Page 142 of Shut Up and Score
I roll my eyes but climb in beside him, stretching out so we’re facing each other. The bed dips and shifts under us until we’re pressed together, knee to knee, breath mingling in the space between us.
“Your family…” he starts, then stops as if he’s weighing the right words. “That could’ve been worse.”
I smile faintly. “Could’ve been a lot worse. I used to think that Jasmine was her favorite because she was everything my mom wanted for me. But I realized tonight that she just wants me to be happy. And I’m pretty sure you’re her favorite now.”
He laughs softly, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “I think you’re her favorite. She wouldn’t have gone to all of that trouble if she didn’t love you.”
We’re quiet for a while. Not the awkward kind—just the easy, comfortable quiet. My hand finds his, our fingers sliding into place without needing to think about it. His thumb brushes over my knuckles like he’s memorizing the shape of them.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, soft enough that I almost don’t hear it. “Better than okay.” His eyes hold mine for a beat before drifting lower, to my mouth. “Feels good. All of it.”
Something in me unravels at that, slow and sure. I lean in until my forehead rests against his, the scent ofmyshampoo curling warm in my lungs. “Yeah,” I murmur. “It does.”
He smiles against my cheek, and I can feel more than see it. “We’ve got time before Luke’s,” he says. “You wanna just…cuddle for a bit?”
“Yeah,” I say again, because it’s the only answer that feels right.
We shift without really thinking about it, Micah tugging me closer until we’re tangled head to toe. His hoodie sleeve brushes my jaw as his hand cups the side of my face, thumb skimming along my cheekbone.
I press a light kiss to the corner of his mouth—just enough to feel the curve of his smile—and he tilts his head, catching my lower lip between his for a second before letting it go.
It’s not hungry, not rushed. Just soft. Gentle. The kind of kiss you give when you don’t need to prove anything.
We trade a few more, each one a little slower, a little lazier, until my nose bumps his and he huffs out a quiet laugh.
“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, but he’s still leaning in, still brushing the tip of his nose against mine as if he can’t help it.
“Mm. You love it,” I whisper back.
His eyes soften in a way that makes my chest ache, in a good way. He drags his fingers through my hair, nails grazing lightly over my scalp, and I melt into it, my arm tightening around his waist.
For a while, we just breathe each other in. The rise and fall of his chest against mine. The steady heat of his body. The quiet, steady rhythm of us.
I could live here,I think to myself. In this bed, in this exact moment, with him. But the time passes too fast anyway.
Micah’s thumb is still making slow circles against my side when he says, “We should probably get moving before Luke sends a search party.”
I groan, burying my face in his shoulder. “Five more minutes.”
“That’s what you said fifteen minutes ago,” he says, voice warm with amusement.
“Yeah, but now I mean it more.”
He laughs, low and quiet, the kind of sound that vibrates right against my chest. “Fine. But if we’re late, you’re telling him why.”
I lean back just far enough to meet his eyes, grinning. “What, you don’t think he’ll guess?”
Micah snorts. “Oh, he’ll guess. He’ll just be obnoxious about it.”
We untangle slowly, neither of us is in a hurry to lose contact. I stand and stretch, and Micah stays where he is on the bed, legs crossed, hood up from the sweatshirt he’s been wearing all day.
“You wearing that to Luke’s?” I ask, nodding at it.
“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’ and tugging the hem like he’s showing it off. “Gotta make sure everyone knows who I belong to, right?”
I pause mid-motion, that simple sentence landing heavier than he probably meant it to. “Right,” I say quietly, my chest going warm in a way that has nothing to do with the heating vent.
