Page 141 of Red Zone
I head straight upstairs, kick off my shoes, and collapse on my bed without bothering to turn on the lights.
The TV remote’s still on my nightstand from the other night, so I grab it and flick on the screen.
Holiday Baking Championship fills the room with warm light and the sound of laughter, and it’s better than silence.
But not by much.
I grab my phone, scrolling past group texts and junk notifications until I find her name.
Princess
My thumb hovers for a second before I tap out a message.
you still up?
I set the phone on my chest, pretending to watch the TV as I wait. The bakers are arguing about royal icing versus buttercream, but I can’t focus on a damn thing.
No reply.
I stare at the screen a little longer.
Then I sigh, swipe, and hit call.
The line rings in my ear, and I close my eyes, listening.
One. Two. Three.
Come on, Harding.
Just pick up.
Click.
“Hello?” Her voice comes through after the fourth ring.
“Hey,” I say, settling back against the headboard. “It’s me.”
A beat, then a soft laugh, like she can’t help herself.
“Yeah,” she says. “I figured. Took you long enough.”
That makes me smile. “Didn’t know you were waiting on me.”
“I wasn’t,” she says, but her tone betrays her.
I let that hang there, grinning at the ceiling.
“What’re you up to?” I ask after a second.
“Nothing,” she admits. “Just…winding down. It’s quiet here. Feels weird.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, glancing at the bakers arguing on my TV. “Tell me about it. The football house feels like a tomb already.”
She hums like she knows exactly what I mean.
We fall into easy talk after that—finals, the charity thing, how Beck almost set off the smoke alarm with his cookies. She laughs at that, really laughs, and it does something to me.
I’m still smiling when she finally goes quiet, and I hear her shift on the other end of the line.
