Page 179 of Red Zone
“Not nervous,” he says. “Just…rusty. You know. It’s been a while since…”
I clap him on the shoulder as I push the door open. “You’ll be fine, Romeo. Just don’t tell her you’re looking for a replacement for your ex, and you might even get a number tonight.”
He flips me off, but his lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh.
The place is packed, music thumping through the floorboards, the air thick with beer and cheap perfume.
I follow Beck as he threads through the crowd toward the kitchen. That’s when I spot Grayson leaning against the counter with a beer in hand, his usual easy grin in place, surrounded by three hockey guys I recognize from the team.
He sees me at the same time and straightens, lifting his bottle in greeting.
“Hayes,” he calls over the music. “Look at that—the quarterback shows his face at a hockey party. World must be ending.”
Beck chuckles as we walk over.
“Grayson,” I say, smirking faintly.
He claps me on the back and nods toward his teammates.
“Boys, you know QB1. Carter Hayes. And his…moral support?” He gestures to Beck with a teasing grin.
“Beck,” Beck says dryly, shaking his hand.
“These are some of my teammates. Weston, Kai, and Asher,” Grayson says, introducing the other guys, who nod and give me their little chin lifts of respect.
We stand there for a minute, making small talk. The hockey team is having a hell of a season, on track to hit the regionals next month if they keep it up.
Beck’s already scanning the room like he’s on a mission.
Grayson leans in a little closer to me, lowering his voice just enough that it barely cuts through the music.
“So…how’s Lyla?” he asks casually.
I stiffen, my grip tightening slightly on my cup.
Why does he care?
And why is he asking me?
I force a shrug, keeping my tone neutral.
“She’s fine,” I mutter.
Grayson hums like he doesn’t quite believe me but lets it go, turning back to his teammates.
I down the rest of my beer, needing something to take the edge off.
“Gonna grab another,” I say, already moving toward the cooler.
On my way, I catch sight of Beck on the couch—and I can’t help but snort into my drink.
He’s sitting ramrod straight, a gorgeous brunette practically draped across his lap, playing with
the collar of his shirt.
And Beck?
He’s staring straight ahead like she just told him she’s a wanted fugitive and not just some hot girl at a party.
