Follow the River (River of Rain Book 1) Page 6

  Because that’s what it is. A fucking mask.

  He’s nowhere near the perfect golden boy he makes himself out to be. Because this shithead, he’s got a mean streak. A part of himself clearly craving hostility and malice. He might contain it for the rest of the world, but right now, I see right through it.

  “Stay out of my goddamn way like I said, and we won’t have to find out,” I bite, yanking my wrist from his hold. I try not to notice the cool feeling washing over my skin where his hand used to be, already missing the contact.

  No. Not fucking missing. What the hell is wrong with you?

  I start walking down the hall again, away from him, and thank God I don’t hear his footfalls behind me. But his voice, low and deep, cuts through the stagnant air even at this distance.

  “How the fuck do you suppose I do that, huh Ciaráin? We’re fucking teammates. We see each other every damn day. There is no possible way for me to stay away from you because whether we like it or not, we’re stuck together for the next few months until the season ends.”

  Believe me, I’m counting down the days.

  “You don’t think I know that?” I grind, spinning to face him. “I think I know better than anyone. Just keep to yourself except when we have to interact, and we won’t have an issue.”

  “Because that’s working out so well for us now,” he mumbles, shaking his head before running his hand through his hair. “I never asked to be your fucking enemy. I don’t have to be. You made it this way.”

  He’s not wrong. This is a majority of my own doing and I know it.

  It’s me not being able to own my own shit, deal with my own past. It’s not on him and I fucking know it.

  But for the life of me, I can’t seem to let it go.

  “Well maybe if you weren’t intent on pulling shit like you did today, blatantly eye-fucking me in front of our teammates. Jesus Christ, I told you Elliott insinuated we were fucking around because you show me preference on the field, yet you did it anyway. But it’s not that. You and I both know our chemistry on the field is because of this freaky fucking telepathic shit we’ve got going on and nothing else.” I lick my lips and glance away, letting out a clipped exhale, wishing I kept the last bit out.

  I watch his brow furrow. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

  Fuck.

  Grimacing, I bark out my reply. “Doesn’t matter. Just let me be. You play your game, I’ll play mine. End of.”

  “It’s not the end of anything, Rain. This, whatever the fuck is happening here, is only just beginning. And we both know it.”

  Unfortunately, you’re all too right about that one. “I thought I told you already, don’t fucking call me that.”

  He shrugs his shoulders in mock innocence. “Oops. I must’ve forgotten,” he says, like he could possibly get away with bullshitting a bullshitter.

  I watch him, my contempt lighting up within me. “You don’t want to get on my bad side, Lenny.”

  The warning, because that’s what it is, comes out low and lethal, like a gun aimed and ready to fire if he takes a single misstep.

  And I won’t fucking hesitate to take him down if he does.

  He bites his lip and smirks, those dimples popping out to taunt me. “And what if I told you I’m only interested in getting in your backside?”

  Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.

  I’m on him in an instant, like white on fucking rice, pinning him against the wall of the hallway with my forearm across his throat. His Adam’s apple grinds beneath the bones in my arm and I press tighter, smiling at the little gasp escaping him.

  Seems the only way to get the asshole to shut up is to not let him breathe.

  Putting a pin in that one. File it under “Ways to Take River Lennox Down a Notch”.

  Except…from the mischief dancing in his eyes, I just screwed myself big time.

  He wanted to know what buttons to push. Where they were located. How hard he had to try and what would rile me up enough to force a reaction.

  He was looking for a weakness, a chink in my armor that’s been impenetrable for years.

  And now he’s fucking found it.

  Godmotherfuckingdamnit.

  My nostrils flare as my eyes flash between his, the blue orbs with green flecks around the center you’d only notice this close. Shit, I try not to notice.

  “Listen to me, River, because I’m only going to say this once. It’s not fucking happening. We’re not doing this, playing this little game I see you plotting in your head right now.” The words come out with such ferocity, such animosity, anyone who heard them would have to take them at face value. They’d turn and cut their losses before I cut them.

  But I can tell he doesn’t. Because he’s not afraid of me like I want him to be.

  Because deep down…we both know my words, each and every one, is a goddamn lie.

  Fuck Mondays.

  Seriously, fuck ‘em and whoever decided to invent them because they are the worst day of the week bar none.

  And on top of that, fuck whoever decided to create seven-thirty lectures. I might be an early riser, sure, but it doesn’t mean I’m fully functional at this hour.

  Closing the door to the lecture hall as quietly as I can because I’m already fifteen minutes late as it is, I spin to look for a seat, finding one at the back of the class on an aisle.

  Perfect. Thank God for being left-handed. No one ever wants those aisle spots.

  After easing my frame into the chair, I grab my notebook and a pen from my backpack before sliding it out of the way.

  Honestly, I shouldn’t be bitching about this class. I should just be grateful Coach Scott was able to pull some strings to get me in the section even though it was at max capacity because I was drowning in my old section. The time of day just didn’t work with my schedule for practice, especially when we have two-a-days.

  And while nepotism didn’t get me my starting position on the field as a freshman, I’ll gladly use it in this circumstance.

