Page 122 of Red Zone
“Yes,” I say, trying to sound sharper than I feel.
His smirk deepens just slightly. “Focused. Determined. And…” His eyes drag slowly over my face before meeting mine again. “Already thinking about what comes after.”
Heat creeps up my neck as I lower the mic, trying to keep my expression neutral.
“Thanks, Hayes,” I say briskly, stepping back.
He just grins faintly, leaning in to murmur, “Anytime, Princess” sending me a wink that I feel between my legs before jogging back toward the huddle.
I take a slow, steadying breath and force my shoulders straight.
Professional. Efficient. Untouchable.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
33
CARTER
There’s nothing like this.
Nothing in the world like standing on the field under the lights, with thousands of fans screaming your name, and knowing everyone’s watching to see if you’ll rise or choke.
And tonight, I’m not planning to choke.
Final regular season game. My last one in this uniform if things go how they’re supposed to in the spring.
But right now?
All that matters is beating these guys.
And maybe—if I’m being honest—impressing the girl who keeps glancing at me from the sidelines when she thinks I’m not looking.
The ref blows the whistle.
The first quarter starts fast.
We take the kickoff, and I’m already calling my cadence, reading the defense as we line up.
“Blue eighty! Set—hike!”
The ball’s in my hands, the line’s crashing down around me, and the pocket holds just long enough for me to spot Beckcutting across the middle. I fire it in, and he snags it out of the air before getting dragged down at the thirty.
First down.
I slap his helmet when we jog back to the huddle, my breath already clouding in the chilly air.
Next play’s a run. Then another slant. Then a fake screen that I keep myself, ducking around a linebacker and diving over the line to move the chains again.
Every drive, every snap, we chip away at them.
And every time I come off the field, my eyes find her.
Lyla.
She’s standing at the thirty with her notepad and mic, hair pulled back tight, her cheeks pink from the cold. She keeps pretending to scribble something every time I look her way.
But I see the way her gaze lingers on me just a second longer than it should.
