Page 23 of Shut Up and Score
Luke jogs up, cheeks flushed, hair damp from his shower. He’s got that easy-going, golden retriever energy that usually makes me want to run the other way.
Instead, I wait.
“Sorry,” he says, breathless, adjusting the strap on his bag. “Didn’t want to ambush you in the locker room. Figured you’d had enough of that today.”
I snort. “You’re not wrong.”
He falls into step beside me as we push through the doors into the late morning light. I don’t say anything else, and he doesn’t seem to mind the silence. We walk toward the dorms.
“I heard what happened,” Luke says finally. “With Colton. I mean—not the specifics. Just that there was drama, and it got ugly. A couple of years back?”
My stomach tightens.
He holds up a hand. “I’m not asking for details. Just—figured I’d say something, because…I dunno. It’s different now.”
I glance at him. “Different how?”
Luke shrugs. “I guess people stopped pretending so hard. We’ve had a couple guys come out since then. No one burned the campus down. Coach still plays them. They still get laid.”
I bark a laugh despite myself. “That your way of saying you’re one of them?”
He grins. “I mean, if the eyeliner, rainbow socks, and sparkly nail polish didn’t give it away…”
“I thought maybe you were justreallyinto accessories,” I deadpan.
Luke gasps, clutching his chest like I’ve wounded him. “Micah, how dare you?”
I shake my head, biting back a grin. “Yeah, okay. I can tell.”
“Good,” he says brightly. “Because I’m queer. In casethat part wasn’t clear. And you seemed like maybe you could use a friend who gets it.”
He says it so casually, as simple as offering gum.
I blink at him.
A friend.
I haven’t had one of those since—well, sincebefore.
I nod. “Yeah. That’d be cool.”
“Sweet,” he says, beaming. “Want to grab a smoothie or something? You look like you’re two seconds from emotionally combusting. It must be hard being back on the team with Colt.”
I narrow my eyes. “You always this pushy?”
“Oh, honey,” he says, flipping an imaginary strand of hair over his shoulder. “You haven’t even seen pushy yet.”
I laugh.
Luke leads the way across campus like he owns the place, barely glancing back to make sure I’m following. I don’t think he realizes how rare it is for someone to just…includeme. No strings. No subtext. No expectations.
We’re halfway to the smoothie stand by the rec center when two voices call out from across the quad.
“Yo, Luke!”
“Wait up, man!”
Two guys jog over—Ty and Will. I saw them on the field. They’re the type of players that coaches love—dependable, quick on the uptake, follow directions well. They’re also the kind of guys I usually steer clear of. Too easy for that easygoing energy to flip on you if you’re not what they expect.
