Page 37 of Shut Up and Score
And then we’re down. Both of us. A tangle of limbs andcleats and breathless curses, grass and dirt grinding into my skin as I land half on top of him.
The world tilts.
Not from the fall.
From him.
Micah’s chest heaves under me, hot and solid. His thigh slots between mine, and every part of me lights up like I just touched a live wire. My cock reacts instantly, hard and unforgiving, trapped in the most uncomfortable fucking jock strap known to man.
Goddammit.
I shift, trying to get up, trying to not rub against him.
It doesn’t work.
Micah’s breath catches. His eyes flash to mine—dark, unreadable—and my stomach bottoms out.
We’re still. Frozen. Everything around us—Coach’s whistle with the freshman, the thud of a stray ball, the laughter of the other team—fades beneath the pulse pounding in my ears.
“You done trying to take me out?” he mutters, voice low. Rough.
I swallow. My hands are on his chest. I should move them.
I don’t.
Instead, I say, “Only if you tap out first.”
He huffs a laugh. “Didn’t peg you for a power top.”
I jerk back as though he slapped me, but not before I see the smirk twist his mouth.
Fucker.
I climb to my feet, brushing off grass and pride, adjusting myself quickly before anyone can clock what’s happening under my shorts.
“You always this mouthy when you’re beneath me?” I throw over my shoulder as I walk off, pretending I’m not still hard as hell.
Micah’s answering laugh chases after me. And that’s when I realize: I lost that round.
TEN
MICAH
I’m still grinningwhen I roll onto my back, arms flung out wide in the grass like I’ve just scored the game-winning goal instead of getting tackled by the golden boy himself.
God, he’s rattled. And yeah, okay, so am I.
Because for a second—just a second—his hips pressed against mine, and I felt him.
Not just his weight.
Not just his breath.
But him. Hard and straining against his jock strap. For me. Even if he’s still pretending it’s all hate. I bet running with a hard-on sucks. And sure, I could blame it on the pads, but I could feel the difference happening in real time.
I sit up, dragging a hand through my sweat-soaked hair, ignoring the way my cock is still semi-hard from the contact. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten off to thoughts of Colton Taylor, and apparently, it won’t be the last.
“Blackman!” Coach’s shout cuts across the field.
