Page 51 of Shut Up and Score
The locker room is quiet when I push the door open. A couple guys trail in behind me, but they’re more interested in their phones and post-practice grumbling than whatever I’m doing. Fine by me.
I drop my bag on the bench and peel off my shirt, tossing it aside. My compression pants and pads follow, sticking slightly to my thighs as I strip them off. I grab my towel from my locker and walk naked to the showers. The water hisses on, hot and sharp, and I step under the spray, hoping it’ll scald him out of my system.
It doesn’t.
Not when I close my eyes and still see the way his back muscles flex when he runs away.
Not when I remember the blush climbing his neck after my last shot hit home.
Not when I wonder how fast he'd unravel if I ever gave him the option to fall apart in my hands.
I brace both palms against the tile and let the water rush over me, steam curling around my body. For a second, I let myself feel it—the frustration, the tension, the ache.
Then I straighten, reach for my shampoo, and push it all down again.
I’ve got better things to do than waste my morning thinking about the golden boy with the girlfriend he doesn’t even seem to love.
Much better things. Like going to class or watching grass grow. Or waiting for a response from GoldenSpiral23.
I squeeze a dollop of shampoo into my palm, working it into my hair as if I can scrub the thoughts out along with the sweat. But they cling to me, stubborn and impossible to ignore.
Colton and his smug smile.
GoldenSpiral23 and his wicked words.
God help me if they’re even remotely the same kind of trouble. I tilt my head back under the spray, rinse, and pretend the water erases the tension curling through my spine. It doesn’t.
I shut the water off, towel off quick, and yank on clean clothes from my locker as though I’m racing some invisible clock. The locker room’s mostly empty now, a couple of guys laughing at something on TikTok, one dude FaceTiming someone in the corner. Normal shit. Background noise.
I pull out my phone before I can second-guess it.
One new notification.
Please be him.
I swipe it open; just a random alert from the student portal about parking restrictions.
“Of course,” I mutter, shoving my phone into my pocket. “Because the universe is hilarious.”
But I don’t delete the app. And I don’t stop hoping. Because maybe he’ll answer during lecture.
Or maybe during the mind-numbing lull between classes, when I’m pretending to care about studying.
Maybe he’s typing right now, debating what to say next.
I smile to myself as I sling my bag over my shoulder.
Let him make me wait.
I can play patient.
But I don’t play nice.
THIRTEEN
COLTON
My phone buzzes,Mom’s name lighting up the screen. I already know what this is about.
