Page 1 of Shut Up and Score
ONE
COLTON
If one more person calls me“Golden Boy,” I might actually lose my shit.
It’s not even eight a.m. and Coach is already yelling like someone lit a fire under his overpriced sneakers. My cleats hit the turf hard, every step a reminder I’m supposed to be the leader. The example. The guy who shows up early, stays late, and keeps his mouth shut while boosters and press call me the future of the program.
Golden Boy.
Perfect grades. Perfect girlfriend. Perfect spiral on every throw.
Perfect fucking lie.
I adjust my helmet, jaw clenched so tight it feels as if my teeth might crack if not for my mouthguard. No one notices; not my teammates, not Coach, and definitely not Jasmine, who sent me a heart emoji and a picture of her with her overpriced coffee this morning, still pretending we’re in love.
We’re not.
We haven’t been since I stopped feeling anything when she kissed me.
I go through the motions: warm-up drills, fake smiles, shoulder claps, but my head isn’t here. It hasn’t been for a while. It’s stuck in the space between who I’m supposed to be and the guy I don’t even have the guts to admit I might be.
The guy who downloaded a queer hookup app last night—Prism.
The one for people who are the same as me.
The ones who hide.
And the ones who stopped pretending a long time ago.
It’s sleek, discreet. No rainbow logos. Just a black-and-silver icon that looks as though it could belong to a finance app or a meditation tracker. Something safe. Something no one would question if they saw it on your home screen.
You make a profile by choosing a name—fake or not—setting your visibility radius, and picking your tags: Curious. DL (Down-low). Open. Masc. Trade. Vers. Femme. Bear. Sub. Dom. Chat only. Friends. Hookups. Something more. It’s all there. I’m not really sure what all of it even means. But a quick search tells me what I need to know.
Last night, in a haze of guilt and too many drinks, I picked: open to guys, chat only, and left my photo blank.
No face. No name.
Just a username: GoldenSpiral23.
And a single line in my bio:
First time. Be gentle. Or don’t.
I figured I’d wake up and delete it.
That it would be one of those things, the same as almost texting Micah to tell him I'm sorry or jerking off in the shower to the memory of him, that I could pretend didn’t mean anything.
But now I’m here, sitting on the turf during water break, scrolling as if I’m a fucking addict.
Most profiles blur together.
Selfies in dim lighting. Shirtless mirror pics. Chests, abs, legs, thighs, sometimes just torso crops with bios that read like rejection letters or warnings to stay away. Far, far away.
No drama.
No weirdos.
No fems.
