Page 53 of Shut Up and Score
And all I can think about is Micah. The way he looks at me as if he knows I’m lying to everyone, including myself. For the last week and a half, I can’t escape it.
I excuse myself before I can suffocate, murmuring something about the restroom. My phone’s already in my hand by the time I reach the hallway.
Buzz.
SmokeScreen77: You up?
And the other complication of my life. I should ignore it. I should go back inside and finish playing the part.
Instead, I step outside into the cool night air, heart racing, and type back with shaking hands.
Sunday morning,I’m sitting next to Jasmine in the quad. Protein shake in hand as she rattles on and on. Something about dinner plans. Or her sister’s birthday. Or whatever the hell I’m supposed to care about this week. And I remind myself again, this isn’t her fault. God, I’m such a dick.
I’m nodding. Smiling when I should. Saying “yeah, for sure,” on autopilot. But my mind’s somewhere else.
Scratch that—someoneelse.
SmokeScreen77: You ever think about what it’d be like? If we actually met?
I stare at the screen longer than I should. My pulse ticks faster. Thumb hovers over the keyboard.
Yes. Fuck, yes.
I think about it all the time. I imagine him pressed up against a wall, mouth hot, fingers tangled in my shirt. I imagine what his voice would sound like when he says my name—my real name.
And then I slam the fantasy down, locking it tight inside. Because that’s not part of the deal. That’s not safe.
I type:
Me: All the time. But mystery’s hotter. Safer. Real life’s messy.
He doesn’t reply right away, and I hate how much that gets to me.
Across the quad, Micah’s sitting on a low wall, laughing too loudly with three teammates I’m not close to. One of them nudges his shoulder. Micah doesn’t pull away. No, he leans into the touch.
My jaw clenches.
I shouldn’t care. I don’t. Not really. I watch him fish his phone out, he swipes up and grins down at the thing as if it just told him a joke. Then he types out a quick message and puts his phone back in his back pocket, giving the guys he’s with his attention again. He fits in with them in an effortless way. And with the way they are all laughing, they obviously enjoy hanging with Micah.
I shift my attention back to my phone and find a new message. I didn’t even feel my phone buzz.
SmokeScreen77: You’ve been quiet lately. Don’t tell me Golden Boy’s losing interest?
Golden Boy. He doesn’t know how dead-on that is.
I should feel weird about it. Should feel guilty, especially with Jasmine’s voice trailing off beside me while she scrolls TikTok as though we’re just two strangers on a bench—not a couple.
Not that we’ve really been that for at least the last year.
Me: Not losing interest. Just distracted. You ever meet someone who gets under your skin in all the worst ways? And you can’t stop thinking about them?
It’s not a lie.
Micah’s laugh has been stuck in my head for days, weeks even. That goddamn smirk when he wins a drill. The way he casually flirts with anyone who isn’t me.
And now I’m wondering how someone whoinfuriatesme in real life can feel so damnrightin every midnight fantasy, fueled by SmokeScreen’s messages.
Smoke replies instantly.
