Page 73 of Shut Up and Score

Page List

Font Size:

I hate that it hurts her. But I won’t lie anymore.

“You deserve someone who chooses you with their whole heart,” I say. “Not someone who’s halfway somewhere else.”

“Is it serious?” she asks, voice thin.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “It might’ve been.”

She nods slowly. Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t let them fall. Jasmine’s always been proud. Always been strong. And I’m sorry for breaking that.

“I hope he’s worth it,” she says finally.

Me too.

She brushes past me and disappears down the steps. I stare at the front door for a long time.

Then I pull out my phone.

I unlock the screen and scroll through the message thread between me and SmokeScreen77—Micah.

I stop on the first chest pic he ever sent.

It’s not graphic. Just him. Confident and a little cocky, like he didn’t care if a stranger on an app had his picture.

I should have known then. Yeah, he has tattoos he didn't have two years ago and more muscles, but I've seen his chest in my dreams. Maybe on some subconscious level I knew.

Even if I haven’t let myself really look at him since he came back to the team.

Even if I’ve been too busy pretending he didn’t still matter.

I let out a long breath, tilting my head back. The stars are barely visible tonight—hiding behind clouds, or maybe just tired of watching me fuck things up.

How do I fix this?

How do I tell him he’s the only thing that’s ever felt real?

How do I ask him to trust me again…when I broke every version of that already?

I scroll back to the most recent message.

SmokeScreen77: Did you know that roller coasters were invented to distract us from sin?

I choke out a laugh. It’s just like him. God.

He sent that hours ago. I should’ve answered. I wanted to.

But how the hell do you reply when the person you’re falling for is the one you already broke?

I stare at the screen until the letters blur and my emotions cloud my eyes.

Then I start to type. I finally settle on:

Me: Tell me more about sin.

I hit send before I can overthink it. My thumb hovers, waiting for the little “typing” bubble to appear.

Nothing.

I lock my screen. Unlock it. Refresh.