Page 112 of Shut Up and Score
Luke snorts, unconvinced. “Right. It’s totally about your car. Not about the tension happening between you and Golden Boy last weekend.”
I force a smirk. “You’re obsessed with that guy.”
He tilts his head, watching me too closely. “I saw how fast you bailed after pizza night. And how he came back with his hood up, looking as though he just ran wind sprints in a thunderstorm. You’re telling me nothing’s going on?”
Heat crawls up my neck. I shove it down. “If anything’s going on,” I say with a shrug I hope looks bored, “it’s just me finally getting a little payback. That’s all.”
Luke whistles low. “Revenge, huh?”
I let my smirk sharpen. “Yeah. Revenge.”
The word tastes hollow, but I make it sound cocky. Like it’s just a game. Like I didn’t spend the whole bus drive back to campus thinking about his mouth and the way he whispered my name as if he’d break if I stopped.
I tell myself I can quit whenever I want. That I’ve made my point. That I can leave him aching for me and walk away before it means anything.
But my skin still buzzes as though he’s touching me, and my dick twitches just thinking about how he tasted.
I want more. I wanthim.
Luke starts a new race and shakes his head, grinning. “Just don’t get stupid, Micah. Guys like Colton? They burn you if you’re not careful.”
I don’t answer. I grab my controller, keep my eyes on the screen, and pretend I’m not already burned to the bone.
By the time I leave Luke’s room, I’m strung tight.
We burned through ten rounds ofMario Kart, and he spent all of them trying to get me to talk about Colton. I played it off—shrugged, gave him nothing—but inside? I was coming apart.
Every drift and boost was just a distraction from the memory of Colton’s mouth, his groan against my cock, the way his sweats clung to crotch after I made him cum in his pants. The whole damn weekend feels like a fever dream now.
When I step into my dorm, the quiet slams into me. No roommate. Just me, my heartbeat, and the hum of the mini fridge.
I kick my sneakers off and flop onto the bed, phone in hand. I tell myself I’ll check messages, maybe doom-scroll until I crash.
Then my screen lights up.
Prism notification: 1 new image from GoldenSpiral23.
My pulse spikes instantly. My thumb hesitates for a split second before tapping it open. It’s a photo.
A bottle of lube and a box of condoms on a rumpled dorm bed.
“Fuck,” I mutter, voice breaking in the empty room.
Heat slams through me, straight to my groin. My cock stirs immediately, pressing against my zipper. My hand twitches toward it before I stop myself, gripping the phone instead.
Another buzz.
GoldenSpiral23: Thought about you tonight.
And another.
GoldenSpiral23: Couldn’t stop.
My throat goes dry. I lean back against my pillow, staring at that photo like it’s a live feed of temptation. I told myself I’d pull back. That this was just revenge. That making him beg in that hotel room was enough.
But my cock is already hard, my body aching to ignore every rational thought I have.
I picture him here—Colton—Golden Boy, spread out and waiting, one hand on his slick cock, his mouth parted as he moans my name.
