Page 22 of Red Zone
And if I focus hard enough, I can pretend I’m not waiting for someone else to walk through that door.
But then? She does.
Black jeans, boots, and a top that does way too many things to my focus. Her hair is still in that slicked back ponytail, but her curls are starting to pop back through the straightened strands.
Lyla walks in like she owns the damn place. Doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t have to. Every guy in the room clocks her. I watch them watch her, and something tightens in my chest.
I tell myself it’s nothing.
Just…irritation.
I take a slow sip of my beer, trying not to track her every move like a dog with a bone.
It’s fine. She’ll do her whole cold-shoulder routine, I’ll ignore her until I can’t, then I’ll piss her off and maybe, eventually, we’ll end up alone somewhere with a door that locks.
And maybe then—finally—I’ll get her out of my system.
That’s all this is. Just sexual tension.
One night, and it’ll be done.
That’s the plan.
Until she sees the current girl’s hand on my arm and stops walking toward me. Not for long. Just long enough to notice. She schools her face quickly and turns back toward the drink table as if I don’t exist.
I smirk.
So, you’re not immune, huh?
Good to know.
I gently pry the girl’s hand off my arm—friendly enough that she doesn’t notice. Then I’m on the move.
Not because I care if she’s jealous, or even if she cares at all. Just because I want her to know she doesn’t have the upper hand. Not tonight.
“Didn’t expect to see you here without your shadow,” I say, voice flat, beer still cold in my hand.
She doesn’t look at me. “Didn’t come for you. She’s dancing.”
“That your line tonight? Practicing for someone else?”
She finally glances up, eyes sharp, mouth already curled into a smirk made of knives. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hayes. I go out to have fun. Not to babysit emotionally stunted quarterbacks.”
I laugh under my breath. “That’s rich coming from you. You’ve got more walls than Fort Knox.”
“Maybe I just know better than to let someone like you anywhere near them.”
I take a step closer. Not touching, but enough to make the air between us charged. “Someone like me, huh? What’s that mean exactly? Hot, talented, too honest for your taste?”
“No,” she snaps. “Cocky, reckless, and probably only good for about two minutes in bed.”
“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ve got plenty of stamina. You’d feel it for days.”
Her eyes flick to mine. “I already feel something. It’s called regret.”
That one hits. She turns to walk away. I block her path, just barely.
“You always run when it gets too real?” I ask, quiet but sharp.
