Falling for Ocean Blue [BxB] ✔️

Chapter Eighteen

"Team Max and Team Fray," Coach Turner announces. A crowd of students have gathered on the bleachers, eyeing the game with eager faces. Our break is coming to an end. My teammates are sweaty and muddy but content to lounge under the sun with orange wedges for smiles. Aubrey and Peter have a lot in common beyond the austerity of their distaste. Peter is even amicable when Steven sprawls into a puddle of exhaustion next to him. Soren hit back at us with overwhelming strength after the first goal. Wolfe is short of breath as he spills water over his head. The striker made the second goal boasting his triumph with a cleat on my knee. The studs are still indented in my thigh.

"You didn't think this far ahead."

I turn my head only to falter at his attention. His golden locks are plastered against his tan forehead. Beads of sweat pool in his highbrow as he eyes me in contempt. 

I raise mine in question.

"You're a cheater."

"I don't like that word."

He smirks, "Oh yeah."

"I like to think of myself as an opportunist." I shoot back. I grin as he chuckles dryly. My heart leaps two inches forward.

His game ended early. The boy was sat cross-legged, on the white chalk lines, watching ours. It was the scrutiny that fed my arrogance.

"You can't use them against my guys." He insists, one hand raking his hair back. The motion collects sweat into a single drop that traces his chiselled face. I follow gravity pulling the bead down his perfect jaw.

"Do you even know how to play football?"

"Soccer, you mean?" He cocks his eyebrow teasingly, "How hard can it be when even you managed to win?"

His dark blue eyes glimmer. Fray Anderson knows how stunningly beautiful he is.

My breath hitches and suddenly the inch he has over me feels like metres. The warmth cools when he inhales. It's like he's stealing my heat into his lungs. I pray he doesn't feel my pounding heart pulsing the air between us.

My attention flickers to the dark-haired striker who is brooding by the water cooler. Fray Anderson follows my eye, tensing when he catches sight of his secret lover. His jaw locks tightly. Wolfe looks up from his bottle like he feels the heat of the spotlight.

I smile with my teeth, feeling opportunity bubbling in my stomach. Calmer now that the boy is flittering in my periphery. I raise my hand in greeting at my teammate who returns the gesture awkwardly.

The whistle is shrill and jolts Fray from his thoughts. I leave him to head back to my team, summoning them into a group huddle.

"What were you talking to Anderson about?" Wolfe mumbles, barely audible. I hear a twinge of jealousy in his voice.

"Just hazing," I dismiss him.

Steven growls, "The bastard was hazing you? I'm going to end that fucker..."

"Is the play the same? I just mark Fray?" Aubrey asks, the smile in her voice is boisterous.

I shake my head. She looks on, disappointed.

"There is no play, just brute strike."

I confess this plan is less refined and perhaps the cocky American was right.

I steal a quick glance through my eyelashes. Sweat has pooled into them, making them clump into dark wisps that frame my vision so prettily. Or perhaps it's the muscular quarterback who has since peeled off his shirt earning him a round of applause and inviting whistles.