Page 21 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

CARTER

T he clang of weights hitting the rack echoes through the weight room.

It’s early, too early for a campus on holiday week autopilot, but Jaxon and I are already three sets in—because apparently, rest days are for the weak and not the NFL-bound.

Jaxon adjusts his grip on the bar, exhaling slowly as he lowers it into a bench press.

“Last set,” I say, standing behind him. “Let’s go, Montgomery. Push like Madison’s watching.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, arms shaking. “That’s messed up.”

“That’s motivation, my man.”

He lets out a strained breath and presses through the final rep, muscles taut, jaw clenched. When he racks the bar, he sits up and rolls his shoulders out.

“Swear you’re more annoying without pads on,” he says, wiping sweat from his face with a towel.

I flash a grin. “Nah. I’m charming in every setting.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, bro.”

Beck walks past us with a shake of his head, dropping a pair of dumbbells on the rack. “I can’t believe I dragged my ass in here the first day of our break.”

“You asked to come,” I remind him.

“Yeah, and now I regret it,” he groans, stretching out his back. “Y’all are built different.”

“That’s called muscle memory and trauma,” I say, grabbing my water bottle.

Beck flips me off without looking. “I’m hitting the showers. Don’t let Jaxon start another TED Talk about recovery hydration.”

“Noted,” I say, watching him disappear down the hallway.

Jaxon towels off his neck, then drops onto the bench next to me. “He’s been better lately.”

“Yeah,” I say, voice quieter now. “Not sure if it’s better-better or just numb-better.”

Jaxon nods slowly. “It’s been what…a month since the breakup?”

I run a hand through my hair. “Month and a half, give or take.”

Jaxon winces. “Still brutal.”

“Yeah.” I lean back against the wall, exhaling. “He’s mostly in the ‘I hate everyone’ phase now. You know—dark music, extra reps, no eye contact.”

“And no random hookups?”

I shake my head. “Nah. I think that’s what’s throwing everyone off. He’s just…sad. And mad.”

Jaxon nods. “Honestly, that’s probably a good thing. A normal response at least. Eleven years is a lot of history.”

“Yeah.” I pause, glancing toward the locker room. “Still sucks to watch. I’ve seen him drunk text her three times, then delete it before he hits send. It’s like watching a guy try to punch his way out of a pool.”

Jaxon gives a low whistle. “You talk to him much about it?”

“Here and there,” I say. “But I think he needs time. And a few more lifts where he pretends the bench press bar is that guy’s face.”

Jaxon cracks a smile. “We’ve all been there.”

He’s not wrong. I’ve done my own time in the heartbreak trenches—mine just came earlier, messier, and buried so deep it doesn’t look like heartbreak anymore.

“Thanksgiving plans?” I ask, changing the subject.

He grins. “Heading out after this. Madison’s coming with.”

“Big move.”

He shrugs, but I can see the softness behind it. “She’s family now.”

I let the words hang there for a second, more affected than I want to admit. Must be nice to know someone’s got you like that. No second-guessing. No backup plan.

“Nice,” I say, keeping it casual. “Meanwhile, I’m looking forward to three days of eating like trash and arguing with ESPN in the living room.”

Jaxon laughs and stands, grabbing his bag. “Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.”

“No promises.”

He claps me on the back before heading toward the locker room.

I sit there for a minute longer, the echo of Beck’s sadness and Jaxon’s stability lingering like static.

Everyone’s moving on. Healing. Building something and working towards a future.

I’m still figuring out what the hell to do with the pieces I’ve got.

When I finally decide to head back to the house, Jaxon’s already hit the road with Madison, Beck’s off doing whatever sad-boy soul-searching he needs to do, and all of our other housemates are gone. Campus feels weirdly quiet for a November afternoon.

Then again, most people have families to see. Just not me.

I toss my duffel into the back of my Jeep and slide into the driver’s seat, but I don’t start the engine. Just sit there for a second, thumb hovering over my screen.

I’ve had the same contact open for the last three minutes, grinning at the updated contact name.

Princess

I scroll up and reread our messages from last night before sending off another text.

You part of the PCU ghost town yet or still pretending to be productive?

It doesn’t take long.

Princess: Still here. Working.

I grin, relaxing into the seat.

Of course.

So you’re just…alone in your apartment with sad girl playlists and a pint of ice cream you didn’t share?

Princess: You say that like it’s a bad thing

Princess: alone = peaceful

Princess: ice cream = essential

Princess: music = 5 Seconds of Summer. Obviously

So basically you’re living the dream

Minus the part where you’re alone

Princess: Some of us like being alone

Princess: Less mess, less noise, less…people

ah yes

but have you considered

being alone…together

Three dots appear. Pause. Disappear. Reappear.

Princess: Is that your idea of a pickup line?

Nope

that was a suggestion

and a very generous offer

from a guy who knows his way around a couch, a blanket, and streaming passwords

Princess: …you’re such a menace

and yet

you’re still typing

Princess: You’re lucky I’m bored

you’re lucky I’m cute

Princess:

don’t fight it, Red

you already let me hold you in a closet

next logical step: movies, snacks, emotional denial together

in sweatpants

Princess: …you do have a weirdly convincing argument

I’ll provide the snacks this time

you bring that scary good attitude of yours

deal?

She doesn’t answer right away. I let her take her time. I know her well enough now to get that she doesn’t jump into things, even when she wants to.

Finally she responds.

Princess: Fine. But I get the remote

Princess: and you don’t talk during the movie

Deal. See you soon.

I don’t know what she’s doing on her end of the phone, but on mine, I’m staring at that last message longer than I should.

At the beginning of something that’s probably going to ruin me.

But honestly?

