Page 223 of Red Zone
“Oh, you did.”
He smirks. “Good. Builds character.”
I shake my head, but I’m grinning now, too, the tension slowly bleeding out of my shoulders.
“Truth is,” he says, sobering slightly. “You’ve been good to her. Better than I expected. You’ve kept her grounded and let her fly at the same time. That’s not easy.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “She’s everything to me.”
“I know.” He raises his glass. “You have my blessing. Just don’t make me regret giving it.”
I raise mine, too, relief crashing into me like a win I didn’t even realize I needed this badly.
“Thank you, sir.”
He gives me a look. “Don’t ‘sir’ me anymore. We’re almost family now.”
I blink.
Then grin. “Still gonna call you Coach.”
“Fair enough,” he says, setting his glass down. “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you in the wedding toast.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
As soon as I get home, I bury the velvet ring box beneath a stack of socks in the bottom drawer of my dresser.
Lyla wouldn’t touch that drawer if her life depended on it—swears I fold everything like a psycho. Which, fine. I do. But I’ve been hiding things in plain sight since we started this whole secret relationship thing, so really, this feels fitting.
I barely have time to get settled on the sofa when the front door bursts open and Lyla comes flying in, followed by her dad.
“I fucking nailed that!”
Her voice is breathless, her hair slightly windblown with a few wild curls breaking free, framing her face and her smile—God, her smile—hits me like a sucker punch straight to the chest.
“They loved my campaign plan,” she continues, dropping her bag and shrugging off her blazer without missing a beat. “Said they’d never seen someone walk in that prepared, especially with the stats to back up their pitch.”
She’s pacing now, still buzzing from adrenaline, talking a mile a minute. Her hands move when she talks, like she can’t quite keep all the energy inside. And I’m just sitting there, completely gone for this girl.
For my girl.
She flops down beside me and starts pulling up the presentation slides on her phone, still going on about the stats she pulled and the new NIL initiative the department is launching.
I can’t stop smiling.
Can’t stop watching the way her eyes light up. The way she tucks her feet under her. The way she looks at me mid-sentence like I’m her favorite person in the room.
She’s everything.
And she’s mine.
I glance toward Coach, who’s watching us quietly from the other couch, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something. Instead, he catches my eye and—winks.
That smug bastard.
I cough to cover my laugh and look back at Lyla, who’s now leaning her head on my shoulder, scrolling through the feedback email on her phone.
She doesn’t even know it yet.
