Page 109 of Red Zone
I flip the phone over to hide the screen, my heart skipping uncomfortably in my chest.
“Work,” I say simply.
Her brow lifts, and she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.
“Sure,” she says, her tone almost teasing. But there’s something harder behind her smile, something calculating. “I’d be careful with that, though. Boys like him…they don’t usually stick around. Not when someone better comes along.”
That digs deeper than I want it to, but I don’t let it show.
Instead, I stand and gather my things, my voice cool and even as I reply.
“Thanks for your concern, Savannah. I’ll be in touch with a first draft of your pitch deck by the end of next week.”
I don’t wait for her to say anything else.
But as I walk out of the room, her words echo in my head anyway—quiet and cruel, harder to shake than I want to admit.
30
LYLA
That night, the apartment is quiet except for the faint hum of the dishwasher and the occasional scratch of my pen against my notes.
I’m still sitting at the kitchen island, laptop open, with Savannah’s folder spread out in front of me. I’ve been working on her draft pitch deck for hours now, trying to block out her voice from earlier, those sharp little words that keep replaying anyway.
Boys like him don’t usually stick around. Not when someone better comes along.
I press my pen harder into the paper than necessary and tear off a sticky note, setting it aside.
My phone buzzes next to me, breaking my concentration.
It’s a text from Carter.
Quarterback: you home?
I stare at the screen for a second, then type back before I can overthink it.
Yeah.
It only takes two more seconds before I hear it—three firm knocks on my door.
I blink, glancing toward the hallway, my chest already tight.
When I open the door, he’s leaning against the frame like he owns it, hoodie loose over his shoulders, hair still damp like he just got back from the gym.
And in his hand?
A paper bag from my favorite burger place.
“Figured you hadn’t eaten,” he says, holding it up like an offering.
I just stand there for a second, staring at him, something unspoken catching in my chest.
Finally, I step aside and tug the door open wider.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter under my breath, even as I feel my lips curve despite myself.
He grins faintly as he brushes past me into the kitchen.
