Page 111 of Shut Up and Score
“Clumsy,” I mutter.
Luke’s smirk only widens. “Sure. Look, I don’t need a play-by-play. I’m just saying… you got thatlook.”
I shoot him a side-eye. “What look?”
“That ‘I just got laid and I’m trying to be casual, but really I want to hum aDisneysong’ look.” He kicks my beanbag for emphasis. “I know that look.”
I snort. “You’re an idiot.”
“An observant idiot,” he says, sing-song, then yelps when I ram him offRainbow Road.
I should feel smug, but the knot in my chest only tightens.
Because he’s not wrong.
I can still feel Colton under me, the shudder of his thighs against my shoulders, the helpless little sound he made when I pushed him over the edge. The way he’d clung to me, trusting me to ruin him and hold him all at once.
And worse, the way I’d taken it too far.
I wasn’t supposed to be that possessive. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But the second I got my hands on him, I couldn’t stop. Pressing him into the door like I owned him. Holding him down on that bed like he was mine.
Mine.
God, the word pulses through me, hot and stupid and dangerous.
“Hey.” Luke’s elbow jabs me, dragging me out of my head. His smirk falters into something closer to concern. “You good?”
I force a laugh, shaking off the dark edges of my thoughts. “Yeah. Just tired.”
“Uh-huh.” He eyes me, then smirks again. “Tired… or blissed out?”
“Play the game, Luke,” I mutter, leaning forward and pretending the round actually matters.
Because if I let myself keep thinking about Colton—his mouth, his sounds, the flush creeping up his neck—I’m going to lose my mind. I’ll walk across campus and have him again, just to hear him break for me one more time.
But I can’t.
Ishouldn’t.
This was supposed to be about payback. About making him feel a fraction of what I felt two years ago when he kissed me and let me burn for him—then left me choking on the fallout.
I keep telling myself I can walk away whenever I want. That I can take what I want from him and leave him needy the way he left me.
But my pulse is still racing with the memory of his taste, the way he trembled under my hands, and my cock twitches at the thought, it’s got a mind of its own.
I want him again already.
And maybe that’s the problem.
Luke’s voice cuts through the roar of theMario Kartrace. “You’re not even trying, dude.”
I blink at the screen just in time to watch my kart spin out on another banana peel. I’d been in second place. Now I’m in twelfth.
“Whatever,” I mutter, tossing the controller onto the couch cushion beside me. “I’ve got too much crap on my mind.”
Luke smirks. “Homework crap? Orothercrap?”
“Both,” I say, leaning back and stretching my arms, feigning that I’m relaxed, when really my pulse is still jumping with the memory of Colton on his knees. “Coach has been up my ass. My stats aren’t where he wants ’em. And my car’s making that sound again—so yeah, my brain’s a little fried.”
