Page 7 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

CARTER

T he kitchen’s packed, loud, and reeking of tequila, cheap beer, and too much Axe body spray.

Right on schedule.

I lean against the counter, nursing a beer I don’t want, letting the noise swallow me. A girl I’ve seen around laughs at something I didn’t say and slides her hand up my arm like she thinks she’s subtle.

She’s not.

I let her touch linger.

Not because I’m into it. Because it’s easier to act like some party boy who doesn’t give a single fuck about anything but football and parties than to let people see the invisible scars I carry.

And if I focus hard enough, I can pretend I’m not waiting for someone else to walk through that door.

But then? She does.

Black jeans, boots, and a top that does way too many things to my focus. Her hair is still in that slicked back ponytail, but her curls are starting to pop back through the straightened strands.

Lyla walks in like she owns the damn place. Doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t have to. Every guy in the room clocks her. I watch them watch her, and something tightens in my chest.

I tell myself it’s nothing.

Just…irritation.

I take a slow sip of my beer, trying not to track her every move like a dog with a bone.

It’s fine. She’ll do her whole cold-shoulder routine, I’ll ignore her until I can’t, then I’ll piss her off and maybe, eventually, we’ll end up alone somewhere with a door that locks.

And maybe then—finally—I’ll get her out of my system.

That’s all this is. Just sexual tension.

One night, and it’ll be done.

That’s the plan.

Until she sees the current girl’s hand on my arm and stops walking toward me. Not for long. Just long enough to notice. She schools her face quickly and turns back toward the drink table as if I don’t exist.

I smirk.

So, you’re not immune, huh?

Good to know.

I gently pry the girl’s hand off my arm—friendly enough that she doesn’t notice. Then I’m on the move.

Not because I care if she’s jealous, or even if she cares at all. Just because I want her to know she doesn’t have the upper hand. Not tonight.

“Didn’t expect to see you here without your shadow,” I say, voice flat, beer still cold in my hand.

She doesn’t look at me. “Didn’t come for you. She’s dancing.”

“That your line tonight? Practicing for someone else?”

She finally glances up, eyes sharp, mouth already curled into a smirk made of knives. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hayes. I go out to have fun. Not to babysit emotionally stunted quarterbacks.”

I laugh under my breath. “That’s rich coming from you. You’ve got more walls than Fort Knox.”

“Maybe I just know better than to let someone like you anywhere near them.”

I take a step closer. Not touching, but enough to make the air between us charged. “Someone like me, huh? What’s that mean exactly? Hot, talented, too honest for your taste?”

“No,” she snaps. “Cocky, reckless, and probably only good for about two minutes in bed.”

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ve got plenty of stamina. You’d feel it for days.”

Her eyes flick to mine. “I already feel something. It’s called regret.”

That one hits. She turns to walk away. I block her path, just barely.

“You always run when it gets too real?” I ask, quiet but sharp.

“You think this is real?” she scoffs. “This is you trying to get in my pants because I’m the one girl on campus who doesn’t fall at your feet.”

“Maybe,” I say. “Or I just like watching you start to crack every time I get close.”

“I don’t have any cracks, Hayes.”

“No?” I lean in, close enough for her breath to hitch. “Then why’d you stop walking when you saw that girl’s hand on me?”

Her expression flashes—brief but lethal. “I stopped because I thought I saw a cockroach.”

I grin, mean and low. “Thought you weren’t scared of anything? Including roaches.”

“I’m not normally,” she says. “But one that lives in a football house, especially one that you call home, might have something incurable.”

With that, she sidesteps me and walks away—back straight, hair swinging, every inch of her screaming composure.

But I saw the crack, and I can’t wait to break it open even more.

She wants me too.

The bell over the door chimes as I push into the coffee shop, bright-eyed and riding the post-win high like it’s game day all over again.

I spot them instantly—Madison and Lyla at the corner table. Two lattes, one shared laptop, and one tension headache in progress if Lyla’s clenched jaw is anything to go by.

I stroll right over and drop into the seat beside Madison like I was invited.

