Follow the River

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 begi

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 go

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?