Page 74 of Shut Up and Score
Still nothing.
I stare at the message. It’s not what I want to say. It’s not even close.
I wait a few minutes. I lock the phone. Unlock it.
Scroll back. Read his message again. As if the words might hit differently this time. Like they might suddenly tell me what to do.
I lean back against the cold stone wall of the dorm building and let my head thud against the brick. Eyes closed. Breathing shallow. Heart punching a hole through my ribs.
He’s not answering. And I don’t blame him. I ghosted him all day. Why would he? He doesn’t know I’ve been falling for him twice over. Once in person. Once behind a screen.
And now that I know they’re the same person, I don’t know how to be both Colton and GoldenSpiral anymore.
I don’t know how to be anything but sorry.
My phone screen fades to black. No reply. I slide it into my hoodie pocket, stand up, and push off the wall, forcing myself to walk inside.
Each step echoes. I tell myself I won’t check again.
I lie.
Because I will.
Because if he answers, even once…I'm going to be on the other end.
EIGHTEEN
MICAH
I wakeup with the indent of my pillow on my face and Luke spooning me. I groan. My mouth is full of cotton, and my head is throbbing, but at least we both have our clothes on.
I reach for my phone. Shit. Six-thirty. We're so dead.
“Luke,” I croak, nudging him. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”
He groans and cuddles into my back like I'm his teddy bear.
“Coach is gonna kill us,” I say.
He mumbles something.
“What?”
He lifts his head. “I'm only in your bed because you're heavy ass passed out on top of me and I couldn't get free.”
I snort. “Likely story.”
“Truth,” he says, dropping his head back down. “You're cute but not really my type. I like them innocent and nerdy. And I'm sorry to say you're neither.”
Luke’s still half-dead when I shove the blanket off. His eyeliner is smeared to hell—more pirate than pop-punk now—and his shirt’s clinging to one shoulder as if it gave up trying.
I wobble to my feet and rub my temples. “Ugh. I think I died. Did we die?”
“If we did, hell has decent thread counts.” He face plants into my pillow again. “Five more minutes.”
“You’re in jeans, Luke. And one of your boots is still on.”
He lifts his head slowly, blinking at the ceiling as though it wronged him. “So that explains the weird calf cramp.”