“Morning, Blakey baby,” I drawl, throwing an arm behind her chair.

“Seriously?” she mutters. Madison is the farthest thing from a morning person.

I can’t help but chuckle. “Relax. Just keeping you company while you stress about my boy.”

She sends me a glare. “I’m not stressing about Jaxon.”

“Sure you aren’t. First, I never said his name, but you just did.” I smirk, knowing I’m right. “You do realize he’s not gonna let you avoid him forever, right?”

The doorbell chimes again, and I look up right as the man himself looks over our way, his eyes landing on Madison before swinging my way, his brows pinching.

“Yo, Jax! Come sit with us.” I point toward the empty seat next to Lyla.

“Nah, man, gotta get going. Changed my mind on the coffee.” Jaxon turns around on the spot and is back out the door before I can blink.

Lyla leans in, voice low but sharp. “Why are you still sitting here?”

Madison blinks, confused. “What?”

She jerks her chin toward the door where Jaxon is already walking away. “You need to go after him. Catch up. Explain.”

“Lyla, I?—”

She cuts her off. “Mads. You can keep pretending you don’t care, but we both know that’s bullshit.”

I snort. “For once, I agree with her.”

Lyla cuts me a glare before flipping me off.

“Look, I’ve watched you dance around this for weeks.

You’re my friend, not my project, so I won’t tell you what to do.

But I will tell you that whatever you think you’re protecting yourself from?

It’s not working. You’re just making yourself more miserable. ”

Madison pushes back from the table and shoots out the door, calling for Jaxon as she goes. He finally stops a few feet away and turns to face her.

“Think it’s rude to watch them?” I ask the green-eyed wonder sitting across from me.

“Eh, maybe, but she’s pretty fucking blind, so I may have to intervene again,” she says as she takes another sip of her drink.

I can’t help but read what she got, making a mental note for any time I might need to bribe her down the road.

A decaf caramel latte, extra sweet. Who in the world would get a decaf coffee at this time of day?

“Didn’t really take you as a decaf coffee kinda girl.”

Her eyes leave her friend and meet mine across the table. “I can’t drink much caffeine.”

“Why?”

“Just can’t.” She shrugs, starting to gather her things.

“What classes do you have today?” I shock both of us by asking a normal, friendly question.

She studies me for a moment, before finally deciding to answer. “I have a study group every Wednesday morning, then I head over to the athletics building to get more editing in before it gets crazy.”

“Wouldn’t you know that I’m actually about to head over there myself.”

I’m really not, but I don’t want to say goodbye quite yet for some reason.

“That’s weird.” She takes one last sip, tipping her head back and giving me a perfect view of her neck. Her skin is creamy and looks so incredibly soft. I wonder if she likes it squeezed. “I thought you had history on Wednesday mornings.”

“Must be mistaken,” I say, holding the door open as she walks through while narrowing her eyes at me, calling my bluff without saying anything.

We walk in silence until I can’t take it anymore.

“So,” I say, leaning in just enough to make her uncomfortable. “Still pretending you don’t like me?”

“Still pretending you’re relevant?”

I chuckle. “If I’m so irrelevant, why’d you freeze when you saw that girl’s hand on me Saturday night after the game?”

That gets her attention.

A tiny flick of her eyebrow. That’s all I need.

“You’re a walking headline waiting to happen,” she mutters.

“And yet you keep reading.”

She finally meets my gaze. “One of these days, Hayes, someone’s going to call your bluff.”

I hold her stare. “Hope it’s you.”

She huffs and looks away.

“You are exhausting.”

But her lips are twitching, fighting a smile.

And so am I.

Because whatever this is?

It’s just heating up.

We make it to the entrance of the athletics department, and she turns to face me when she opens the door.

“Oh, and Carter?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna have to run across campus, or you’re going to be late for history.” She’s laughing as she walks through the door and leaves me standing outside.

I grab my phone, looking at the time, then start jogging across campus.

Women, man. Fucking women.

Turning our worlds upside down, one day at a time.