Page 7 of Shut Up and Score
The same as always.
“Coach is gonna ride my ass,” he mutters, barely loud enough to hear. “Said I looked like I was sleep-throwing.”
I grin from where I’m leaning against the rail. “Because you were. You missed Parker’s wide open. Twice.”
He huffs out a fake laugh, then goes quiet again.
Long enough that my chest starts to tighten.
There’s always been something electric in the silence between us. A hum under the surface. I never reach for it. Never name it. Because if I do, I risk the one thing I do have—him. As my best friend. My teammate. My almost-everything.
So I stay where I am.
Until he moves.
One second, he’s three feet away. The next, his hand’s wrapped around the back of my neck, the football rolling awkwardly away, and he’s backing me into the cold metal of the supports for the bleachers.
My heart trips over itself.
“Colt—?”
And then he kisses me.
Hard.
Fast.
Like he’s just figured out what he wants, and it’s me. Like he’s been holding his breath for years and finally let it out with my name on his tongue.
I don’t think. I can’t. Because his mouth is on mine, and it’s everything I’ve never let myself want. Everything I’ve buried under jokes and late-night texts and the weight of being the best friend.
He tastes like Gatorade and mint gum, and something Colton—something warm and reckless and home. His hands are shaking a little as they grip my shoulders, as if he doesn’t know what to do with them, like touching me might set the world on fire, and he’s willing to risk it.
I freeze. Then I melt into him.
My fingers curl into his hoodie, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between us. I shift, backing him into the support of the bleachers, the night air cool against the heat of us. Moonlight catches in his hair, making him look unreal, as if this is a dream I’m going to wake up from, alone and aching.
But he’s real.
And he groans—God, that sound—low and surprised, like he didn’t mean to make it. As though this kiss is getting away from him.
I kiss him harder, pretending I can convince him it’s okay. That I want this. That I’ve always wanted this. That it’s not just a fluke or a mistake or a dare gone too far. That I’m not going anywhere.
His hands slide up to my jaw, thumbs brushing my cheek like he’s memorizing it. Like he needs to. And for one impossible second, it feels as if everything might change. This moment could rewrite the whole world.
“Holy shit.”
The voice slams into us, breaking into our perfect fucking kiss. I turn my head just in time to see Jeremy standing there, mouth open, staring.
And Colton—he jerks back like I burned him, shoving me away.
“Fuck.” Then louder: “Don’t fucking touch me again. I’m not fucking gay, you asshole.”
Like it was me who started it, and he didn’t just answer every question I’ve ever had with that single kiss.
I blink, and I’m back on campus. The rando is gone. The cafe’s patio is behind me. And I’m still walking.
Still bleeding. Still not over it. Because I don’t think I ever was.
