37. Colton
THIRTY-SEVEN
COLTON
Micah’s door clicks shut behind us, sealing out the night and the lingering buzz of my parents’ house. The hum of the mini fridge fills the room, low and steady, like it’s been waiting all evening to welcome us back.
Micah drops his keys on the desk, the little rainbow keychain swinging once before going still. He kicks his shoes off with lazy aim and flops onto his bed, breathing out loudly as if he’s been holding his breath all day and finally gets to let it out.
Instead of following, I stand there for a second, watching him. There’s something about the way he looks right now—hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair a little messy from my mom’s hugs, the soft lines around his eyes from laughing—that makes my chest feel too full.
He glances over, catching me staring, and quirks a brow. “You gonna join me or just stand there creeping?”
I roll my eyes but climb in beside him, stretching out so we’re facing each other. The bed dips and shifts under us unt il we’re pressed together, knee to knee, breath mingling in the space between us.
“Your family…” he starts, then stops as if he’s weighing the right words. “That could’ve been worse.”
I smile faintly. “Could’ve been a lot worse. I used to think that Jasmine was her favorite because she was everything my mom wanted for me. But I realized tonight that she just wants me to be happy. And I’m pretty sure you’re her favorite now.”
He laughs softly, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “I think you’re her favorite. She wouldn’t have gone to all of that trouble if she didn’t love you.”
We’re quiet for a while. Not the awkward kind—just the easy, comfortable quiet. My hand finds his, our fingers sliding into place without needing to think about it. His thumb brushes over my knuckles like he’s memorizing the shape of them.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, soft enough that I almost don’t hear it. “Better than okay.” His eyes hold mine for a beat before drifting lower, to my mouth. “Feels good. All of it.”
Something in me unravels at that, slow and sure. I lean in until my forehead rests against his, the scent of my shampoo curling warm in my lungs. “Yeah,” I murmur. “It does.”
He smiles against my cheek, and I can feel more than see it. “We’ve got time before Luke’s,” he says. “You wanna just…cuddle for a bit?”
“Yeah,” I say again, because it’s the only answer that feels right.
We shift without really thinking about it, Micah tugging me closer until we’re tangled head to toe. His hoodie sleeve brushe s my jaw as his hand cups the side of my face, thumb skimming along my cheekbone.
I press a light kiss to the corner of his mouth—just enough to feel the curve of his smile—and he tilts his head, catching my lower lip between his for a second before letting it go.
It’s not hungry, not rushed. Just soft. Gentle. The kind of kiss you give when you don’t need to prove anything.
We trade a few more, each one a little slower, a little lazier, until my nose bumps his and he huffs out a quiet laugh.
“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, but he’s still leaning in, still brushing the tip of his nose against mine as if he can’t help it.
“Mm. You love it,” I whisper back.
His eyes soften in a way that makes my chest ache, in a good way. He drags his fingers through my hair, nails grazing lightly over my scalp, and I melt into it, my arm tightening around his waist.
For a while, we just breathe each other in. The rise and fall of his chest against mine. The steady heat of his body. The quiet, steady rhythm of us.
I could live here, I think to myself. In this bed, in this exact moment, with him. But the time passes too fast anyway.
Micah’s thumb is still making slow circles against my side when he says, “We should probably get moving before Luke sends a search party.”
I groan, burying my face in his shoulder. “Five more minutes.”
“That’s what you said fifteen minutes ago,” he says, voice warm with amusem ent.
“Yeah, but now I mean it more.”
He laughs, low and quiet, the kind of sound that vibrates right against my chest. “Fine. But if we’re late, you’re telling him why.”
I lean back just far enough to meet his eyes, grinning. “What, you don’t think he’ll guess?”
Micah snorts. “Oh, he’ll guess. He’ll just be obnoxious about it.”
We untangle slowly, neither of us is in a hurry to lose contact. I stand and stretch, and Micah stays where he is on the bed, legs crossed, hood up from the sweatshirt he’s been wearing all day.
