Page 12 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

LYLA

I see him leave.

Carter pushes away from the doorway without a word, cutting through the crowd like he’s on a mission. His shoulders are tense, his jaw is tight, and he doesn’t even glance back.

Good.

Let him be mad.

Let him feel even a sliver of what I’ve been trying to shake since I walked out of his room wearing his hoodie, pretending I didn’t care.

“Hey,” Grayson says beside me, voice low. “Wanna get out of here? We could find somewhere quieter. Just chill.”

He’s not being pushy. Not really. His hand rests lightly on my lower back. He smells like cologne and beer and effort.

But he’s not who I want.

I offer him a small smile and shake my head. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

His face falls a little, but he nods. “Fair enough.”

I say goodbye, weave through the crowd, and step out into the cooler night air. The music dulls behind me as I walk down the block to where I parked. The silence is jarring after the chaos inside, but it helps. Every breath steadies me a little more.

Still, by the time I get home, my thoughts are racing.

I don’t change. Don’t shower. Don’t even bother putting my hair up.

I just grab my laptop, make a cup of tea I know I won’t finish, and settle at the kitchen counter with my notes spread out across the island, my cookie dough ice cream already halfway gone.

The Jaxon idea won’t let go. NIL potential, personal branding, local sponsorship angles—it’s all buzzing in my brain like a swarm. I start outlining a content calendar, sketching ideas for photo shoots and campaign slogans, slowly building out my plan.

I’m so focused on my work that I barely hear the door close.

Madison drops her bag on the counter and places Carter’s hoodie on the back of the couch like it’s any other sweatshirt—not the exact one I practically sprinted out of his room wearing the other night. She groans as she plops down on the stool next to me. “Why are you still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I say, my fingers flying over my keyboard. “Started outlining the campaign for that mock NIL project.”

She rubs her eyes. “Please tell me you picked someone boring, so we don’t have to have this conversation.”

I huff a laugh. “I was thinking…Jaxon.”

Madison’s head tilts. “Yeah, that makes sense. Quiet. Chill. Total media goldmine if someone actually handled it right.”

“Exactly. He’s got potential. Controlled. Marketable. Not a walking PR disaster.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I feel her eyes on me before she even speaks.

“But you know who would be a real challenge?”

“Don’t.”

“Carter.”

I shut my laptop a little harder than necessary.

Madison raises both hands. “I’m just saying—if you pulled off a brand campaign around him? That’s portfolio-defining.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Right. A cocky quarterback with a God complex who can’t keep it in his pants? That’s not a brand. That’s a cautionary tale.”

She arches a brow, and I backtrack. “Sorry. There’s nothing wrong with fucking between two perfectly consensual adults. No judgement here.”

She laughs a little before getting serious again. “You don’t think there’s more to him?”

“I don’t care if there is,” I snap, then immediately wince. “Sorry. It’s just?—”

“You’re spiraling,” she says gently, like she’s seen it a hundred times before. Because she has.

I stare down at my now empty carton of ice cream.

“I can’t get involved with someone like him, Mads.

Not just because of my dad, or the internship, or the fact that I’d probably have to market him someday.

It’s because…” I trail off, forcing myself to meet her eyes.

“I don’t do chaos anymore. I can’t. My life only works when it’s controlled and structured and—safe. ”

Madison is quiet, but she nods slowly. “You don’t think Carter could ever be safe?”

I blink hard. “I think Carter could burn my whole life down if I’m not careful.”

She reaches out and squeezes my hand—just a steady, grounding presence.

“I wouldn’t let him,” she says softly. “But I do think you’re missing out, even if it’s platonic. I’ve never quite understood why you’ve always hated him. He’s really not a bad guy.”

I can’t help but wonder if she might be right. I decide to change the subject instead.

“Sooooo…. You and Jaxon seemed to be getting awfully close tonight.”

That gets her headed straight to her room. “Goodnight.”

I can’t help but laugh as she walks down the hall, which causes her to flip me the bird before she makes it to her door.

Settling back into my seat, I click over to Carter’s stat sheet, wondering if maybe Madison is right. Maybe there is more to him than I’m willing to admit.

The next two weeks blur together in a haze of footage, edits, and tightly wound nerves. Media prep for the upcoming rivalry game has consumed everything—highlight reels, player interviews, social clips, graphic schedules. Every day feels like a countdown to war.

Which is fine.

Busy is good.

Busy means I don’t have time to think about a certain quarterback or what almost happened in his bed.

And so far? I’ve managed two weeks and five days without speaking to him. Not even a “hey.”

Not a nod in passing. Honestly, it should qualify as a personal victory.

Which is why I’m mentally patting myself on the back as I slip into the weight room at the athletic center.

It’s Wednesday afternoon, just past the main practice block, and I know no one is supposed to be in here right now.

That’s half the reason I came—just to clear my head and run off the stress on the treadmill without tripping over someone’s sweaty bench press routine.

I toss my bag down, pull off my long-sleeve tee, and settle into a steady jog in just my sports bra and leggings. The treadmill hums beneath my feet as I find a rhythm. My ponytail swings with each step, music blasting in my ears. Heart pounding. Muscles burning.

Control.

Routine.

Safe.

After twenty minutes, I slow it down, letting my breath level out. A full cooldown, just the way I like it. I’m already reaching for my towel and water bottle when I hop off the treadmill, still bobbing my head to the music pulsing through my headphones.

