Page 40 of Red Zone
He’s not being pushy. Not really. His hand rests lightly on my lower back. He smells like cologne and beer and effort.
But he’s not who I want.
I offer him a small smile and shake my head. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
His face falls a little, but he nods. “Fair enough.”
I say goodbye, weave through the crowd, and step out into the cooler night air. The music dulls behind me as I walk downthe block to where I parked. The silence is jarring after the chaos inside, but it helps. Every breath steadies me a little more.
Still, by the time I get home, my thoughts are racing.
I don’t change. Don’t shower. Don’t even bother putting my hair up.
I just grab my laptop, make a cup of tea I know I won’t finish, and settle at the kitchen counter with my notes spread out across the island, my cookie dough ice cream already halfway gone.
The Jaxon idea won’t let go. NIL potential, personal branding, local sponsorship angles—it’s all buzzing in my brain like a swarm. I start outlining a content calendar, sketching ideas for photo shoots and campaign slogans, slowly building out my plan.
I’m so focused on my work that I barely hear the door close.
Madison drops her bag on the counter and places Carter’s hoodie on the back of the couch like it’s any other sweatshirt—not the exact one I practically sprinted out of his room wearing the other night. She groans as she plops down on the stool next to me. “Why are you still up?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I say, my fingers flying over my keyboard. “Started outlining the campaign for that mock NIL project.”
She rubs her eyes. “Please tell me you picked someone boring, so we don’t have to have this conversation.”
I huff a laugh. “I was thinking…Jaxon.”
Madison’s head tilts. “Yeah, that makes sense. Quiet. Chill. Total media goldmine if someone actually handled it right.”
“Exactly. He’s got potential. Controlled. Marketable. Not a walking PR disaster.”
There’s a beat of silence, and I feel her eyes on me before she even speaks.
“But you know who would be a real challenge?”
“Don’t.”
“Carter.”
I shut my laptop a little harder than necessary.
Madison raises both hands. “I’m just saying—if you pulled off a brand campaign around him? That’s portfolio-defining.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Right. A cocky quarterback with a God complex who can’t keep it in his pants? That’s not a brand. That’s a cautionary tale.”
She arches a brow, and I backtrack. “Sorry. There’s nothing wrong with fucking between two perfectly consensual adults. No judgement here.”
She laughs a little before getting serious again. “You don’t think there’s more to him?”
“I don’t care if there is,” I snap, then immediately wince. “Sorry. It’s just?—”
“You’re spiraling,” she says gently, like she’s seen it a hundred times before. Because she has.
I stare down at my now empty carton of ice cream.
“I can’t get involved with someone like him, Mads. Not just because of my dad, or the internship, or the fact that I’d probably have to market him someday. It’s because…” I trail off, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “I don’t do chaos anymore. I can’t. My life only works when it’s controlled and structured and—safe.”
Madison is quiet, but she nods slowly. “You don’t think Carter could ever be safe?”
