Page 67 of Shut Up and Score
My throat burns. Because I know this look. I’ve seen it before. The first time he kissed me. My heart slams against my ribs. I hate him.
God, I hate how he makes me feel.
I storm out of the shower, water soaking my practice pads, leaving wet footprints across the tile. I don’t care.
I don’t care that I'm dripping water with every step or that I can barely breathe. I grab a dry towel and wipe at my face,attempting to get rid of the heat crawling under my skin.
He follows.
Of course, he fucking follows.
“Micah—”
“Don’t,” I snap, spinning on him. “Don’t start.”
He stops short, chest heaving. “It wasn’t?—”
“Don’t say it wasn’t a mistake,” I bite. “And don’t say it was either. You don’t get to fucking play both sides this time.”
His jaw tightens. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Bullshit.” I step in, wet and furious, and vibrating with something I don’t want to name. “You don’t even know why you kissed me, do you? You were angry, or confused, or hard-up, and I was just there.Again.”
He flinches.
Good.
“Do you ever think before you touch me, Taylor? Or do you just react and let me deal with the fallout?”
“I didn’t mean?—”
“You never mean it. That’s the problem.” My voice cracks. I fucking hate that it cracks. “You always kiss me like you'll fucking die if you don't. And then you look at me as if I’m the problem.”
His eyes flash, but he doesn’t deny it.
And that makes it worse.
Because I don’t want his excuses. I want him to own it. For once in his perfect, golden-boy life, I want him to fucking own it.
I push the wet clothes off my legs, standing completely naked in front of him, before shoving my legs into my sweats. I grab my duffel and toss it over one shoulder, my sweats sticking to my skin. Feet still bare, and I walk away.
He says my name once more. Just “Micah,” soft and broken.
But I’m already gone. Because I won’t do this again. I won’t be the secret. I won’t be the mistake.
Not again.
Not for him.
My room’s quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of stillness that makes everything louder inside my head.
I showered after I stormed back into my dorm. Brushed my teeth so hard that I'm sure the enamel was scrubbed off, too. I had to get the taste of him out of my mouth.
Afterwards, I toweled off, pulled on sweats, and sat on the edge of my bed, hoping that something might start to make sense if I don’t move.