I turn toward the exit, satisfied with the sweat and the stillness in my thoughts?—

And slam into something solid.

Hard. Warm. And naked?

I stumble back, breath caught in my throat, eyes flying up just in time to see a familiar chest.

A very familiar chest.

Carter.

Shirtless.

Hair damp, sweat glistening across his collarbones and down his stomach like some kind of twisted cinematic punishment.

His hands shoot out to steady me, one brushing my hip before dropping back like I burned him.

My headphones slip off one ear and dangle uselessly over my shoulder.

“Shit,” he mutters, looking down at me with those storm-cloud eyes. “You okay?”

My skin is still buzzing from the contact, but I square my shoulders and nod, heart thudding way too hard.

“Fine,” I say, pulling my headphones the rest of the way off. “Didn’t expect anyone to be in here.”

“Same,” he says, voice low and rough around the edges.

We stand there, too close, too silent, the air thick with something we’ve both been pretending wasn’t there for weeks.

I finally take a step back, grabbing my towel like a shield. “I was just leaving.”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes dragging from my face to my bare stomach and back up again, slow enough I feel it like a touch. “I can see that.”

His hands don’t drop.

They’re still on my waist—hot, steady, like he’s forgotten how to let go.

My breath catches.

Every part of me tenses, but not in fear. In anticipation. In that electric, aching pause where the smart thing to do is walk away. Again.

But I don’t move.

And neither does he.

My eyes flick to his, and the storm I find there nearly knocks the wind out of me. He looks like he’s at war with himself. Like he’s been holding something back for weeks, and it’s starting to slip.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

His fingers flex slightly, like he’s grounding himself. “I don’t know.”

The words land between us, raw and reckless.

Then his hand slides up, not fast—carefully—as if he’s giving me time to stop him. His palm brushes the side of my rib cage, then curves behind my back, pulling me in until we’re chest to chest, sweat and heat and breath tangled between us.

I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t let this happen again.

But his eyes are locked on mine like I’m the only thing in the world.

And when his mouth crashes into mine, I let it happen.

With zero reservation.

Just fire and frustration and weeks of avoidance collapsing into one desperate, burning kiss.

He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips as he presses me back into the wall beside the treadmill, his hands anchoring me there like he can’t risk me disappearing again.

I grip his shoulders without thinking, fingers digging into sweat-slick skin, and I hate that I remember exactly how he feels under my hands.

I hate it.

And I want more.

His mouth is on mine like it never should’ve left.

His body is all around me—hands on my hips, chest pressed to mine, heat rolling off him like he was built to ruin people, and I’m just the next one in line.

My head tilts back as his lips trail down my jaw, and I feel his teeth graze just under my ear. A breath escapes me—traitorous and shaky—and my fingers grip harder onto his shoulders like I need to hold on or I’ll drown.

But then?—

Footsteps echo from the hallway outside.

Reality slams into me like a brick.

I jerk back, palms on his chest, breath ragged. “We can’t do this. Not here.”

He blinks, still catching up, hands hovering like he doesn’t want to lose contact. “Why not?”

“Because we could get caught,” I whisper harshly, glancing toward the door. “Because this is a university gym. Because I can’t be the girl sneaking around with the star quarterback in between reps.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. Just tilts his head slightly, looking down at me like he’s trying to read through every excuse I’m putting up like armor.

“Then let’s not sneak,” he says, voice low. “Let’s just do it.”

I stare at him.

He licks his lips, jaw tight. “One night. That’s all I’m asking.”

I suck in a breath.

“One night,” he repeats, softer now. “We get it out of our systems. You don’t owe me anything after that. We don’t have to talk. Don’t have to act like it means anything. But don’t pretend you don’t want this too.”

My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to warn me.

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the way my body is still buzzing from his hands, his mouth, the way he said one night like it would be simple. Like I wouldn’t walk away from it wrecked.

My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Okay, then. What exactly is your brilliant plan, Hayes?”

He raises a brow. “You really want me to spell it out?”

“Yes,” I snap, heat crawling up my neck. “Because you keep saying one night like that makes it clean or easy, and newsflash—it’s not.”

He leans back slightly, hands resting on his hips, eyes dragging over me like he already knows how the night would go. Like he’s imagined it.

“You and me,” he says, voice low and even. “No games. No strings. One night to stop pretending we don’t want it. Then we move on.”

I scoff, but there’s a tremble in it. “You think we can just hook up once and then what—casually avoid each other for the rest of the season?”

He shrugs. “You’ve been doing a hell of a job avoiding me already.”

My glare sharpens, but it doesn’t land. He’s still too close. Looking at me like he could peel away every defense I’ve ever built with just his mouth and a few well-placed hands.

“I’m serious, Lyla,” he says, voice dipping lower. “Whatever the hell this is? It’s been under my skin since the second you walked out of my room in my hoodie. So, either we burn it off or it keeps building until we do something even more reckless.”

I hate how much sense that makes.

And I hate that part of me wants to say yes.

Not because I trust him.

But because I don’t trust myself around him anymore.

“Fine. One night. I mean it. Once.” I look around to make sure we’re still alone, then take a step around him. “Madison is going out with Jaxon this weekend. You can come over then. I’ll text you when it’s clear.”

The smirk that takes over his face makes me want to slap it right off.

“See you then, Princess.”