Page 70 of Colliding with Ten

“You're figuring out what you want to do. And making progress.”

“It doesn’t always feel like it.”

“It should.”

She held my gaze. “Thank you.”

I didn’t know what she was thanking me for. She was the one doing the work. I was just acknowledging the effort. People stayed in lives they hated because they were afraid. Figuring out what she wanted and going after it was half the battle.

Instead, I nodded to the bag. “You should eat.”

We had no reason to keep standing in the hallway, but we didn’t move. I wasn’t ready for the conversation to end.

“When do you have to be downstairs?” she asked.

“Seven fifteen.”

“Me too.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“I guess so.”

Again, neither of us moved. I considered asking if she wanted company while she ate, but going into her room didn’t feel casual.

“Good night, Callahan.”

“Good night, Lennox.”

She opened her door. I opened mine. We stepped inside at almost the same time. Before my door closed, I looked back. She did too. Then both doors shut.

My room felt large and impersonal. The bed faced the windows overlooking the city. My suitcase sat on a rack near the closet. On the desk, the call sheet and a welcome packet rested beside a bottle of water.

I set my phone down, took off my jacket, and got ready for bed. Then I opened my laptop and pulled up game film. I made it through three plays before realizing I wasn’t absorbing anything. I closed the laptop and lay down. Ayla was on the other side of the wall. A connecting door was near the foot of the bed. I stared at it.

The Hawks had rules about fraternization. All teams did. Some were written to cover players and staff and addressed situations where someone became involved with someone from an opposing team. And they enforced it if an organization decided a relationship had become inconvenient.

I could convince myself not to care about a clause in someone else’s employee handbook. The Hawks had no authority over me. But if we went beyond casual acquaintances, Ayla would face more consequences. As a franchise quarterback, the Stallions had invested years, money, draft capital, and most of their public identity in me. They could fine or lecture me, but they wouldn’t replace me because I dated a woman connected to a rival team. The Hawks wouldn’t protect Ayla the same way. A cheerleader with a training fellowship wasn’t considered the same kind of asset. She was easier to remove and move on from.

But why was I even thinking about this? Nothing would happen between us. I glanced at the clock—it was already two a.m. I lay back and stared at the ceiling. If something happened between us, I knew I couldn’t view Ayla as casual, but casual was all I knew right now. So there was nothing to worry about. Today, we would remain professional and return to our separate lives.

The room was dark, except for the city's light filtering in through the windows. I closed my eyes, wondering if her bed was against the same wall, and if she was thinking about me next door at the same time I was thinking about her.

My alarm went off at six. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but with the headache banging around in my head, I knew I hadn’t rested. My first thought was of Ayla next door and that I’d see her soon.

I showered, shaved, and dressed, then checked the time. Six forty-eight. Was it too early to knock? I paced and checked again. Six fifty-one. I gave up. At six fifty-five, I stepped into the hallway and knocked on her door.

There was movement inside. Something hit the floor, and Ayla muttered to herself. The door opened. She wore black leggings, a fitted Forge and Flight top, and only one sock. Her face was bare. Everything looked fine except for her soaked hair. Last night’s bouncy curls now lay flat, water dripping from their ends onto the towel around her shoulders.

She stared at me, losing patience.

“What happened?”

“There was a shower incident.”

I prompted her to continue.

She stepped back and gestured toward the bathroom. “That shower has six knobs.”