  Flicking open the notebook, I’m about to start taking notes, my pen hand paused over the paper, when I feel it.

  Him.

  How? I couldn’t say. I just fucking know it’s him. Just like I know he will catch whatever I throw his way on the field. Like an instinct. A second skin.

  The other half of a whole.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” a voice mumbles to my right, low, deep, and absolutely belonging to Ciaráin.

  I glance up at him, finding him in a pair of black sweats and a long sleeve shirt with Colorado Football emblazoned on the front. His dark hair is covered by a gold and black snapback sitting backwards on his head.

  And when I look at his eyes, I’m not surprised to find palpable amounts of rage simmering in them. Especially after the “talk” we had last week in the hall outside the weight room. If you could call it that.

  Biting my lip, I stifle a laugh the best I can because, really, universe? What the fuck did I do to you on this fine Monday morning for you to hand me a spoon when I need a damn shovel to help bury myself in this fucking hole I’m digging when it comes to this guy.

  Giving Ciaráin my full attention, I cock my head and answer with a cheery tone, one a little too loud for a dead silent lecture hall while our professor is going through his lecture notes.

  “Morning to you too, Grady. Fancy seeing you in here,” I tell him with a smile I don’t quite feel, earning me a glare and a hissed shush from the girl in front of me.

  Shooting her a look, I turn back to look at Ciaráin, finding him watching me closely under thick black lashes so long they almost graze his skin when he blinks.

  “It was a fine morning until you walked in and sat down,” he hisses, his voice lowered much further than mine. “What are you even doing here? You aren’t in this class.”

  “I am now,” I tell him, sliding down in my seat and abandoning my pen and notebook on the desktop. “Just got switched in this morning.”

  “Fucking br
illiant,” he sighs, rubbing his temple with his index and middle fingers. “Well obviously you didn’t realize I’m in this class. But I am. So after today, make sure you are seated on the opposite side of the damn hall from me, yeah?”

  I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest and settling in for what is sure to be a possibly riveting conversation. “You actually think you have some sort of power over me? Enough to tell me where I can and can’t sit in class? How dense are you, dude?”

  “I just want you to leave me the hell alone,” he growls, his voice rising enough to catch the glances of a few people around us. His heated glare is enough to quickly make their curiosity wane though, before his attention is focused back on me. “So it seems I should be asking are you so fucking dense you can’t seem to grasp that?”

  “Literally picked the first open seat I saw. And I’ll continue to pick whatever seat is available,” I tell him, my tone sharp. “You should know by now I’m not one to take orders from condescending pricks.”

  His eyebrows shoot to his hairline before his glare hardens even more. “You want to talk about pricks? Go squat in a cactus patch, Lennox.”

  I smirk, not having heard something so colorful from him before. “Clever as ever, Grady.”

  He shrugs, turning his attention back to the front of class. As if he’s actually paying attention with me right beside him because we both know it’s damn near impossible to think when the other is around. “I thought so. I know they have ‘em here. Those weird looking ones. Prickly pears, right?”

  I raise my brow, curious as to where the hell he’s going with this one. Taking the bait is stupid, but no one ever accused me of being smart.

  Not when it comes to this guy at least.

  “Does it fucking matter?”

  His eyes snap back to mine and I know instantly that I fucked up from the sickening gleam in them. He licks his lips and gives me a wry smile, one showing his perfect teeth and fuck him for being this attractive even when he’s being a cockhead. “Not particularly. Although, the shape of those bad boys ought to add some real kink to your next round of anal play.”

  My jaw clenches and I swear to God I feel a molar crack under the pressure. “Good looking out, babydoll. Want to try it out with me? You know, since you’re awfully curious about what goes in my ass.” The words come out through gritted teeth as I do my best to keep my temper in check.

  A temper I never knew I had until I met Ciaráin Grady.

  But I can’t exactly lose my shit in a lecture hall filled with over two hundred students in the middle of class. No matter how much I want to drag him out of here by the collar of his shirt and scream in his face for being such an asshole. Or bend him over and fuck him for the entire class to watch.

  You know, whichever would help him learn I won’t back down faster.

  Ciaráin grumbles something under his breath, in Irish from the sounds of it, and I lose my damn mind.

  My hand lashes out and snatches the front of his shirt, reeling him into me so my mouth is practically on his ear when I hiss the words out. “What did I say about that shit? You got something to say to me, say it. Don’t hide behind another fucking language like a goddamn pussy.”

  Releasing him with a shove, I shift to face the front of the class, finding many, many sets of eyes on us. Including those belonging to our professor.

  “Do we have a problem, Mr. Lennox?” Professor Johnston asks curtly. “Mr. Grady?”

  Rolling my teeth over my bottom lip, I internally curse Ciaráin for getting us into this bullshit. And all because he can’t handle me sitting next to him for an hour lecture.

  “We’re fine, sir. Just arguing over a play from this past weekend. Won’t let it happen again.”

  My eyes land on Ciaráin, letting him know he better go along with this shit before we both get our asses reamed out by Johnston. Or worse, Coach.

  It takes a minute, but I see his concession, so I look away to catch my breath.

