Page 104 of Red Zone
But here he is. Taking care of me. Acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And I have no idea what to do with the way it makes me feel.
I’m finishing off my noodles and moving back to the couch right as Carter comes out of my room.
He’s changed into clean sweatpants and a faded gray T-shirt, his skin still flushed from the shower, and for some reason the sight of him here—comfortable, casual, like he belongs—makes my chest tighten all over again.
I’m already curled up on the couch when he drops down beside me, his big frame sinking into the cushions as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.
“Pick something,” he says, nodding toward the remote on the coffee table. “Dealer’s choice.”
I arch a brow at him. “You’re staying?”
He glances up at me, unimpressed. “What, you thought I’d go through all the trouble of bringing you chocolate and soup just to bail before the movie?”
I roll my eyes but grab the remote anyway, scrolling through the streaming menu until I land on a rom-com that doesn’t require too much brain power.
He gives me a faint smirk as the opening credits roll, then settles back, already typing something on his phone with his thumb.
For a moment, I watch him out of the corner of my eye, biting my lip, my stomach still tight.
He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing to me just by being here.
Finally, I blurt it out.
“You really don’t have to stay, you know.”
His thumbs pause over his phone screen, and then he looks at me, expression calm but firm.
“Yeah,” he says simply. “I do.”
I blink at him, startled, but before I can respond he goes back to his phone.
“Besides,” he adds a beat later, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. “I just ordered food. Not everyone can survive on ice cream and carbs, Harding.”
I huff out a laugh despite myself and let my head fall back against the couch cushion.
“You’re ridiculous,” I murmur.
“You’re welcome,” he shoots back, his eyes still on his phone.
I laugh again, softer this time.
When the food’s ordered and his phone finally disappears back into his pocket, we settle into a quiet rhythm. The movie plays in the background, casting a soft light across the living room.
At some point, I shift closer to him, leaning into the warmth of his shoulder without even thinking about it.
He notices—of course he does—but doesn’t say anything. Just glances down at me, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile.
I close my eyes for a moment, letting myself relax into him, even though it feels dangerous somehow.
When I open them again, he’s watching the screen, his jaw working like he’s chewing on something.
“You’re quiet,” I murmur.
That earns me a soft huff of a laugh. “Guess I don’t know how to sit still like this,” he admits.
Then he glances down at me, his gaze steady. “Or maybe I’m just trying to figure you out.”
