Page 32 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

LYLA

T he first thing I feel when I wake up is warmth.

Not just the kind from the heavy blanket tangled around me—but the steady, solid kind that comes from the weight of someone else’s arm draped over my waist.

For a second, I almost think I’m dreaming.

But then as the faint light of morning filters through my curtains, I shift just enough to feel the sheets slide against bare skin, and the memory of last night crashes back like a wave.

Carter.

His breath is warm against my neck, his chest pressed flush to my back, arm snug around me like he’s been holding on all night.

I let my eyes flutter shut again, just for another second, and focus on the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

It’s…unsettling, how much I like it.

Last night was the first time in years that my brain allowed me to go to sleep without moving through the entire routine that normally takes me at least an hour to complete before bed.

I’ve never experienced the sense of calm that Carter brings me, ever.

I have to admit, I might have to keep him around for that effect alone.

I shift slightly under the blankets, and he stirs behind me.

“Mmm…” he murmurs low in his throat, his arm tightening instinctively around my waist as his face nuzzles into my hair. “What time is it?”

“Too early,” I whisper back. My voice sounds soft even to my own ears.

He hums in agreement, his fingers absently tracing lazy circles on my hip like he has no plans of moving anytime soon.

And honestly? I don’t hate it.

I close my eyes again, thinking maybe—just maybe—I can have another five minutes like this.

Which is exactly when my bedroom door swings open.

“Lyla?” Madison’s voice calls, sounding way too happy for this hour. “Are you?—”

She freezes in the doorway.

I bolt upright in bed, clutching the blanket to my chest on instinct, my heart jumping into my throat.

Carter groans behind me, clearly less panicked than I am, and drapes an arm back over his eyes with a muttered, “Morning, Madison.”

I can practically feel the smirk in his voice.

Madison blinks at us, her eyebrows shooting straight to her hairline as she takes in the scene: me, still tangled in the sheets, my hair a mess, my cheeks burning—and Carter, clearly very naked, half-covered by my blanket, lounging like he owns the place.

“Oh,” she says finally, drawing out the word, her lips twitching. “Well. Don’t let me interrupt…”

“Madison!” I squeak, throwing a pillow at her.

She dodges it easily, already backing out of the doorway with her hands up in mock surrender.

“Hey, don’t mind me,” she teases, grinning now. “Just making sure you were alive. You’re usually up by now.”

I groan, flopping back against the pillows as she closes the door behind her, laughter trailing down the hall.

Carter chuckles low behind me, shifting onto his side to prop his head up on his hand.

“You’re kinda cute when you’re flustered,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my face.

I shoot him a look, even though my cheeks are still hot.

I flop back against the pillows, burying my face in my hands.

“Oh my god,” I groan. “She’s never going to let me live this down.”

Beside me, Carter just smiles, completely unbothered, and shifts onto his back with his arms folded behind his head.

“She didn’t seem mad,” he teases.

I peek through my fingers to glare at him, his grin infuriatingly smug. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hayes.”

He smirks but doesn’t argue, just stretches like he’s got all the time in the world.

That is, until his phone buzzes on the nightstand.

He grabs it, squints at the screen…and freezes.

Then he sits straight up.

“Shit. What time is it?”

My eyes fly to the little clock on my dresser, and my stomach drops.

“9:43,” I say, already scrambling upright. “Film starts in?—”

“Seventeen minutes,” he finishes, already on his feet.

We both launch into motion at the same time—me sweeping my hair into a messy bun, him bending to grab his hoodie from the floor.

“You didn’t set an alarm?” I scold, wrapping the blanket tighter around myself as he fumbles with his sweatpants.

He shoots me a grin over his shoulder. “I was kind of distracted last night, if you recall.”

My cheeks flush as he straightens up and pulls his hoodie on over his head.

“Not my fault you’re bad at time management,” I mumble.

He just smirks, leaning down to grab his sneakers. “Worth it.”

When he’s dressed, he steps to the door, then pauses.

And turns back to me.

He crosses the room in two strides, cups my jaw in one hand, and kisses me—quick but firm, enough to make my stomach flip.

When he pulls back, his grin is still there, a little softer this time.

“I’ll see you at the game,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over my cheek.

I swallow and manage to find my voice. “Don’t screw it up out there, Hayes.”

He shakes his head, backing toward the door. “Don’t worry, Harding. You’re my good luck charm now.”

And then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me standing there with my blanket wrapped around me, still feeling the imprint of his lips on mine.

And I have no idea how I’m supposed to focus on anything else today.

By the time I finish taking a shower and get dressed, the apartment is quiet again.

The steam still clings to my skin as I tighten the laces of my boots, my heart stubbornly refusing to calm down, even though Carter’s been gone for almost an hour.

I glance at myself again in the mirror, tugging at the hem of my PCU jacket, trying to make sure I don’t look like someone who spent the entire night wrapped up in the one person she swore she’d never get tangled up with.

No luck there.

My cheeks are still a little flushed, and there’s a softness in my eyes I don’t quite recognize.

