Cold and Charisma (BoyxBoy)

Chapter Forty-Eight

Riley's Perspective

After whatever the fuck that practice was—even thinking about it pisses me right the fuck off—I knew exactly what I had to do.

I had to make a change.

Even if it was going to be a hard one.

This was my entire fucking future ahead of me, and I'd rather die than let some addiction ruin it. Plus, it wasn't like I was going through this alone anymore.

I had Archer.

And somehow, he saw right through me. He figured out what was wrong before I even did.

I guess he isn't always wrong—just don't let him know I admitted that. He'd get way too fucking overconfident.

I chuckled to myself as I walked toward the practice fields, my duffel bag slung over my shoulder. I'd even washed my practice jersey last night. I'm usually way too lazy to bother, but I did.

That's a step.

I woke up at the ass crack of dawn just so I could get here before everyone else. Three hours alone on the field sounded perfect. No coach yelling at me. No teammates watching me fuck up. Just me, a goal, and enough time to remind myself that I could still play.

The chilly six o'clock morning breeze brushed past me as I made my way toward the gates, the trees rustling quietly overhead.

I knew I needed to get my shit together. As I walked with my soccer ball tucked under one arm, I thought about how this would officially be my first day alcohol-free.

Or at least, my first attempt at it being the first day.

As I got ready this morning, Archer gave me some embarrassingly sweet little speech about how I "was doing so good" and how he was "proud of me." It's not like it meant anything but—okay, it meant a lot.

It was what eventually got me out of bed, even though I was seriously reconsidering it since his bed—and him—were both so comfortable.

I've always liked the field better like this.

Silent.

Calm.

And empty, with no one except for—

What the fuck is Drew doing here?

My eyes squinted, as I nearly dropped the ball from underneath my arm. There was rarely anyone at school at this hour—besides from maybe the janitor.

So why the hell is Archer's idiotic, embarrassing, jockey best friend here?

And matter of fact, taking up space on my field with his—

Football?

"Didn't you hear? The field belongs to me from six to nine A.M." I stormed over to him, chucking my ball to the side as I furiously inched closer.

When he noticed me, he rolled his eyes and scoffed, "I don't see your name on it, Lachkov. Last I fuckin' checked, I came to this school way before you did, so technically it's mine."

"I don't care about technicalities, Drew. Take you and your football elsewhere," I looked up at him, eyes glaring daggers into his, "and plus, it's not like practicing would even do shit for you and this school's shitty football team."

"Say that again and we'll have a problem, Lachkov." He threw his football to the side, "I don't care if you're my best bud's little lackey."

"Boyfriend." I corrected.