The Trouble with You (Rixon Raiders 1)

Asher clapped me on the back before making his way over to his Jeep.

“Yo, Chase,” it was Jase’s voice. “Are you coming to Bell’s?” He started walking over, a few guys lingering behind, waiting for their QB to give the order.

“I need to get home.”

“Come on, bro, we always celebrate a win together.” He was right, we did. But I wasn’t feeling it tonight.

“I’m needed back at the house.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

“I know your mom has got stuff going on, but it’s senior year.” He sounded irritated. “They know you need to prioritize the team. You don’t have to feel gui—”

“Tomorrow I’m there, okay?” I offered him a small nod, hoping he’d drop it.

He studied me for a couple seconds longer and then shrugged. “Yeah, whatever, man. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Jase was pissed but he didn’t get it.

Maybe he never would.

And until recently, it had never been a problem.

Hailee

Since I’d attended the football game with her last night, Flick agreed to humor me at The Alley. It was our usual hangout, mostly because the football team rarely came around here. They preferred to go to Bell’s, a bar downtown. The owner there was a huge football fan, letting the team come and go as they pleased. Needless to say, I avoided it at all costs. Even if they did have the best chili fries in town.

But The Alley was cool. It had roller skating; bowling; a small arcade; a diner; and, on a weekend, Tate, the owner, let local bands perform. He wasn’t like Jerry, the owner of Bell’s, who let the team drink and get up to no good, but it was still a good time.

The second reason I loved The Alley so much... It sat right on the Rixon/Rixon East divide with amazing views of the Susquehanna River. It was like my very own Switzerland. A football free zone, untouched by the rivalry between the Raiders and the Eagles. Anyone was welcome to hang out here, but Tate would kick your ass to the curb quicker than you could say ‘go Raiders’ if he got wind of any trouble.

Did I mention Tate was my kind of people?

“So, did you hate it as much as you expected?” Flick asked me as we got our milkshakes, and bacon and cheese fries and found a table.

“It was… okay, I guess. But I won’t be rushing to get my tickets for next week’s game.”

“Spoilsport.” She poked out her tongue at me. “The guys looked hot though, right? In those tight pants and shoulder pads.” She practically panted.

“Doesn’t really do it for me.” I shrugged as I stirred strawberry sauce patterns in my shake.

“I’m sorry,” Flick choked out. “But are you blind?”

“I just don’t find football players hot.” Except maybe one but he was an asshole that I wanted nothing to do with. Ever. Again.

Flick scrutinized me, her narrowed eyes searching my face. “What?” I asked, uncomfortable with her probing gaze.

“You’re hiding something.”

“Am not.” Great comeback, idiot.

“Hails…”

“Flick…” I met her steely gaze with my own.

“It’s him, isn’t it? Cameron? Has he gotten under your skin?”

“What? No.”

“You’re being cagey. I know something happened. You might as well tell me now or I’ll only—”

“Fine,” I hissed. “Fine. Just keep it down, okay?” My eyes surveyed the immediate vicinity for any kids from school. Shuffling closer to the table, I leaned forward on my arms. “He kissed me.”