.

  Then again, I’ve never wanted to make a move on a teammate before.

  Well, maybe Jensen Holmes back at the beginning of my freshman year in high school, when my dick decided he liked the idea of guys. Specifically in the middle of the locker room when I saw Jensen in nothing but his briefs. But that’s a story for another time.

  Or never, seeing as I’ve never been more mortified in my life.

  Before I can completely shake the traumatic thoughts from my brain, I’m slamming face first into someone else in the hallway of a lecture hall.

  Glancing up at the person, I’m met with the copper eyes belonging to the very object of my thoughts.

  No, not Jensen. The other one.

  Ciaráin.

  He looks as startled as I feel, doing a double take after gaining his bearings. The second he realizes it's me, though…he frowns.

  Clearing my throat, I roll my shoulders and give him a smirk. “Hey man, sorry about that. Wasn’t paying attention.”

  Ciaráin lets out a cough and rubs the back of his neck, something like anxiety, and not just my own, mixing in the air between us. “Len. Hey. Uh, it’s fine. No big deal, already forgotten.”

  Is it though? Because you’re acting like I have the fucking plague and it’s all you can do to stay away from me.

  Because honestly, what the fuck is going on with him? Anxious or nervous is not a look I would ever put on him, but that’s exactly what it is. More than that, he’s…uncomfortable.

  Before I can say much else, he’s slipping past me and heading out the front door toward what I’m assuming is his next class.

  “Ciaráin?” I call out, but he keeps walking. I know he’s close enough to have heard me, he’s just choosing to act like he didn’t.

  Yeah, fuck that shit.

  Making the decision to be pushy, I jog after him, catching up quickly as he was only maybe twenty yards ahead of me.

  “Hey, man, do you have a minute to talk?” I ask, pulling up beside him.

  He shakes his head, glancing at me as we walk side by side. “I have to get to class.”

  My hand snags the pocket of his hoodie, keeping him in place. “I promise, it’s only gonna take a second.”

  His eyes roam my face briefly before he lets out a sigh and nods in concession. “You have two minutes. I really do have to get going.”

  “We can walk and talk, c’mon,” I tell him, gesturing for him to lead the way.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he starts moving towards his class with me behind him. The silence between us is awkward and stressful, setting me on edge. My hand taps against my leg haphazardly as I try to figure out the best way to figure out what the hell is going on with him.

  “Did I do something to piss you off?” I blurt, stopping in my tracks.

  He stops walking and turns to face me, his brow furrowed. “No, River. You didn’t do anything to piss me off.”

  The deliberate way he repeats my words has my mind reeling. “But I did do something? Upset you or whatever?”

  Ciaráin shakes his head. “What? Why does it matter?”

  Raising my arms out to my side, I shrug. “I don’t know, dude. Maybe because you’re my teammate and I want to make sure whatever is making you avoid me isn’t going to transfer onto the field during a game?”

  He clears his throat, rubbing his neck more, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “Seriously, what is going on? C�
�mon, Rain. You—”

  “I thought I told you not to call me that?” he snaps suddenly, cutting me off.

  My brows furrow, replaying what I said in my head. “Seriously? That is what you’re picking up on? Me calling you a damn nickname instead of the actual issue at hand?”

  “The only issue is you don’t seem to have boundaries,” he grits, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

  Boundaries?

  “What are you talking about?”

  Ciaráin shakes his head and lets out a huff of air. “Let’s use this as an example. I’ve asked you not to call me Rain, yet you did it anyway. Who’s to say you won’t completely ignore any other requests I make just to fuck with me?”

  I can’t help it, I laugh at this ridiculousness. “Okay…I’ll bite. What other requests might there be?”

  He rolls his eyes and looks up at the sky, as if asking it for an answer. “Off the top of my head? If I were to catch you checking me out and asked you to stop?”

  Hold. The. Phone.

  Has he caught me checking him out and is only now saying something?

