Chapter 11
11
FARRON
The hotel lobby buzzed with excitement as we piled in, a sea of blue-and-yellow jerseys flooding the polished marble floor, each of us buzzing with the kind of electric excitement that only came before a big game. I breathed in the crisp, air-conditioned atmosphere, a welcome respite from the stuffy three-hour bus ride to Butler College.
“All right, Hawks!” I called out, clapping my hands to get everyone’s attention. “Listen up for room assignments. Remember, lights out at 10p.m. sharp. We’ve got a big game tomorrow.”
My teammates gathered around, their eager faces a mix of anticipation and nervous energy. I felt it, too, that familiar pre-game jitter in my gut. As I read off the list Coach had handed me before we got off the bus, pairing up my fellow players, Tore hung back, his perfectly styled blond hair setting him apart from the rest of us.
When I got to the end of the list, my stomach dropped. “Tore, you’re with me.”
Coach crossed his arms, his gaze on me unwavering. “You two need to learn to work together. I thought we fixed that shit in the hangover-from-hell training, but you’re back to glaring at each other. If we want to win, we need you two to get your act together, so you’re rooming together until you figure it out.”
Fuuuck. I didn’t dare protest, knowing he was right.
Tore’s blue eyes widened slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Right-o,” he said, his accent crisp. “Shall we, then?”
I gritted my teeth, shouldering my worn duffel bag. “Yeah, let’s go.”
As we walked to the elevator, the tension crackled between us like static electricity. Tore’s cologne—probably some fancy European shit—wafted over, making my nostrils flare. I jabbed the elevator button harder than necessary.
“According to Luke, I don’t snore,” Tore said. “So you won’t have to worry about me keeping you up all night.”
I grunted in response, not in the mood for his small talk. The elevator dinged, and we stepped inside. Why did I have to share a room with this privileged pretty boy? Coach had done me dirty. All I wanted was to focus on the game, not deal with whatever the hell this uncomfortable energy between us was.
“Everything okay?” Tore asked, his tone light, almost cautious. He seemed to sense the tension radiating off me like heat from asphalt on a hot summer day.
“Fine,” I grunted, not trusting myself to say more. I was annoyed by how much mental real estate this guy had taken up without paying rent—his image, his voice, all of it crowding my thoughts. “Stick to your side of the room, okay? I need to be on top of my game tomorrow.”
Tore’s face fell slightly, but he quickly masked it with a polite smile. “Of course. I shall endeavor to be as unobtrusive as possible.”
I rolled my eyes at his flowery language. Couldn’t he talk like a normal person?
I tossed my duffel onto the bed nearest the window, claiming my territory. Tore followed suit, carefully placing his brand-new bag on the other bed. His long fingers gracefully handled the zippers, and I quickly averted my gaze, annoyed at myself for even noticing.
We unpacked in silence. At least Tore was as tidy as I was. That was quite the improvement on Colin, who was the world’s biggest slob.
The air was thick with unspoken words as I flopped down on the bed, my body sinking into the mattress. I was tired—tired of fighting, tired of thinking, tired of trying to figure out whatever this thing was that twisted inside me every time Tore was near.
“So, Farron,” Tore said after we’d both unpacked, his voice tentative. “I was wondering if you might share some insights about tomorrow’s match. You’ve played against Butler before, and I’m keen to hear any suggestions or tips.”
I sighed. Part of me wanted to tell him to fuck off, but the captain in me couldn’t ignore a teammate asking for advice. “What do you want to know?”
As Tore’s face lit up with genuine enthusiasm, I felt a weird flutter in my stomach. Damn, why did he have to look so…?
No. I squashed that thought immediately. This was about soccer, nothing else.
“Well, I’ve watched some of their games, and they have a midfielder who seems to play very rough, Ian Sharp,” Tore explained, gesturing with those elegant hands of his. “I’m a little apprehensive of him injuring me. What would be the best strategy for me to deal with him?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that. Look, you’ve got speed on your side, but you need to anticipate the play better to avoid him surprising you. Watch his body language…”
As I delved into a tactical explanation, Tore hung on my every word, his blue eyes fixed on me with rapt attention. It was unsettling, how intensely he listened. And even more unsettling was how much I enjoyed it.
Tore reached out to grab a notepad from the nightstand, his hand accidentally brushing against mine. A jolt of electricity shot through me, and I jerked back as if I’d been burned. What the fuck was that?
“Oh, sorry,” Tore said, his cheeks flushing slightly.
“It’s fine.” My skin still tingled where he’d touched me, and I hated how much it affected me. I needed to get a grip.
Tore nodded, looking flustered as he jotted down some notes. I tried to continue my explanation, but my mind kept wandering to how soft his hand had felt against mine. Fuck, what was wrong with me?
“I need to use the loo real quick,” Tore said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’ll be right back to finish our discussion.”
I grunted in acknowledgment, grateful for the brief reprieve. As soon as the bathroom door closed, I flopped back on my bed, scrubbing my hands over my face. This was getting ridiculous. I needed to focus on the game, not on my annoying roommate’s stupidly perfect hands. Also, what the fuck kind of weird word was loo ? Couldn’t he say bathroom, like a normal person?
A crash from the bathroom jolted me upright. “Shit!”
I was on my feet in an instant, striding to the bathroom door. “What happened?”
