Page 59 of Red Zone
Pause.
My stomach flips. His eyes drop to my lips and stay there.
“Lyla,” he says, my name rough around the edges.
I know I should pull back. I should remind him this is about his brand. His image. My future.
Instead, I whisper, “Yeah?”
He doesn’t ask this time. Just closes the space between us and kisses me.
And I let him.
It starts slow, careful. But then his hand slides to the back of my neck, and I shift closer without thinking. His tongue teases mine, deepening the kiss, and a soft sound escapes me before I can catch it.
He pulls me into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like we’ve been doing this for years instead of fighting it for the last three months. My fingers tangle in his shirt, tugging at the hem. He groans softly, and I feel him harden beneath me.
“You’re killing me,” he mutters against my throat.
I bite back a smile. “You started it.”
His hands skim under my sweatshirt, warm and steady. Not rushing. Just…exploring.
We’re losing focus. Rapidly.
And I don’t want to stop.
But I have to.
I pull back, breathless. “We can’t do this here.”
His hand stays at my waist. “Why not?”
“Because,” I say, heart hammering, running my nose up his throat, brushing my lips over his again. “Because this is the athletic center. Because we’ll get caught. Because this is a bad idea.”
He lifts a brow. “You said that last time.”
“And I was right.”
He watches me for a beat. Then, voice low, “So what’s your plan, then?”
I don’t have one.
So, I say the only thing I can, “We finish the project.”
He exhales a laugh. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
But the way he’s looking at me says he knows exactly how this ends.
And the worst part?
I think I do too.
We try to focus again. Try being the key word.
I sit cross-legged on the floor now, laptop balanced on my knees, with Carter lounging back in the armchair behind me as we go through potential reels and overlay edits.
At some point, he shifts, pulling his phone from his pocket.