  I mean, other than that night…

  “I’m sorry?” I ask slowly, my hand itching to start tapping to calm my erratic heartbeat.

  “I fucking know, River. I found out about your preferences at the Tri Delta party.” He lets out a grunt of frustration, running his hand through his hair. “Elliott made some jackass level comment about me hooking up with you in order to gain favor. But the thing is, he was actually serious. He thought we were hooking up.”

  Fucking Elliott. Goddamnit.

  “Okay, so I’m sure you set him straight. No harm, no foul, right?”

  He grinds his teeth and shakes his head. “That’s not the point.”

  “Enlighten me then, Ciaráin. What is the point?”

  Seriously, because I’m starting to get really fucking annoyed with this lack of communication happening right now.

  Ciaráin scoffs and pins me with a hard glare. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

  When I lift my brow, not answering, he shakes his head. “Fine, you want to know what it is? You have this habit of doing whatever you want. We might not know each other well or for long, but I’ve picked up on it,” he says, tapping his chest with his index finger twice. “You’ve had everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter and have this obscene sense of entitlement that only comes from being a damn trust fund brat.” He crosses his arms and rolls his shoulders. “Fuck, everyone knows that you and Coach’s son are best buds. Is that how you got your starting position as a true freshman? Through your connections?”

  My nostrils flare as his insinuation washes over me.

  This fucking jackass.

  Yeah, I might be best friends with Taylor, but I earned my spot, just like Elliott and Drew did. My ties to the Scott family have absolutely nothing to do with it.

  And the entire team, Ciaráin included, knows this. I’ve more than proven my talent and worth at this point.

  Not to mention everything else he’s said? Not true. At-fucking-all.

  “You know that’s bullshit,” I snap, my temper rising quickly.

  “Yeah, that might be true. But it had to suck, right? To have someone think you didn’t earn what you have? That you’ve been given special treatment because you’ve got some sort of connection?” His brow lifts, daring me to challenge him.

  Ah. Now I see his point.

  But the only issue is, none of this is my fault. I didn’t do anything. Not really.

  I didn’t ask to be bisexual, just wake up one day and decide I think I like dick as much as I like pussy and now the rest is history. This is who I am to my very core, and I can’t change that.

  It isn’t on me if he can’t deal with it, it’s his own damn problem.

  And okay, sure I’ve been checking him out a lot but from the sounds of it, he isn’t really aware of it besides the one time.

  At least, I hope.

  Letting out a sigh of frustration, I give him a pleading glance. “Look, man. I’m really sorry Elliott said shit to you. But everyone on this team can see what kind of athlete you are by the way you perform on the field. You’ve more than earned every ounce of trust I have in you to do what you came here to do.”

  And it’s true. I mean, we clearly aren’t sleeping together or whatever Elliott thought. But also it’s true that I trust him. I don’t know why, but from the first day, it’s like it was as simple as breathing.

  Don’t have a place to put the ball? Give it to Grady.

  Heavy defenders? About to get sacked? Give it to Grady.

  Fourth and long? Give it to Grady.

  It just…makes sense to me, so I never thought to question it. And I can’t exactly be mad at the results coming from following my gut instinct.

  Ciaráin frowns. “I know I have. But I don’t want this kind of bullshit dragging me down and fucking with my game.”

  “What are you saying? You don’t want to fuck around with me? Okay, dude. I got it. You’re not into dicks.”

  Unfortunate turn of events for me, but I’ve survived this long without boning a teammate, I think I’ll make it through this too.

  He licks his lips before settling them in a thin line, taking his time to measure his response. “I’m saying I think it might be best if we kept our interactions strictly professional. Football related. Other than that, we have no reason to be seen together, talking to each other.”

  I laugh. “What the hell is this, Ciaráin? Are you trying to make me some dirty fucking secret? That makes no sense at all. Why can’t people see us together? We’re teammates.”

