Page 18 of Shut Up and Score

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SmokeScreen77: Good. I don’t do soft.

But I do enjoy making guys sweat. Especially ones still in the closet.

I choke out a breath that might be a laugh.

It shouldn’t hit the way it does. It’s just flirting. Only words. Still, it makes something settle inside of me. Which is completely insane, but I don't care.

He’s not holding back. Not hiding behind suggestion or silence. He’s bold. Unapologetic. Everything I wish I’d been when it mattered.

My thumbs hover over the keyboard. I know I should play it cool. Keep it surface-level. But something about the way this guy texts makes it easy to be…more.

Honest, even.

Me: I’ve spent a long time pretending that’s not something I want.

Not doing that anymore.

I stare at it for a second. Then I send the message, my pulse still pounding from the laps—or maybe from this. I don’t know anymore.

The reply comes quicker than I expected.

SmokeScreen77: Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you can actually handle me.

My lips twitch.

Whoisthis guy?

Whoever he is, he knows exactly what he’s doing. I shift slightly on the bleacher, the cool metal doing nothing to stop the heat curling low in my stomach.

I type back:

Me: Give me a shot. I like a challenge.

A pause.

SmokeScreen77: Mmm. Challenges are fun.

But I’m not here for sweet talk and wishful thinking. You can stay in the closet for what I have in mind.

My breath catches.

He’s still flirting, but there’s a bite under it. A warning. As if he’s daring me to keep playing, but only if I understand the rules.

So I reply:

Me: Then tell me what you have in mind.

This time, the three dots linger a little longer. Excitement thrums through me as I wait.

SmokeScreen77: Fun. Distraction.

Maybe someone who knows what they’re doing with their hands.

I huff a quiet breath. God, this guy.

I glance around the field—still empty—and bite down on a smile I shouldn't be wearing.

Me: Confident. I like it.

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