Page 14 of Shut Up and Score
GoldenSpiral23: You said you want to burn. Mind if I bring the match?
A slow grin spreads across my face.
Bold.
A little dramatic.
Exactly my type.
I type back without hesitation.
Me: Careful. I burn hotter than most can handle.
I hit send, sliding my phone back into my pocket as I climb the steps to my dorm. I don’t expect anything real to come from it. But real isn’t what I’m looking for.
Not anymore.
The hall’s quiet. Most people are still asleep or dragging themselves to Saturday morning class. Poor fuckers. I unlock my door, step inside, and toe off my shoes with a sigh that tastes like pennies and bad decisions.
I peel off my shirt, toss it into the corner, and head straight for the shower. I technically should be going to myfirst practice, but I’ll just say I had the wrong time on my phone.
Hot water slices over me. Steam chases away the oncoming hangover. While silence soothes my lingering feelings about my upcoming practice. Colton will be there. It's unavoidable.
I scrub Gavin off. Like washing away the night might clear the burn under my skin too.
It doesn’t. My mind continues to drift, over and over again. Not to Gavin.
But tohim.
To Colton.
I brace one hand against the tile, the other slick with water as heat coils low in my stomach, tighter with every memory I can’t stop replaying.
Colton’s mouth. His grip on the back of my neck. That kiss—rough, messy,real.
One moment in a lifetime of pretending. One second where I thought maybe I wasn’t crazy. Where I felt him want me back.
He started it. Hewantedit. And maybe he regretted it the second we got caught since he shoved me away as if I was poison, but that kiss…it was real.
That’s one thing he can’t take from me.
My fingers curl around myself before I can stop them, already hard, already pulsing with the weight of that memory.
It’s not about Gavin. It never was. Not about the guy who said all the right things in bed but never touched the places that mattered.
It’s aboutColton. What he did. What he didn’t. What hetasted like. What I let myself believe, just for a second, was real.
I stroke slow, water slipping down my chest, down my stomach. Every pump is a betrayal, and Iknowit—know exactly how pathetic this makes me. That, aftereverything, this still does it for me.
His voice in my ear. His body pinning me to the back of the bleachers. The look in his eyes rightbeforehe destroyed everything—like he might actuallychooseme. Like healmostdid.
My jaw clenches. A low sound escapes, part curse, part name I don’t want to say out loud. Won’t.
I bite it back. Bitehimback. But my hips jerk forward anyway, chasing something I never really had.
It doesn’t take long. Itneverdoes when it’s him behind my eyelids. And when it’s over—when I’ve come with his image still inside my head—I stand there panting, forehead pressed to the tile, disgust curling in my gut.
I hate that he still lives in me like this. Hate that no matter how far I’ve come, how much I’ve survived…one memory ofhimstill ruins me.
