Page 120 of Shut Up and Score
Luke’s quiet for a minute, which is rare for him. Then he nudges me again. “Okay, first off, ouch. Second…you want my advice?”
I shrug. “Sure. Not as if it can get worse.”
“Don’t let him call the plays on this one. You’re allowed to want more and be unsure about it all at the same time. And if he can’t handle that, maybe he’s the one fumbling here, not you.”
I huff out a laugh, watery and raw. “You and your football metaphors.”
“Hey, I’m a supportive teammate. I speak your language.” He pauses, glancing around the quad before leaning in again. “Also…Micah’s been staring at you when he thinks no one’s looking. And he was as sulky as you are now, for the past week. So don’t write him off yet. He’s just an idiot.”
I swallow hard, hope a dangerous flutter in my chest. Because if Luke’s right…maybe this game isn’t over yet.
THIRTY
MICAH
If I thought ignoringhim would make it easier, I was dead wrong.
I’ve been sprawled on my bed for the last hour, staring at the cracks in the ceiling as though they might give me answers. My earbuds are in, no music playing, just the soft thump of my own pulse reminding me I’m alive and miserable.
I can still feel him. The weight of his head on my chest. The warmth of his breath against my skin. The fucking smell of him is still all over my blankets. Reminding me that I slipped out of my own dorm room like a coward.
I told myself it was the smart play—cut it off now, before I start thinking this is something it can’t be. Before I start believing I could have him, not just his body. Because if I’m honest with myself, I was already falling with the one night in his arms.
A knock jolts me upright.
“Micah? It’s me.”
My stomach drops.
Colton.
I hesitate. I could ignore him. Ishould. But my feet betray me, and a second later, I’m pulling the door open.
He’s standing there, hair damp from a shower, t-shirt clinging to his chest, his expression raw. His eyes are wide, and he looks as though he’s holding his heart in his hands and waiting for me to crush it.
And I hate that it makes my chest squeeze in sympathy. God, this guy. I shake myself out of it.
“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to.
“I—” He glances down the hall, then steps closer, dropping his voice. “I can’t do this. I can’t just…pretend last night didn’t happen.”
I lean a shoulder against the doorframe, trying to look bored instead of as if my pulse is slamming against my ribs. “We already talked.”
“No.Youtalked.” His voice wavers, but there’s steel under it. “You told me I’m nothing. That you’re not interested in ‘maybe.’ But you didn’t even give me a chance, Micah. You never let me—” His jaw flexes. “You never let me show you I wanted more.”
The words hit like a helmet to the chest.
I swallow the ache, forcing my face blank. “Then maybe you should accept the message and stop trying.”
Colton freezes. I see the pain flash across his face, and I hate myself for putting it there. He takes a sharp breath as if he’s going to argue, but then he moves.
One step forward. A hand in my shirt. And his mouth crashes into mine.
I stagger back a half-step, but my hands are already on him, fisting in the damp cotton at his waist, pulling him closer. His kiss is hard and desperate and furious, and I meet it like I’ve been starving for it—which I have.
A low sound rumbles in my chest, something raw and involuntary, and I spin us so his back hits the doorframe. He gasps against my mouth, and the second I feel his fingers curl in the back of my hair, I’m gone.
All the walls I built shatter under the weight of him kissing me as if I matter.
