Page 111 of Red Zone
His thigh brushes mine every so often, his fingers idly twisting the corner of the blanket where it drapes across both our laps.
This feels…easy. Which only makes it more dangerous.
Halfway through the next episode, he shifts slightly, angling his body toward me.
I glance over to find him watching me—not the TV—with that calm, unreadable look he sometimes gets.
“What?” I ask softly, trying to keep my voice even.
He tilts his head, his eyes steady on mine.
“This might sound weird and it also might not be my place to ask, but…” he rubs his hand up and down his arm, obviously nervous. “Beck had mentioned a while ago that you two had a thing during one of the times he and Angie were off before they were on again.”
I try my best to make sure my lips don’t twitch into a smile. “What did he tell you?”
“That he was sad, you were lonely, and one thing happened after the other.”
I can’t help but burst out laughing at that. “We hung out, that’s it. I think he kissed me on the cheek a couple times, but that’s about the extent of anything. I could tell he needed a friend, and we did go on a couple dates, so I would consider it sorta dating? I’m not really one to take anything to the physical level unless the feelings are there to back that up. But it was never serious, and nothing physical happened. It’s cute that you’re jealous, though.”
“I’m not jealous. I was just…clearing the air,” he says, his cheeks turning a little bit redder than normal.
Crossing my arms over my chest and turning to face him fully, I bite back. “Oh really? Would you like me to clear the air with any and all women at this college you’ve been rumored to be with?”
He groans at that, mumbling a barely coherent “no” as he sinks under the blanket he’s now using as a shield.
“Aw, what’s wrong, Hayes?” I move over to where I can poke him in the side. “You don’t want to go over your dating history with me?”
He groans even louder from under the blanket, his voice muffled. “Not exactly high on my list of favorite topics, no.”
I grin, scooting a little closer, and peel the blanket down just enough to see his face. His cheeks really are pink now, his jaw tight, even though he’s trying to play it off.
“Why not?” I ask, feigning innocence. “Afraid I’ll keep a running tally?”
He glares up at me, though it’s more sheepish than menacing. “Because it doesn’t matter anymore.”
That throws me for just a second.
I blink at him, my teasing faltering. “What do you mean?”
He exhales and sits up a little, dragging a hand through his messy hair. The blanket slips off his shoulders, pooling in his lap as he finally looks at me straight on.
“Because you’re here,” he says simply.
The statement hangs in the air between us, quiet but heavy, stealing the breath right out of my lungs.
I’m still floundering for words when his lips twitch.
“You’re overthinking,” he murmurs, and before I can even process what that means, his hand shoots out and grabs my side, giving it a quick, sharp squeeze.
I yelp, jerking away instinctively, and that’s all the opening he needs.
“Oh, no,” I warn, but he’s already grinning, leaning in closer.
“Ticklish, huh? Good to know,” he says, and then he attacks—his fingers digging into my ribs and my stomach until I’m gasping and writhing under the blanket, laughter spilling out before I can stop it.
“Carter—stop!” I half-laugh, half-gasp, trying to twist away.
But he doesn’t stop.