  “Because if one person already thought I was giving you a nice dicking after like two weeks…” He glances around the open area at the passersby paying no attention to us before fixing me with his stare. “I’m not about to be subjected to these kinds of bullshit theories just because my quarterback enjoys cock.”

  “So what? That means you have to act like we’re teammates and teammates alone?”

  “We are just teammates. We’re nothing more, never will be.”

  Ouch. All right then.

  Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t expecting some sort of declaration of love or whatever. But shit, that was a tad harsh even by my I refuse to filter myself standard.

  “I thought…” I start, letting out a humorless laugh, “I thought me inviting you to that party was me trying to be your friend. Sure, I might be bisexual but I don’t make it a habit of fucking around with my teammates.”

  Not to say I’d be opposed to fucking around with you specifically…

  Shaking my head in an attempt to dislodge those thoughts, I sigh. “Look, Ciaráin, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else there is to say. I don’t think Elliott meant anything by it, not really. The guy is a dickhead sometimes, but he’s good people.”

  He nods a couple times, his eyes flashing between mine. “I appreciate it, man, but it doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “I’m not doing this with you.”

  “Doing what? Having a goddamn friendship?” My voice is rising as I try to contain my outrage. Because honestly, this is...it’s stupid. No other word for it. “Plenty of straight dudes are friends with guys who are gay or bi. It’s the fucking twenty-first century.”

  Ciaráin gives me a warning look before lowering his voice to a deadly level. “Let it fucking go, River.”

  He’s right, I should let it go. I know this.

  I’m not one of those people who needs everyone to like me, I never have been. My bluntness and my pervy jokes are off-putting to some people, but I couldn’t care less most of the time.

  So why do I care that he wants nothing to do with me?

  Because I should cut my losses, duck and run to lick my wounds and focus on making sure the two of us are still meshing on the field. That’s the most important thing when it comes to the two of us anyway.

  I should let it go. Because that’s the smart, rational thing to do. />
  But, spoiler alert, I don’t let it go.

  No, instead I step up in his space, close enough he has to look me in the eye and give it to my straight. “Why should I? You haven’t given me a real fucking answer, let alone a good enough reason.”

  His teeth gnaw at his bottom lip and I glance down to watch his fists clench over and over again, like he’s attempting to hold himself back from doing something stupid. Like hitting me.

  When he finally does speak a minute later, his voice is laced with venom, deadly as it licks over my skin. “Then let this be it. I don’t associate myself with fucking faggots. Now get the fuck out of my face before I deck you in yours.”

  My jaw drops when my brain finally catches up enough to register what he just said to me. What he just called me.

  I’m no stranger to the word faggot. Ever since I came out in high school, I’ve dealt with various levels of homophobia, even in a place as chill and accepting as Boulder. It’s rare, but it does happen.

  But shit, I never thought it could cut this deep from someone I barely even know. Someone who, for some damn reason, I have this insane draw toward. Like a moth to a flame.

  And by doing that? He drew a line in the sand, each of us standing on opposite sides.

  Because I can’t respect someone who would say shit like that to me.

  Ciaráin doesn’t wait for me to respond, just turns on a heel and continues down the path toward whatever building his next class is in like he didn’t drop a bomb on me, easily causing a rift between the two of us from this point onward.

  I stare after him, his form retreating up the stairs and into the building, finally beginning to understand why it seems like every interaction we have ends with him walking away from me.

  “Keep going, man. You’re right fucking there,” Drew tells me as he focuses on the stopwatch in his hand.

  The muscles in my legs are burning as I continue to work my ladder drills with my favorite of the Benson twins cheering me on. Not that I really have anything against Elliott, per se. It’s just after the enlightening conversation we had at the party of Sorority Row back on the night of our first game, I would prefer to steer clear of him. I’m not in the mood to answer any of his questions, or God forbid, have to remind him I’m not fucking gay, nor am I fucking the quarterback—or blowing or whatever else—to get any favors.