“You wearing that to Luke’s?” I ask, nodding at it.
“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’ and tugging the hem like he’s showing it off. “Gotta make sure everyone knows who I belong to, right?”
I pause mid-motion, that simple sentence landing heavier than he probably meant it to. “Right,” I say quietly, my chest going warm in a way that has nothing to do with the heating vent.
He catches my eye, smirks, and tosses me my sneakers. “Come on, Taylor. We’ve got Mario Kart to dominate.”
“You mean I’ve got Mario Kart to dominate,” I shoot back, slipping them on.
He stands close enough that his shoulder brushes mine, leaning in to murmur, “We’ll see about that,” before stealing one more kiss—quick, but enough to leave me smiling all the way to the door.
Luke’s dorm door is propped open, the sounds of Mario Kart chaos spilling into the hall. He glances up when we step inside, his grin turning smug.
“Hey, lovebirds,” he says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You’re just in time—Ty’s losing and blaming the controller.”
“I’m not losing,” Ty calls from a beanbag without looking away from the screen. “I’m strategizing. And it would be easier if the joy stick wasn’t drifting without my help.”
Will’s on the carpet beside him, smirking. “Strategizing to lose faster?”
Luke gestures toward the bed where two controllers wait. “You in?”
Micah heads for the bed, still wearing my hoodie, and tosses me a controller. “Yeah, we’re in.”
Ty finally glances over, grinning when he sees us. “Good. I need someone else to humiliate besides Will.”
“Not gonna happen,” I say, dropping onto the bed beside Micah so our knees bump.
Luke shakes his head, settling back with his own controller. “This is gonna be fun.”
The countdown starts, and Micah leans in just enough for his voice to be for me alone. “Hope you’re ready to lose in front of your friends, Taylor.”
I smirk. “Hope you’re ready to eat my dust, Blackman.”
The race starts, and before I’ve even cleared the first turn, a red shell slams into my kart.
“Seriously?” I glare at him out of the corner of my eye.
Micah’s grin is pure trouble. “What? Gotta keep you humble, Taylor.”
Ty snorts from the armchair. “This is gonna be good.”
Luke leans forward, his arms on his knees with his own controller, grinning. “If you two start flirting mid-race, I’m docking points.”
“Dock all you want,” Micah says, not looking away from the screen. “Still gonna win. ”
We spend the next three laps elbowing each other and trash-talking under our breath. By the time we cross the finish line, my sides hurt from laughing, and Micah’s looking smug enough to make me want to throw a pillow at him.
He stretches like he’s got all night. “One down. Plenty more where that came from.”
“Good,” I say, leaning against the wall, legs stretching out in front of me on the bed. “Gives me time to crush you next round.”
Micah smirks, already scrolling through the track list. “We’ll see about that.”
Apparently, I’m not as good at Mario Kart as I thought I was, because I am not able to beat Micah or Luke, for that matter, for the next half hour.
We’re still propped against the wall on Luke’s bed, my legs stretched out in front of me, knees bent just enough that Micah’s thigh is pressed along mine. His back is warm against my shoulder, the hum of the game filling the room.
He’s got the controller in his hands, thumbs flying, but every so often his head tips just slightly toward me like he can’t help it. My own controller’s in my lap, my focus…questionable.
“Eyes on the track, Taylor,” he says without looking at me, that cocky little grin tugging at his mouth.
“I am,” I lie.
Ty groans from the beanbag across the room. “You’re watching him, not the game.”
Micah’s grin widens. “Can you blame him?”
Will shakes his head from the floor, leaning against the side of the beanbag. “Guess not.”
I huff out a laugh, nudging Micah’s knee with mine. He doesn’t move away; if anything, he leans more into me, the scent of my shampoo curling up every time he shifts. He smells good with my scent all over him. And it distracts me.
