Page 13 of Shut Up and Score
Bad idea. The light burns straight through to my soul. I groan and fumble blindly for the phone, knocking it off the bed and nearly following it to the floor.
Finally, I grab it. Squint at thescreen.
6 missed calls. 9 unread texts.All from Coach and the group chat.
PRACTICE. FIELD. NOW. WHERE THE FUCK IS GOLDEN BOY?
Shit.
My stomach rolls as I sit up, head pounding hard enough to rattle my teeth. My tongue tastes like shame and stale citrus. I’m still in last night’s jeans, one shoe kicked under the desk, shirt twisted halfway around my torso.
I havenomemory of getting home.
But flashes come in pieces.
Flashing lights. Sticky floors. Someone laughing. Someone crying—possibly me. And Micah. Pinned against a wall with someone else’s hands on him. Caleb leaving with the girl in the red dress.
My gut twists as I drag myself upright, shirt clinging to dried sweat and regret. I stagger toward the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and catch my own reflection in the mirror.
Eyes bloodshot. Hair sticking up. Golden Boy, my ass.
I brush my teeth as though it’ll fix anything. Newsflash. It doesn’t.
I grab my gear—half-folded, slightly beer-scented, or maybe that’s just me—and stumble out the door without bothering to check my phone again. Because practice started twenty minutes ago.
And I’m about to show up for it like the walking disaster I am.
FOUR
MICAH
Gavin’sstill out cold when I slide out of his bed.
He’s snoring softly, one arm flung across the pillow I was using, as though he thinks I’m still there. I’m not.
I’ve already pulled on my jeans—wrinkled, missing the button—and I find my shirt draped over the desk chair. It smells gross, and I wrinkle my nose at the combination of sweat, cologne, and cheap beer wafting from it. Pretty on-brand for last night.
I move quietly, slipping my shoes on without tying them, grabbing my phone from the cluttered nightstand. I don’t look back. Because this was never going to be more than a night of fun.
Gavin’s fun. Hot. A good distraction.
But that’s all he is. And I’m not in the market for anything more.
I close the door gently behind me and head down the stairs, the early morning chill biting at my bare arms. The walk back to my dorm is quiet, the kind of silence that settles in when the party’s over and all you’re left with is your ownheartbeat.
I unlock my phone and scroll past a few missed notifications, the usual noise.
Then I see it.
1 new message – GoldenSpiral23
The mystery match from last night.
I pause. It takes half a second to remember matching him. His profile was vague butinteresting.Different.
And now he’s messaged.
I open it.
