SOL - Tension

Lara doesn’t do anything as obvious as knocking you down during practice, but over the next two days, she doesn’t miss an opportunity to assert her dominance or demonstrate possessiveness over Riley. You wonder if anyone else has noticed the difference. Before, she and Riley kept things relatively chaste in the cabin. There wasn’t much PDA, and what there was had been reasonable. It annoyed you at the time, but you have nothing to say about someone kissing her girlfriend on the cheek.

Now Lara doesn’t think twice about a deep, tongue kiss with a firm grip on Riley’s ass in the cabin. Her arm is around her more. She’s always touching her and sticking close to her. That doesn’t annoy you half as much as the fact that Riley’s clearly enjoying it. The fact that this is all for show, all directed at you, is going completely over her head. She thinks that Lara’s just being lovey, which delights her.

You have learned not to pay attention when they’re making out in the cabin. You have not learned to control your imagination when you’re sure that they’re sneaking away to have sex. It’s taking you over. Everything reminds you of them. You see two girls on another team holding hands, and your mind jumps to Riley and Lara holding hands. You see some girl changing in the locker room and automatically check her out, but you can’t appreciate her. You can only think that her ass isn’t as cute in those panties as Riley’s would be. Even the noise of feet on a treadmill makes you think of a headboard, and you’re picturing Lara with Riley.

It's brutal. It makes you want a drink, but Tiff is strict about players leaving camp during the week. There’s got to be a way to get booze around here, but you haven’t been intrepid enough to go looking… yet. You’re still risk-averse and don’t want to get into trouble. Going to prison will do that to a person.

You notice that you aren’t alone. You’re in a secluded room at the back of the fitness center, usually used for yoga. You hit the stop button and slow to a halt as the treadmill whines and pauses.

The shape that you saw from the corner of your eye is Riona. She lets herself into the little room and approaches cautiously.

Panting, you lean on the treadmill with both hands.

“Hello,” you greet her breathlessly.

“All right there, Della?” Riona asks, a worried look on her face.

You are dripping sweat. You don’t know how many miles you just did, but you were really pounding it.

You nod. Usually, Riona is playful at times like this. She’d flirtily ask if you needed to blow off some steam in the past. She doesn’t do that, though. She really is worried.