  “Sorry, Professor,” Ciaráin grinds out. I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of my face, but I don’t look, just keep my eyes locked on the front of the room. “We can continue it later. We didn’t mean to interrupt class.”

  Johnston nods. “See it doesn’t happen again.”

  When the good ole professor turns his back and starts writing on the board again, I snap my gaze back to Ciaráin.

  “Díul mó bhad,” he hisses under his breath before rolling his eyes, turning his attention back to class.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  He smirks, not looking at me still. “Suck my dick. Though it’s probably a poor choice of words on my part seeing as that’s most likely exactly what you’re wanting to do with my cock.” He pauses, eyes meeting mine in contempt. “And then some.”

  That’s fucking it.

  Slipping my shit into my bag, I toss it over my shoulder and grab him by the arm. I yank him out of his seat, creating a ruckus sure to piss Johnston the fuck off and get me sent back into my old class I’ll probably end up flunking.

  But I don’t care. I’m over it.

  Ciaráin looks at me like I’m insane, and let’s be real, right now, I feel it. I don’t give him a second to protest or sit down though, I just grab his bag with my free hand and pull him out of the lecture hall, the door slamming closed behind us.

  Dragging Ciaráin with me, I glance through the window of a classroom down the hall to find it empty and quickly move us in there. Away from prying eyes and ears.

  “What the shit, River?” he roars, wasting no time to light into me the second the door closes. I toss his bag on a desk and cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the door providing his only means of escape.

  We’re having this shit out, here and now. I don’t care how long it takes.

  “You told me to suck your dick. I got us a private place to make it happen,” I shrug, baiting him. “Go ahead, baby. Whip it out for me. I’d love to see how many inches I’ve got to work with.”

  His nostrils flare as a look of disgust crosses his face. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Aw, don’t be shy, Rain.” I give him a patronizing smile, catching the way his jaw ticks when I use the nickname he hates. For what reason, I couldn’t care less..

  Whatever. It’s only more ammunition at the end of the day.

  “I don’t care if you’re small,” I continue, tapping my fingers against my bicep. “I get that you could be self-conscious and all. Despite what the girls might say, having a small dick is a big deal. But not in this case, baby. It just means less for me to take deep into my throat.”

  I watch in pure satisfaction as the vein near his temple throbs in rage at the shit I’m spewing, knowing it’s more than likely a bunch of bullshit. And when I glance down at his cock to drive my point home, I’m stunned, fucking giddy even, to find he’s sporting something of a semi behind those black sweats.

  I’ve never been happier to be wrong in my life in regards to his…size.

  I raise my brow. “I stand corrected. Looks like you’ve got quite a bit packing. Even better.”

  He scoffs. “Really, River? Which one is it? Dick size matters or it doesn’t? You’d think as some sort of fucking faggot that you’d care how big a cock is while it’s filling your ass.”

  There it is again. That fucking word.

  Faggot.

  It doesn’t matter how many times I hear it, it doesn’t make it any easier to allow it to slide off my shoulders.

  “Whoever said I’m the one getting fucked?” I quirk a brow in challenge.

  “There’s no way you haven’t, seeing as you’re a goddamn queer. And they tend to take it up the ass.”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head, so fed up with this shit. We’re getting absolutely nowhere, only running around in circles, throwing punches and insults at each other like we’re in a goddamn boxing ring.

  Giving myself a second to breath, I sigh. “You do realize I’m bisexual, right?”
>
  He lifts a brow in amusement, an arrogant smirk decorating his face. “Your point?”

  My jaw ticks in irritation. “Meaning that labeling me as queer and faggot is not only derogatory, but also incorrect. Bisexual doesn’t even define me. I don’t do labels. I fuck whoever I want to fuck, whenever and when it suits me, wherever I want. Guys and girls too.”

  Ciaráin nods a few times, “Ah well that might be true in technicality. But, Lenny my man, let me ask you this. Flat out, give me the honest answer. Do you take dick in your ass?”

  “I don’t see how my topping or bottoming is any of your fucking business,” I snap, evading the question because it is none of his damn business.

  He has no right to know the answer to his question is yes. It’s rare, seeing as I prefer to top my partner, regardless of gender. But every once in a while, I willingly seek out getting fucked.

  Sue me.

  But then my brows furrow momentarily as I continue to process his question. And realization dawns on me.

  The question isn’t if I do it or not…it’s why he wants to know.

  A slow grin slides over my mouth. The opening is there, and you can bet your ass—pun most definitely intended—I’m going to take it. “Though, seeing as you asked, yes Grady. I take it as well as I give it when it comes to dick. And I wasn’t kidding when I offered to let you take the merchandise for a spin.” I’m in his face before I can stop myself, looking him up and down. I want to devour him in every sense of the word. “I have to say, you aren’t my usual type. But at least if you fuck me from behind I won’t have to look at your fucking face.”

  His hand shoots out, clamping around my throat as he forces me to step back until I hit the wall.

  “The fuck you just say to me?” he snarls, squeezing my windpipe.

  I suck in as deep of a breath as his hand will allow, knowing my sudden loss of oxygen isn’t only from his vice grip on my trachea. It’s him touching me.