Page 85 of Red Zone
My hand finds her hip.
And somewhere in between the second act and the end credits, we fall asleep.
I shift groggily when I feel her start to move.
She’s careful about it—quiet. Peeling the blanket off slowly like she’s trying not to wake me.
Her bare legs brush against mine as she slides out of bed, soft footfalls barely creaking the floor as she grabs her phone and hoodie from the chair.
I keep my eyes closed. Just for a beat.
Then I crack them open.
“Where are you going?”
She freezes like she got caught breaking curfew. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” My voice is thick with sleep, lower than usual. “It’s one in the morning.”
“I know.” She pauses. “I just thought I should go.”
“Why?”
She hesitates, clutching her hoodie tighter in both hands. “Because…this wasn’t supposed to turn into a sleepover.”
I sit up slowly, running a hand through my hair.
Her eyes dart to me, guarded and unsure.
“Lyla,” I say, softer now, patting the space beside me. “Get back in bed.”
“I didn’t bring anything,” she says quietly, like she needs a reason to justify it.
“You’re wearing my clothes. Good enough.”
She bites her lip, torn.
“Just stay,” I say again. “You’re already here.”
Another pause.
Then she exhales and nods once—barely more than a breath—and climbs back into bed.
She curls against my chest, stiffer than before at first. Like her walls are still halfway up. But when I rest my palm on her back and she doesn’t move away, I know she heard what I didn’t say.
The second her breathing evens out again, I know I’m fucked.
Because I agreed with her that this was just fun. A way to relieve the tension between us. Just a way to let off steam.
But this?
This isn’t casual.
This is the red zone.
And I’m in way too deep to walk away.
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