Page 39 of Shut Up and Score
I walk by him, brushing close enough that our shoulders graze. He stiffens. Doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Your girlfriend’s here,” I say lightly. “Better wipe the grass off your knees.”
He doesn’t answer.
She hops down and jogs toward him, practically bouncing with perkiness. “I brought you a smoothie,” she coos, shoving a neon-pink drink into his hand. “You looked so hot out there.”
I snort and keep walking, pretending I’m not listening, even as I hang on every word.
“You okay?” she asks him, and I swear I can hear the exact moment he tries to pretend.
“Yeah,” Colton says, voice tight. “Just tired. Long practice. The smoothie is perfect, thanks.”
Tired of running? Of hiding? Of pretending he doesn’t get hard for me during sprints?
I don’t watch them walk off together.
I don’t.
Except I absolutely do.
She loops her arm through his, all sparkly teeth and cheerleader energy, and I want to puke. Or punch something. Maybe both. Because I know that look on his face.
The practiced smile. The nod. The way he holds her hand makes it look the same as a leash he’s pretending not to notice. I grab my phone from my bag, gritting my teeth. Pulling up the hookup app, I scroll over to GoldenSpiral23's profile.
Me: Still thinking about you. Especially when you’re not supposed to be on my mind. Tell me something filthy. I need the distraction.
I don’t know why I send it.
Okay—no, that’s a lie.
I know exactly why.
Because watching Colton walk off with Jasmine felt the same as swallowing glass. Because I wanted to throw something. Because pretending I don’t care is exhausting, and this—this anonymous thing? It’s easy.
Hot.
Safe.
He doesn’t know me. I don’t know him. And for a few minutes, I get to forget that the guy I do know—the one I can’t stop thinking about—won’t ever look at me the way I want him to. Or if he does, he’ll never act on it.
No. Scratch that. I don't want Colton anymore; I want him to pay for ruining my life.
By the time I make it back to the dorm, I’m drenched insweat and running on spite. I really should just shower in my dorm room everyday, but I know it gets under Colton’s skin to see me in the showers in the locker room. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say I don’t enjoy it.
I tug my shirt over my head the second the door clicks shut behind me, tossing it somewhere near the laundry basket—close enough to count. My muscles ache from running, my skin still flushed from the sprint…and not just because of cardio.
That fucking smile on Colton’s face when Jasmine handed him the smoothie. It's still burning behind my eyes.
Fuck.
I fish my phone back out, looking for a reply from Anonymous Guy. Nothing.
Giving up, I strip down and get in the shower. Maybe I can wash Colton off my skin. I'm not going to survive this semester if I don't get a handle on myself.
Lock it down. You've done it for two years.
The phone buzzes with a message as I step back into the room, and I grab it up like a fucking lifeline. Man, I'm desperate.
