Page 41 of Red Zone
I blink hard. “I think Carter could burn my whole life down if I’m not careful.”
She reaches out and squeezes my hand—just a steady, grounding presence.
“I wouldn’t let him,” she says softly. “But I do think you’re missing out, even if it’s platonic. I’ve never quite understood why you’ve always hated him. He’s really not a bad guy.”
I can’t help but wonder if she might be right. I decide to change the subject instead.
“Sooooo…. You and Jaxon seemed to be getting awfully close tonight.”
That gets her headed straight to her room. “Goodnight.”
I can’t help but laugh as she walks down the hall, which causes her to flip me the bird before she makes it to her door.
Settling back into my seat, I click over to Carter’s stat sheet, wondering if maybe Madison is right. Maybe there is more to him than I’m willing to admit.
The next two weeks blur together in a haze of footage, edits, and tightly wound nerves. Media prep for the upcoming rivalry game has consumed everything—highlight reels, player interviews, social clips, graphic schedules. Every day feels like a countdown to war.
Which is fine.
Busy is good.
Busy means I don’t have time to think about a certain quarterback or what almost happened in his bed.
And so far? I’ve managed two weeks and five days without speaking to him. Not even a “hey.”
Not a nod in passing. Honestly, it should qualify as a personal victory.
Which is why I’m mentally patting myself on the back as I slip into the weight room at the athletic center. It’s Wednesday afternoon, just past the main practice block, and I know no one is supposed to be in here right now. That’s half the reason I came—just to clear my head and run off the stress on thetreadmill without tripping over someone’s sweaty bench press routine.
I toss my bag down, pull off my long-sleeve tee, and settle into a steady jog in just my sports bra and leggings. The treadmill hums beneath my feet as I find a rhythm. My ponytail swings with each step, music blasting in my ears. Heart pounding. Muscles burning.
Control.
Routine.
Safe.
After twenty minutes, I slow it down, letting my breath level out. A full cooldown, just the way I like it. I’m already reaching for my towel and water bottle when I hop off the treadmill, still bobbing my head to the music pulsing through my headphones.
I turn toward the exit, satisfied with the sweat and the stillness in my thoughts?—
And slam into something solid.
Hard. Warm. And naked?
I stumble back, breath caught in my throat, eyes flying up just in time to see a familiar chest.
A very familiar chest.
Carter.
Shirtless.
Hair damp, sweat glistening across his collarbones and down his stomach like some kind of twisted cinematic punishment.
His hands shoot out to steady me, one brushing my hip before dropping back like I burned him.
My headphones slip off one ear and dangle uselessly over my shoulder.
