Page 98 of Shut Up and Score
I really shouldn’t want to drag him upstairs, throw him on that hotel bed, and tell him to take me properly this time.
But when his laugh carries across the breakfast room—easy, warm, so fake—I nearly crush the water bottle in my fist.
Luke whistles low. “Yup. Definitely drama. And whatever it is…you’re losing.”
The walk-through should feel routine.It should be automatic—the same drills, the same signals, the same routes we’ve run a hundred times.
But nothing about this feels normal.
Not when I can feel him behind me.
Colton’s voice is all confidence as he calls the cadence, barking out plays for the second-string receivers. He’s sunshine and leadership and every damn thing the world thinks he is. Meanwhile, I can barely keep my helmet straight, because every time I line up, I’m aware of him.
The weight of last night is all over me.
The way his throat tightened around me. The soft, broken sound he made when I shoved deep and held him there,his fingers curling into the sheets like he didn’t know whether to pull me closer or push me away.
My cock twitches in my compression shorts, and I swear under my breath, jerking my helmet off once Coach dismisses us to the locker room.
I just need a shower. A reset. Something.
The locker room is loud—guys joking, pads hitting benches—but it all fades the second I spot him across the room. He’s mid-laugh at something Caleb said, still in that fake-easy mood, peeling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion that shows off every line of his back.
My hands remember.
The way his spine arched when I pinned him down. The way his hips stuttered when I let him grind himself to release, desperate and soaked.
And then he turns just enough to catch me staring.
His lips curve—not the real smile, not the one he used to give me at two a.m. in his basement—but a tiny smirk, a flicker of awareness that slices through my temper.
I slam my locker shut.
“Problem?” he asks, voice low enough that the others won’t hear.
I stalk toward him, close enough that the smell of his soap and sweat tangles with memory. “You gonna play golden boy all day, or you gonna admit what you begged for last night?” I grouse.
His breath hitches, but he tilts his chin up, stubborn. “I didn’t?—”
I lean in, my voice a whisper against his ear. “Your throat says otherwise.”
He shivers.
Luke’s voice cuts through from a few lockers down. “Hey, lovebirds, you’re creeping everybody out. Either make out or fight already.”
The guys laugh, but Colton’s face goes red, and I can see the flicker of something dark in his eyes—arousal, humiliation, want.
And I know I’ve got him.
I wait until the laughter dies down and guys start peeling off toward the showers. Steam curls out from the tiled corner of the locker room, the hiss of water mixing with the echo of voices.
I follow, slow, deliberate.
Colton’s in the last stall, of course, back to the wall as if he can disappear into it. The shower curtain not closed completely. He’s scrubbing his hair, eyes closed, water cascading over his shoulders. His lips are pink from the heat, parted just enough to make my cock ache.
I step into his stall without a word. Sliding the shower curtain shut behind me. This college has private showers, and I'm going to take full advantage of it.
He startles, slamming back against the tile. “Micah?—”
