Page 12 of Red Zone
Jaxon walks in without knocking, as usual. He’s gotten comfortable with us fast after summer training camp.
“You good?”
“Peachy.”
He stares for a beat, then tosses a water bottle at me. I catch it without looking.
“You were off today.”
“Had an off throw.”
“More like ten.”
I glare at him. “You done?”
“Not even close,” he says, dropping onto the chair near my desk. “You’ve been weird since the party. Since a particular truth or dare moment.”
I roll onto my side. “You getting sentimental on me?”
“I’m getting curious,” he says. “And when you get this quiet, it usually means one of two things—you’re about to fight someone or you need to get laid.”
Sometimes you bond with teammates quickly, both on and off the field, and I feel like that’s true for Jaxon and me. Even if sometimes I wish it were just a bit harder for him to read me.
Hiding how close to home he hit, I scoff. “Like that’s ever been an issue for me.”
He cocks a dark brow as Beck walks in, chewing a protein bar, and points at me. “He’s lying.”
“Oh, for sure,” Jaxon agrees, crossing his arms as he leans against my door frame. Why are they even up here to begin with?
Jaxon’s room is at the end of the hall, and Beck lives downstairs whenever he isn’t at his girlfriend’s place. They’ve been together on and off since middle school, high school sweethearts and all that shit. But, no offense to him, his girl is a total bitch. I wouldn’t call a woman that without good reason, and I have it. She treats him like absolute shit; God knows why he sticks around.
He’s like a poor little puppy any time that girl is near. Someday he’s gonna see the light.
“When haven’t I been able to get a girl in my bed? Especially one with a hot temper and quick comebacks. Her red hair kinda gives you a heads up on what you’re walking into.”
They both go still.
I freeze.
“Wait,” Beck says. “Lyla? Lyla Harding? As in our coach’s daughter? You dog, you.”
“I didn’t mean?—”
“Oh, he meant it,” Jaxon cuts in, grinning. “That explains so much.”
“She hates you,” Beck says, amazed. “And I mean really hates you. That girl looks at you like you ran over her cat.”
“I know,” I mutter.
Jaxon leans back in the chair, smug. “And yet here we are.”
“I don’t like her,” I snap. “I just—she’s hot as fuck. That’s all.”
“You’ve got it bad, man,” Beck says, already laughing. “Next thing we know, you’ll be writing poetry and asking us for relationship tips.”
“I hate both of you.”
“Sure you do.”
