Page 128 of Shut Up and Score
I should tell him to back off. I should pull the wall up higher, thicker. I should remind myself why I came back here in the first place.
Instead, I lean forward that last inch and press my mouth to his.
The kiss is soft at first—tentative, testing—but the second he sighs against my lips, I’m gone. I grab his hips, sliding my wet hands over slick skin, and he melts into me.
He tastes like water and heat and everything I swore I didn’t need.
Colton groans quietly, his hands finding my waist, and then the kiss deepens. It’s slow and consuming, the kind that feels as if it could undo me completely if I let it. My back hits the cold tile, and I don’t even care.
I fist my hands in his hair, pulling him closer, letting him kiss me like I’m something he’s not letting go of again. As though he means every single thing he said out on that field.
My heart pounds against my ribs, and for once, I don’t fight it. I just kiss him back, pouring every messy, terrified,hopelessly in lovepiece of me into the way our mouths move together.
When we finally break for air, he rests his forehead to mine, panting, his hand warm on my chest.
“See?” he whispers. “This. It’s real, Micah.”
By the time we drag ourselves out of the showers, my lips feel swollen, my chest raw like I just sprinted suicides in full pads.
Colton’s smiling. Not wide or cocky, but soft. As though he’s carrying some secret he’s finally done hiding.
Meanwhile, my insides are chaos.
I shove my wet hair back, grab my towel, and force my legs to move toward my locker. My brain is screaming at me to lock this down, to remember who I am, what I came back here for.
Revenge. Distance. Control.
Except all I can feel is his mouth on mine, his weight over me, the way he kissed me like I was his whole world. And I know what a lie my reasons were.
I pull on clean boxers and sweats fast, movements jerky, hoping no one else in the locker room notices the tremor in my hands. I can feel his eyes on me the whole time, hot and unrelenting.
“You don’t have to act like it didn’t happen,” he murmurs, low and certain, close enough that the words skate down my spine. He’s taunting me.
I snap my head toward him, scowl ready, armor reflexive. “We’re in the locker room. Maybe keep your voice down,Golden Boy.”
His mouth curves with humor, his eyes sparkling. “Who’s hiding now?”
I suck in a breath, a small smile of my own pulling at my lips as I duck my head. My chest tightens, and I hate that my first instinct isn’t to fire back. It’s to kiss him again. To admit I’ve been hiding since the day I let him go.
He leans in, not touching, just close enough that his voice is for me alone. “I meant what I said, Micah. I’m done pretending. I’m telling my parents. I’m telling everyone. I’m not letting you pretend this doesn’t matter.”
And just like that, the last brick of my wall wobbles. My pulse kicks hard enough I feel it in my throat.
He’s not hiding anymore.
THIRTY-THREE
COLTON
I don’t even bother pretendingto head toward my own dorm.
Micah’s got his head down, hood up, moving fast across campus like he can outrun me, functioning as if last night and this morning aren’t still humming under both of our skins. I fall into step half stride behind him, my eyes glued to the tense line of his shoulders.
He’s quiet. Too quiet. Which would sting if I didn’t know him better now. Silence means he’s overthinking, scrambling for an angle where he’s still in control.
I let him lead, all the way across the quad. It’s late morning, sunlight bouncing off the windows, other students everywhere. I should care. I should think about the team, about my reputation, about my family.
I don’t.