I huff out a breath, grabbing my bag and phone before heading down the hall toward the kitchen.

When I round the corner, Madison is already there, waiting.

She’s sitting at the island, dressed for the game in a pair of dark jeans and a white sweater, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She’s cradling a mug of tea in her hands, elbows resting on the countertop as she watches me walk in.

There’s a faint, knowing little smile playing at her lips.

I stop halfway into the kitchen, suddenly hyperaware of how quiet the apartment is.

She takes a slow sip from her mug, her eyes never leaving mine.

“You’re alive,” she says finally, her voice deceptively light.

I blink at her, adjusting the strap of my bag over my shoulder.

“Barely,” I mutter, trying to sound casual as I cross to the counter and grab my water bottle.

But she doesn’t let up.

That little smile stays firmly in place as she sets her mug down and leans her chin on her hand.

“You know,” she says mildly. “If you wanted me to stay gone longer, you could’ve just said so.”

I groan, pressing my hand to my forehead. “Don’t start, Maddy.”

She laughs softly, picking her mug back up.

“I’m just saying,” she murmurs into her tea. “You might want to work on your subtlety before Coach Harding figures it out.”

That makes me freeze for just a second.

But when I glance at her again, she’s still smiling—gentle now, not teasing.

“You like him,” she says simply.

I swallow hard and turn back to the counter, screwing the lid on my water bottle tighter than necessary.

“It was a one-time thing,” I mumble instead, ignoring the way my stomach twists at her words. “Just needed to get it out of our systems and all that.”

She snorts. “Hate to tell you, but that never works out for the fictional couples in my romance books.”

Looking into my bag, I make sure everything is there before turning toward the door. “You riding with me or coming later?”

Getting the hint that I’m done with the conversation, she hops up and grabs her bag. “I enjoy seeing a certain wide receiver in his football pants a little too much to pass up the opportunity for extra sight seeing.”

I can’t help but laugh at her as we head toward my car, even though my thoughts are stuck on a certain quarterback.

One time. That’s all we agreed on…. Right?

The stadium is already buzzing by the time I make it down to the field.

Fans are streaming into the stands, music is thumping through the speakers, and players are going through their warmups in sharp, choreographed bursts of motion.

I adjust my PCU jacket and double-check the mic levels on my recorder as I scan the field. This is what I do—get the quick hits, the polished sound bites, content the department loves to post mid-game to keep engagement high.

I spot Jaxon first, helmet tucked under his arm as he chats with one of the defensive coaches.

When I wave him over, he grins and jogs the few steps to meet me near the sideline.

“You ready to go?” I ask, holding up my phone and mic.

“Always,” he says with a grin.

“Big game today. Fans want to know—what’s your mindset heading in?”

Jaxon gives me the easy smile that’s made him a fan favorite. “Mindset’s the same as always—do my job, trust the guy next to me, and make sure we leave it all out here. That’s what this team does. It’s what we’re about.”

I nod, smiling faintly. “Perfect. Thanks, Jax.”

“Anytime, Harding,” he says, jogging back toward the huddle.

Next up is Beck, who of course takes his sweet time jogging over when I flag him down. He gives me a lopsided grin, already chewing his gum obnoxiously.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls. “If it isn’t our resident ice queen.”

“Beck,” I sigh, biting back a smile. “I need thirty seconds, not your stand-up routine.”

He winks. “You wound me. What do you want to know?”

“Same as always—game day mindset.”

“Mindset is simple,” Beck says, smirking for the camera. “Don’t get hit too hard. Make the big plays. And, uh…” His eyes flick to the stands. “Try to look good doing it.”

I roll my eyes, but he just grins wider.

“Thanks, Beck,” I say dryly.

“Anytime, sista.”

Finally, I spot Carter—helmet on, head down as he ties the laces on his cleats.

I hesitate a second longer than I mean to before calling his name.

He glances up at me, and the corner of his mouth kicks up into the faintest smirk.

He jogs over, slowing just as he reaches me.

“You need me for something?” he asks, voice low enough that no one else can hear.

I hold up the mic between us. “Ten-second sound bite.”

“Ah,” he says, his eyes glinting. “Guess I can spare you five seconds.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” I mutter, already hitting record.

“So?” he murmurs, leaning just a little closer. “What do you want me to say?”

“Your mindset going into tonight.”

His gaze holds mine for a second too long, before trailing all the way down my body. “My mindset?”

“Yes,” I say, trying to sound sharper than I feel.

His smirk deepens just slightly. “Focused. Determined. And…” His eyes drag slowly over my face before meeting mine again. “Already thinking about what comes after.”

Heat creeps up my neck as I lower the mic, trying to keep my expression neutral.

“Thanks, Hayes,” I say briskly, stepping back.

He just grins faintly, leaning in to murmur, “Anytime, Princess” sending me a wink that I feel between my legs before jogging back toward the huddle.

I take a slow, steadying breath and force my shoulders straight.

Professional. Efficient. Untouchable.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.