By the next round, we’ve both got our knees bumping in time with the music, talking shit to Ty and Will without moving from our spot. Between races, Micah twists, grabs the soda sitting on the nightstand, and hands it to me without looking away from the screen.
“Still going down next round,” I mutter before taking a sip.
He smirks, taking the can back. “Not a chance, princess.”
“Princess?” I bite back a smile at the new nickname, eyes flicking to where his fingers wrap around the can—long and steady, nails clean, knuckles brushing mine for a beat too long before he leans back into place.
He grins over at me. “Yeah.” The countdown for the next race starts, and he elbows me lightly. “Don’t choke under pressure, Taylor. Wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your adoring public.”
Ty snorts. “Pretty sure your ‘adoring public’ is just you, Blackman.”
Micah doesn’t miss a beat. “Exactly. And I’m very hard to impress.”
I roll my eyes, leaning just enough that my shoulder brushes his. “You’re not that hard to impress. I just have to win.”
“Mm,” he hums, fake-considering it. “Or you could lose and let me gloat. That’s almost better.”
The race kicks off, and I’m determined not to let him distract me again—except he keeps leaning closer when he’s about to hit me with a shell, murmuring little gotcha comments in my ear, his breath warm against my skin, sending pleasant little shivers down my spine .
I finish in third. He finishes first.
Micah raises his arms pretending he just won the Super Bowl. “And that is why you don’t challenge me, princess.”
“You’re insufferable,” I say, even as my mouth curves into a smile.
He tips his head toward me, smirking. “Yeah. And you love it.”
And, yeah…he’s right. I love him.
Ty’s already queuing up the next race, but Micah leans back against the wall beside me like he’s settling in for something more important than Mario Kart .
Our knees are still touching, and at some point, his hand found its way to rest against my thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles that have nothing to do with the game.
I glance over at him, catching the faint smirk tugging at his lips, and my chest does that stupid, full ache thing. It’s easy to forget we’re not alone when he’s looking at me like that—like he knows exactly what I’m thinking and maybe he’s thinking it too.
“You two need a moment?” Luke’s voice cuts in from the doorway from his bathroom, all dry amusement. I didn’t even notice him getting up.
Micah doesn’t even flinch. “Maybe,” he says, casual as anything. “You offering to clear the room for us?”
Luke grins, pushing off the doorframe. “Don’t tempt me. Ty, Will—think we should give them some privacy?”
Ty snickers without looking up from the screen. “Nah. Let ‘em suffer.”
Will lifts his soda in a lazy salute. “Public displays of affection build character.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m grinning, and Micah’s hand squeezes my thigh once before letting go so he can grab his contro ller again. “Guess we’re giving them what they want, then,” he murmurs, low enough that only I hear it.
And I can’t help it—I lean in just enough for my shoulder to brush his again, my voice matching his quiet. “It builds character.”
Micah’s mouth curves, that slow, wicked smile that always makes my stomach flip. “Guess I’ll have to keep testing your character, then,” he murmurs back, eyes still on the screen but voice meant for me alone.
I bump his knee with mine, pretending to focus on the countdown for the next race, but my chest is too full for me to care much about winning.
His scent, the warmth of him pressed against my side, the fact that we’re here—open, unbothered, together—is enough to make the rest of the room fade to background noise.
Luke makes a dramatic sigh from where he’s leaning against his desk. “God, you’re disgusting. It’s beautiful.”
Ty groans. “If they start making out mid-race, I’m forfeiting.”
Will shrugs, unbothered. “Free win for me.”
Micah snorts and finally tears his gaze away from the screen long enough to glance at me, eyes glinting. “You hear that, princess? We could win by default.”
“Or,” I counter, smirking back, “we could just destroy them the old-fashioned way.”
His smile sharpens. “You’re on.”
The next second, the race launches, and we’re both leaning forward as if it’s life or death—shoulders still pressed together, knees still bumping in time, and me realizing that even if we lose, I’ve already won.