Page 46 of Shut Up and Score
I try to focus on folding napkins. On remembering which drawer the serving spoons are in.
Not on the fact that my phone is burning a hole in my pocket. That I can feel his messages waiting. That even now, part of me is still wondering what SmokeScreen77 said next.
That I’m still hard for a faceless boy with a filthy mouth and soft laughs I can’t even hear, but crave.
Jasmine’s voice cuts through my spiral. “You okay, babe?”
I blink.
“Huh?”
She smiles, not unkind, just too knowing. “You spaced out.”
“Just thinking about practice,” I lie, forcing a yawn. “Coach has us running extra for conditioning.”
She hums like she buys it, but I can tell she doesn’t.
Mom breezes back in, cheeks flushed from the oven heat. “You two still coming to the Alumni gala next Saturday?”
Jasmine nods. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
My stomach knots.
Because yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll wear the suit. Shake hands. Smile at the cameras, be exactly who everyone wants me to be.
Just like tonight.
But underneath it?
My hands still remember how it felt to stroke myself to the thought of a stranger's voice whispering my name. And my mouth is full of words I’ll never be able to say in this house.
Not while Jasmine is sitting next to me.
Not while I’m their perfect son.
Jasmine threads her fingers through mine under the table just as my mom sets down the roasted chicken and green beans. The same dinner she’s made since I was old enough to tie my cleats.
Comfort food. Nostalgia on a plate.
It should feel grounding. Safe.
Instead, my chest feels tight.
Mom breaks the silence while arranging the salad tongs. “So… Micah’s back.”
I stiffen.
Jasmine doesn’t say anything, but her eyes slide over to me.
“We heard from the school,” Mom continues, all lightness and good intentions. “Said there were some… arrangements made. After everything that happened.”
Everything.
Like that word can sum up the disaster I created.
“He’s back on the team,” Dad adds from the living room. “You okay with that, son?”
My jaw tics. “It’s not a problem.”
