Follow the River

Case in fucking point, I’m standing here gawking at this sexy as fuck wide receiver when I should be, I don’t know, paying attention to the drills that we are ru

And for the entire rest of practice, that’s what I keep catching myself doing.

Watching. Sneaking glances. Flat out fucking creeping on the guy to see if I can catch anything that will alert my gaydar if he might be down for a roll in the sheets.

And I don’t need to be thinking with my dick on the field.

But those thoughts are only taken further the minute practice is over and he pulls his pads and practice jersey over his head in one fell swoop, revealing a glorious, sweaty chest and a set of abs Ryan Gosling would be jealous of.

He’s ta

In short, he was crafted to be the downfall of any bisexual man and Jesus Christ I might be drooling.

No, seriously. I actually checked to be sure I wasn’t.

And the second he lifts his arms—how the fuck did I not notice those arms?—to wipe the sweat from his forehead, his biceps fucking glowing under the sun, I become insanely grateful these pants make it damn near impossible to pop a boner.

Yeahhhh...I’d definitely fuck the shit out of him.

“Good first practice, yeah?”

I jump at Coach’s voice beside me, not realizing he had stepped up from behind me.

“Yeah, definitely,” I cough, doing my best to remove my eyes that are currently super glued to Ciaráin’s body. Which I ca

Coach catches the direction of my gaze and lets out a laugh. “He’s something, ain’t he? We fell into some serious luck when he decided to transfer out here.”

That he is, Coach. And hell yes we did.

But I just nod, keeping my eyes on Ciaráin.

“He’s going to be one helluv an asset to this team. You two keep up the good work. Maybe get to know him on a personal level off the field.”

How about biblically, Coach? Sound like something you’d be okay with?

“Absolutely,” I respond instead, because yeah, Coach might know I bat for both teams, but it’s not like we shoot the shit about that kind of thing.

Talk about awkward.

Coach pats me on the back in the way he has always done since I was playing peewee football with Taylor, Drew, and Elliott. “Hit the showers, kid. I’ll see you in the morning.” I glance at him as he walks away for a moment before my eyes find their way back to Ciaráin, who is rising to his feet and grabbing his pads to head into the locker room.

“Coach Scott doesn’t fuck around, even on the first day,” he says as I head over to him, my feet carrying me closer to the object of my newest obsession.

“Nah, but would you expect anything less from someone with five rings?”

He shakes his head, half a smile peeking out and I get my first glimpse of perfect, white teeth. “I suppose I shouldn’t.”

“You get used to it,” I say, attempting to remove my eyes from his mouth. Shockingly enough, I’m able to, only for them to be caught by his eyes once again. “He’s a tough nut to crack, but he’s the definition of a teddy bear.”

Ciaráin licks his lips and nods. “I can see that. But of course, we’ll only be grateful for it down the road when we make it rain and bring the thunder on game day.”

“Hell yeah we are, man.” I add a laugh, but it feels forced. Why am I fucking nervous? “Making it fucking rain.”

My thoughts snag on that phrase.

Make it rain.

And for some reason…it reminds me of his name. I think I’ve seen it spelled before when they a

Yeah, his name literally spells rain. With that weird little accent bullshit over the a, but still.

We start walking to the tu

His shoulders go rigid as soon as the last word leaves my mouth and those amber eyes flash up to mine. That fire is back in them again, except this time it burns with something like anger, causing me to freeze in place.

“Nah, man,” he grinds out, shaking his head adamantly. “Not that one. Ciaráin is fine.”

Then he walks off the field and through the tu