Page 91 of Red Zone
“Hey,” I say casually, forcing myself to straighten up and fall into step with him.
He eyes me for a second, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “You look a little…flushed.”
“Weight room,” I lie smoothly.
He chuckles low in his throat, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t push.
We walk out into the cool evening air, and Jaxon starts talking about tomorrow’s film review, but I’m only half-listening.
Because my mind’s already back on my coach’s daughter.
On her lips. Her breath against my neck.
Trouble with a capital T?
Yeah, but I think she’s the trouble I’m getting into.
And I’m already in too deep to care.
25
LYLA
Sunday night, I’m about to get ready for bed when my phone vibrates.
Quarterback: you busy?
Always.
Quarterback: wrong answer.
Quarterback: be ready in 10.
I don’t reply. But ten minutes later, his headlights flash through my apartment window.
And like the idiot I apparently am, I grab my jacket and go.
We drive for twenty minutes. Music low. His fingers tapping the steering wheel. Neither of us saying much.
I almost ask where we’re going. But something about the way he glances over at me every so often, the corner of his mouth twitching like he knows I hate surprises, keeps me quiet.
We end up at this little run-down strip mall off the highway, half the letters of the sign burnt out.
The kind of place you’d never find unless you knew exactly where to look.
An arcade.
He parks, cuts the engine, and grins over at me. “You any good at pinball?”
I blink at him. “Are you serious?”
He shrugs before hopping out of the car, unbothered. “Why not?”
Opening my door, he offers me a hand. “M’lady.”
I can’t stop the smile that seems to be present more and more whenever he’s around.
An hour later, I’m laughing harder than I have in months.