The door opened, revealing a wide-eyed Tore and the unmistakable scent of my cologne. My stomach dropped as I saw the shattered remains of my bottle of Spicebomb on the tile floor.
“I’m dreadfully sorry,” Tore stammered. “I was reaching for a towel and accidentally knocked over your cologne. I’ll replace it, of course?—”
“Replace it?” I wasn’t sure what pissed me off more: the fact that he knew I wouldn’t be able to afford simply buying a new one… or the fact that he could.
“Obviously. I broke it, so I should buy you a new one.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “Just like that, huh? Must be nice to throw money around without a second thought.”
Tore’s brow furrowed. “That’s not… I simply want to make amends. It’s the right thing to do.”
His earnestness was infuriating. I wanted to stay angry, to keep hating him and everything he represented. “That shit costs, like, a hundred bucks.”
Realization dawned in his eyes. “You’re upset because I can afford to replace it.”
How could this spoiled, rich kid possibly understand what it meant to save up for something? To work your ass off for a simple luxury? “Would it hurt you to realize that not everyone has your money?”
“Would you prefer I not replace it?”
I glared at Tore, my fists clenching at my sides. His blue eyes were wide with genuine remorse, and I hated how it made my anger waver. I couldn’t take it anymore. The tension in the room was suffocating, and Tore’s constant apologetic glances were driving me insane.
“Will you stop looking at me like that?” I snapped, shoving Tore’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble back a step.
His blue eyes widened in shock, hurt flashing across his face. “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was?—”
“You’re always sorry, aren’t you?” I advanced on him again. “Sorry for breaking my stuff, sorry for existing in my space. Well, maybe I’m sick of your sorries!”
“Farron,” he breathed, the hurt in his voice slicing through my rage, giving me pause. My chest heaved as I realized what I’d done; I’d crossed a line, let my anger morph into physical force.
I saw the moment something shifted in Tore’s expression. The hurt was replaced by a steely determination I’d never seen before. He squared his shoulders, standing tall. “That’s quite enough, Farron,” he said, his voice low and firm. “I understand you’re upset, but that doesn’t give you the right to put your hands on me.”
I blinked, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. Even in defense, he carried himself with a strange grace, commanding respect without demanding it. Not that I was ready to surrender that easily, my temper still brewing.
“What, you can’t handle a little shoving? I thought you were tougher than that, pretty boy.”
Tore’s jaw clenched. “My ability to handle your aggression is not the point. Your behavior is unacceptable.”
He was right, but my anger was still boiling over, and I couldn’t help myself. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”
“I’m going to remind you that we’re teammates,” Tore said, his accent more pronounced in his agitation. “And that regardless of our personal feelings, we have a responsibility to work together. I’ve apologized and offered to make amends. If that’s not enough for you, then perhaps we should speak to Coach about alternative rooming arrangements.”
I stared at Tore, my heart pounding. The air between us crackled with tension, and suddenly, I was hyperaware of every detail—the slight flush on his cheeks, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the intensity in those blue eyes. Something shifted, and before I could think, I grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him toward me.
Our lips crashed together, hard and desperate. It wasn’t gentle or romantic. It was all teeth and tongue, fueled by anger and frustration and something else I couldn’t name. Tore made a surprised sound against my mouth, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands came up to grip my shoulders, his fingers digging in.
The world spun. All the anger and frustration melted into a blaze of something wild and desperate. Our mouths moved together with a raw urgency, tongues clashing, teeth grazing.
I gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything he was willing to give. It was as if we were both starved, devouring the kiss with a hunger that bordered on madness.
I pushed him back against the wall, pressing my body against his. The heat of him seeped through our clothes, and I groaned, deepening the kiss. Tore responded with equal fervor, one hand sliding up to tangle in my hair, tugging gently, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss. Every nerve ending screamed to life under his touch, and I groaned against him, the sound swallowed by the fervor of our connection.
When we finally broke apart, we were both panting. I stared at Tore, my mind reeling. What the fuck had just happened? His lips were red and swollen, his hair mussed where I’d run my fingers through it. He looked as shocked as I felt.
“Farron,” he breathed. “What was that?”
I shook my head, taking a step back, unable to fully comprehend the seismic shift that had just occurred. My brain scrambled to catch up with the aftershocks rippling through my body. “I don’t know. I… Shit. I don’t know.”
Tore ran a hand through his hair, looking lost. “I thought… Aren’t you straight?”
“Yeah,” I said automatically, but the word felt hollow. “I mean, I thought I was. Fuck.”
“So did I.”
I frowned. “Wait, what?”
“I thought I was straight.”
“Oh.”
We stood there in awkward silence, neither of us knowing what to say. The anger from earlier had dissipated, replaced by confusion and a lingering desire that I didn’t want to examine too closely. The lingering desire was palpable, either a tantalizing promise or a terrifying threat—I couldn’t decide which.
What the hell came next after kissing your soccer teammate like your life depended on it?
“Perhaps we should take some time to process this.” Tore’s voice was unsteady.
I nodded, grateful for the out. “Yeah. Yeah, good idea. I’m gonna go for a walk or something.”
As I headed for the door, I caught a glimpse of Tore in the mirror. He was touching his lips, a bewildered expression on his face. I hurried out of the room, my head spinning.
What the hell had I done? And, more importantly, why did I want to do it again?