Page 18 of Red Zone
Almost.
Because I already know who else will be at that party.
Pregame rituals are always the same.
Headphones in. Cleats laced tight. Tape wrapped just right—wrist, ankle, knuckles. I check the play sheet, even though I’ve had it memorized since Tuesday. Jaxon’s locked in. Beck’s mouthy as hell, which is a great sign. And Coach is barking like his blood pressure depends on it.
It’s chaos wrapped in focus.
And I thrive in it.
At least, I used to.
Until she became part of the process.
“Hayes,” someone calls. “You’ve got two minutes for media.”
I glance over my shoulder.
Speaking of the redheaded firecracker.
Hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, PCU headset on, and press badge clipped to her hip like it’s an extension of her backbone. She’s got her phone in one hand, tablet in the other, and her usual you’re already annoying me expression on her pretty face.
I jog over, helmet under my arm, adrenaline buzzing just under my skin.
“You again,” I say, smirking. “Isn’t there a rule against distractions before kickoff?”
“Good thing I’m not a distraction,” Lyla replies, deadpan, eyes flicking down to her screen.
“That’s the lie you’re going with today?”
She ignores it. “All right, I need three quick pregame quotes for the department’s social feed. Keep it clean. Pretend you care about the fans watching.”
“Princess,” I murmur, leaning in just slightly. “I always care when you’re watching.”
She doesn’t react.
She’s too good at this game.
But I see it—the tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth.
Progress.
“Question one,” she says crisply, lifting her phone and tapping the record button. “All right, Hayes. What’s the mindset heading into tonight’s matchup?”
“Simple.” I shrug. “We win.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
She lifts a brow. “Profound.”
“Want me to say something about grit? Brotherhood? Playing for the guy next to me?”
She doesn’t blink. “I want you to say something that won’t make the media director quit his job.”
I grin wider. “Fine. We’re locked in, focused, and hungry. Happy?”
