Page 63 of Red Zone
She nods lazily. “Better than good. Toys are fine, but…the real thing?” She lets out a soft laugh. “Way better.”
I chuckle and brush my fingers down her side. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She reaches for me and brushes her hand over my abs, eyes trailing down to where I’m still hard.
“You’re…not done.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I say quickly. “You’re tired.”
She bites her lip like she’s debating something. “I could help you out.”
Tempting as hell. But instead, I nudge her hip and slide off the bed, quickly throwing my joggers back on. “Come on. Let’s clean you up.”
She groans like I’m making her run sprints. “You’re too nice, Hayes.”
I turn on the tap in her tub and test the water temperature, adjusting it until it’s just right. Then I help her off the bed and guide her to the edge.
“You’re serious?” she asks, blinking at the bath.
I nod. “You’re tired. You keep yourself going at a pace that would put most people six feet under. Relax for a bit.”
She steps in slowly and eases down, letting out a deep sigh as she sinks into the warmth. Her eyes drift shut for a moment, steam curling around her.
I sit on the floor beside her, arm resting on the edge of the tub, eyes on her face.
It’s quiet for a while—just the sound of water lapping and our breathing.
Then, softly, she says, “What do you see for your future?”
I look at her, surprised by the question.
“I mean…off the record,” she adds. “Not what you’d say in an interview. What do you really want?”
I take a breath, rubbing the back of my neck. “I want the league, obviously. NFL’s the dream.
But beyond that? I want stability. I want to not have to keep looking over my shoulder or worrying where I’m gonna land next.”
She nods slowly, watching me.
“I want a place that’s mine,” I add. “People who choose to stay.”
There’s a pause.
“Sounds like a solid plan,” she whispers.
My fingers drift along the edge of the tub. “What about you?”
She lifts a shoulder. “A career in athlete branding, someday at the pro level, hopefully. Definitely telling deeper stories. Helping people be seen for who they really are. As more than an athlete.”
I smile. “You’ll kill it.”
She smiles back, then leans her head against the tile. Her fingers brush mine over the rim of the tub.
Then, quieter, she adds, “It’s weird. Stress doesn’t always feel like stress for me. It just…builds.
And then, sometimes, it’s like my brain pulls the fire alarm.”
I glance at her, urging her to continue, not with words, but by giving her my full attention.
