Page 3 of Red Zone
I push past him, walking out to the hall before crossing into the film room. “Sit. We need to go over your schedule for the next two weeks.”
“Bossy,” he mutters, but drops into the chair anyway. “Not my usual, but I can get down with it.”
I ignore his comment and get right to business. “You have media availability before Thursday’s scrimmage. I need pregame soundbites, and they want a short form video package for the athletic department’s socials.”
“Cool,” he says, spinning slowly in his chair. “You want a filter? Or just my raw, devastatingly handsome good looks?”
I roll my eyes. “I want you to take this seriously.”
“I always take myself seriously.”
“That’s your first problem.”
He stops spinning and levels me with a look that’s…different. Less cocky, more observant.
“You really hate me, huh?”
I hesitate.
It’s not that simple.
“I don’t hate you,” I say finally. “I just don’t trust people who think charm or partying is their entire personality or have banged their way through half of the school’s female population.”
He whistles low. “Damn. If you were any colder, I’d see my breath.”
“Maybe next time, wear a jacket.”
His head tips back on a laugh, causing his shirt to ride up just enough to give me a view of perfectly chiseled abs and a trail of light brown hair traveling right down to his…
“Hey, Princess?”
My eyes fly up to find his waiting smirk, absolute mischief dancing around in those blue eyes.
“Got a bit of drool right there.” He uses his thumb to rub the corner of his mouth, drawing my attention right to his very pillowy looking lips.
I try to roll my eyes with as much attitude as I can muster, praying like hell he doesn’t notice the flush burning its way up my neck. “That’s all for today, Hayes. You can go.”
His deep chuckle follows him right out the door, while I busy myself looking around for the thermostat. It is way too hot in here.
Because rule number one of being the coach’s daughter—of working in the sports industry in general?
Never, ever get involved with one of the players.
And especially not that one.
2
CARTER
It’s funny how quickly noise can feel like silence when you’re used to chaos.
The house is packed—music blasting, people shoulder to shoulder, red cups raised like we’re all celebrating something we haven’t earned yet. And maybe we are. First week of classes. First win of the season. First excuse to pretend our choices don’t have consequences.
I lean against the kitchen counter, nursing a beer I don’t really want, and let the night blur around me.
This is my world. Has been for a while.
Crowded rooms. Hot girls. Too many drinks and not enough meaning.
