Page 11 of Red Zone
Why does it bother me that she thinks I’m just some surface-level football player who can throw the ball well?
I look toward the sideline and find her immediately.
She’s not filming today. Just taking notes. But she is watching.
Her eyes lock with mine for half a second—and it’s like getting hit in the chest with a linebacker.
Not because it hurts.
Because I feel it.
The fuck?
Coach yells again and I snap out of it. But the damage is done.
“Reset!” he shouts. “Get your head in the damn game, Hayes!”
I put my head down and manage to focus enough to pull it off.
After practice, I cut through the tunnel to avoid the post-practice chaos. I just need a second to cool down.
Of course, the universe doesn’t let me off the hook that easily.
Footsteps echo behind me. I turn and find Lyla walking toward the media entrance, alone, with a bag slung over one shoulder and her chin up, like always.
She doesn’t see me until we’re almost face to face.
I block her path.
She stops short, glaring. “Get the fuck out of my way, Hayes.”
“What’s your deal with me, really?”
She exhales sharply. “Is this where you demand to know my deepest, darkest thoughts and we become besties over past trauma?”
“No,” I say, stepping closer. “This is where I ask why you keep acting like you hate me, when we both know you don’t even know me that well.”
“I don’t have to know you to know I hate you,” she fires back. “I’ve seen enough.”
“From what—sideline soundbites and party rumors?”
“Maybe from how you were boning my bestie last year? Then the rest of the cheer squad? Mister Let me party my way through this easy ass life I get to live. You get under everyone’s skin like it’s a game.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You ever stop to think maybe I get under yours because you let me?”
Her jaw clenches.
“You ever think,” I add, voice lower now as I step even closer to her. “That maybe the only reason I keep bothering is because you’re the only one who tells me no?”
She doesn’t move.
“If that’s all it takes to keep you interested,” she says finally. “Maybe I’ll start saying yes. Just to watch you lose it.”
Then she steps around me and disappears into the stairwell.
I have a feeling I could get used to watching her walk away.
That evening, I’m sprawled out on my bed, playbook open, headphones in with nothing playing.