I’ve never looked forward to being alone this much in my life.

I hear the knock before the doorbell rings, and I already know it’s her.

No one else knocks like that. Two knocks, pause, two knocks.

I swing the door open, and there she is—hood up, red curls escaping in wisps around her face, cheeks pink from the cooler weather, or maybe from nerves. She’s holding a grocery bag like it might bite her.

“You came,” I say, stepping aside.

She gives me a flat look. “Don’t make it weird.”

I grin and take the bag from her, peeking inside. “Ice cream? I told you I’d cover the snacks this time, but I won’t complain.”

“Don’t push it, Hayes.”

I toss the ice cream and whatever other mystery snacks she brought into the freezer, then shut the door with my foot.

Turning to face her, I clap my hands together. “All right, Red. What do you want for round one?”

Her brow lifts. “Wow. Forward. No warm-up? No small talk?”

I smirk. “I meant snacks.”

She steps in closer, that wicked little glint in her eyes. “You sure about that?”

Jesus. My brain short-circuits for half a second.

I blink. “Okay, that’s…not what I had in mind, but—look, I’m not saying no.”

She laughs, all smug and amused, and grabs a bag of chips off the counter. “Relax. Keep it in your pants, quarterback.”

“Hard to, especially when you say shit like that,” I mutter under my breath, following her toward the stairs.

She glances over her shoulder. “You coming?”

I catch the double meaning. I know she knows what she’s doing.

Two can play that game.

“Not until you do,” I shoot back.

She snorts and nearly chokes on her laughter. “God, you’re exhausting.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Temporary insanity.”

We head upstairs with snacks in hand, and I flip through the streaming apps while she tucks herself into the corner of my bed.

“What happened to me getting the remote?” she asks as she finishes making herself comfortable.

“Well, I figured since you ended up bringing snacks, that means I get the remote.”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue, that almost there smile ghosting her lips.

Eventually, we settle on a movie neither of us will probably remember—something with explosions and bad one-liners. But the snacks are good, and her knee keeps bumping mine.

She’s close enough that I can feel her warmth, hear her breathing shift when something in the movie makes her laugh.

It feels like something I could get used to.

She tosses a piece of popcorn at me, and of course, I catch it in my mouth like the elite athlete I am.

She rolls her eyes. “Show-off.”

“You say that like it’s not my full personality.”

“I say that because it is your full personality.”

I lean back on one elbow, facing her more than the screen now. “You’re one to talk, Red. You’ve got enough attitude to start your own rebellion.”

She smirks, unbothered. “And yet, you keep spending time with me. Wonder why that is?”

I glance down at where her thigh is pressed lightly against mine. “Maybe I like living dangerously.”

Her eyes flick toward mine, and the air changes. We both feel the shift but neither of us wants to name it yet.

She leans over to grab her drink, and her hoodie slides off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin and a thin strap of whatever tank she’s wearing underneath.

I look.

She notices but doesn’t fix it.

Instead, she reaches down, taking it off completely. My jaw might be on the floor.

She’s in a cropped black tank, showing off a bit of skin between where it ends above her belly button and the shorts she’s wearing.

“You’re staring,” she says, amused.

“You wore that and didn’t expect me to stare?”

She shrugs, sipping her soda. “Maybe I was just hot.”

“Oh, you are,” I say without missing a beat. “That wasn’t in question.”

She laughs, but this time it’s quieter. More breath than sound. She shifts a little closer. Doesn’t move away when my thigh lines up with hers again.

My hand’s still resting between us, fingers curled loosely on the comforter.

She glances at it, then back at me.

“You’re thinking something,” she says.

“Dangerous assumption.”

“You’ve got the face.”

“Well, I’ve only got one.”

“The one where you’re either about to make a joke or do something stupid.”

I grin. “Why not both?”

She raises an eyebrow. “What are you gonna do, Hayes?”

I drag my thumb slowly across the edge of the blanket between us. “I haven’t decided yet.”

But I know what I want to do.

Want to lean in. Want to kiss that smirk right off her face. Want to see if that sharp tongue of hers goes quiet when I put my mouth on hers.

Her gaze flicks to my mouth—and that’s all it takes for me to toss every single reason for being a gentleman out the window.

Fuck it.

I grab her face, haul her to me, and kiss her like I’ve been wanting to all damn day.

Because I have.

There’s no slow build, no testing the waters. I crash into her mouth, and she meets me with the same fire—pulling me in by the front of my hoodie like she’s been craving it just as bad as I have.

It’s messy and hot and a little desperate. Her teeth scrape my bottom lip, and I groan, pushing her back onto the bed without breaking the kiss. She tastes like sugar and sarcasm.

Her hands are everywhere—clutching my hoodie, threading into my hair, dragging me closer like she can’t get enough, like she’s more than willing to give anything I’m willing to take.

Good. Because I’m fucking starving.

I settle between her legs; our bodies pressed together like we’re trying to make up for every second we pretended we didn’t want this.

She bites my lip.

I lose it.

I grab her thigh and hike it over my hip, grinding down into her like it’s instinct—because it is.

She arches beneath me with a sound that makes my brain short-circuit.

“Jesus, Red,” I breathe against her mouth. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

She smirks, breathless, her eyes wild. “Payback for every time you’ve smirked at me in that stupid backwards hat.”

I laugh, low and rough, then kiss her again—harder this time, hands sliding under her crop top, fingers brushing bare skin and pulling a gasp from her lips.

This isn’t just heat—it’s combustion.

All the tension we’ve danced around for weeks finally ripping free and demanding to be felt.

And I want all of it.

Every damn piece of her.

If I wasn’t in deep before…fuck me, I’m drowning now.