Page 52 of Colliding with Ten

Her eyebrows shot up. “Wait, literally?”

I chuckled. “Literally. The field went dark. Scoreboard, stands, everything. He still ran it in for the touchdown.”

She was staring at me. “You’re kidding.”

“I swear. Not only that, but the other team didn’t score. It was a lights-out game. After that, it became a running joke in the locker room: ‘Monroe turns the lights out when it’s clutch time.’ A few coincidences and big plays later, it stuck.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s wild.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling at the memory. “Eventually, the name followed me to the league. Reporters ran with it, fans loved it. I started doing the gesture before a drive to tell my guys to lock in. It became ours, you know? A signal, not a threat.”

Ayla’s smile softened. “It’s not about turning off anyone else’s lights. It’s just a signal to focus.”

“Yeah. Exactly that.”

She looked pleased and took another sip of soup. A small, satisfied smirk, like she’d solved a puzzle. I wanted to give her more things to figure out just to see that look again.

“Guess that’s a better story than the internet version.”

“Much better. But you believed the gator thing, so your credibility’s already shot.”

“Okay. I guess the violent story plays into more of the violence of football. Bringing fear into the heart of your enemies, blah blah blah.”

“I think that’s how some fans use it.”

“I don’t think you’re getting rid of that reputation anytime soon, especially since you’re now known for knocking cheerleaders off their feet.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I’m never gonna live that down.”

She set her spoon down and pushed her chair back. “I’m gonna run to the restroom before we leave.”

“Take your time,” I said, standing halfway. It was automatic, the standing. My mother had drilled it so deep it happened before thought. She smiled and then walked off, vanishing through the bathroom door at the back of the restaurant.

I picked at the last of my tuna roll, grinning like an idiot. It’d been a long time since anyone made me laugh like that. She was easy to talk to.

I hadn’t planned on telling her about my rehab or the doubts after my injury. But she listened in a way that made me comfortable speaking freely. She understood not just the pain, but what it does to your head. Strange how easy it felt to sit next to a woman I barely knew. Hours compressed into minutes. She was AJ Callahan’s sister. My fans loved to hate his team. But sitting here, that rivalry felt like it belonged to other people.

When I looked across the table, the paperback she’d been reading was closed and face down next to her miso bowl. I should’ve left it alone. But curiosity’s powerful, and I’ve never been good at ignoring it.

I pulled the book closer and flipped it over to see the title. “Twisted Desires” was written in cursive against a blue sky. I opened to the page she’d bookmarked and froze. The sentence I’d landed on wasn’t subtle. By the next paragraph, my eyebrows were near my hairline. I looked around, then back at the book. Nope, still as vivid as before.

“Holy . . .” I muttered under my breath, snapping the book shut before the words could burn themselves into my brain.

I stared at the cover, leaned back in the booth, and grinned. “Well, damn,” I murmured. “I guess the dancer’s got a wild side.”

Even with the storm going, the air in here felt warmer. That’s when she walked back in, mouth agape, pointing to the book in my hand.

13

THE CODA

AYLA

Ispotted him before he saw me. Lennox stretched one arm along the booth's back. Then I noticed the book—my book—open in his other hand.

No. No. No. No.

He wasn’t. He couldn’t be reading it. But then his expression changed. His eyebrows shot up, eyes widening, as he jerked the book back as if it had just bitten him, and he slammed it shut