Quarterback Sneak (Red Zone Rivals #3)(36)

It was only half a lie. I really did enjoy baking, when the mood struck me — and, truth be told, it hadn’t struck me in years. Which was a big reason why I’d been so giddy when it had, why I hadn’t second-guessed it or let myself overanalyze the why behind the feeling.

I’d come home from school, worked on an online quiz that was due before midnight, and as soon as I’d finished, I’d been struck with that nostalgic feeling I used to get when I was in high school, the one that urged me to pull out every ingredient in the fridge and pantry and see what I could bake up.

It was Mom I got this from.

When she was really happy, Mom would do one of two things: one, blast Celine Dion as loud as she could and clean the whole house, or two, blast Celine Dion as loud as she could and bake up a storm.

I was in middle school when I started wanting to learn, and Mom was happy to teach me. I had vivid memories of her explaining how precarious baking was, how just a smidge too much of this or too little of that could alter the entire recipe. It felt like a hobby and a challenge all in one, and eventually, I became even more engrossed than Mom.

Abby always loved when I got in this mood.

She’d close whatever book she was reading and hop up all excited, following me around in the kitchen and begging to help. We’d end up making a complete mess most of the time, flour and sugar everywhere.

That was exactly the feeling I got this afternoon, that bubbly, warm excitement.

Except this time, I didn’t have Abby.

I also didn’t have Mom, or her stocked kitchen, so I’d run to the store to get what I needed before blasting Summer Walker and singing along as I whipped up muffins with a delectable crumble topping.

And I was only taking them across the street because it was dangerous to have them all here with only me and Mary to eat them.

Mary blinked at me. “You’re so far gone you can’t even see the red flags waving, can you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Calm down. It’s not that serious.”

“You like him.”

I swallowed but lifted my chin in defiance. “I find him tolerable at best.”

That made her snort, and she turned, flopping down on the couch before she reached for her PlayStation controller. “Look, just be careful. Not only do I find all of those football players to be cocky, selfish assholes, but your dad is their coach.” She gave me a pointed look as she put on her headset. “And I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be thrilled with knowing you were banging one of his players.”

“I won’t be banging anyone.”

She smiled. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m just being friendly.”

Mary ignored me, already talking to one of her friends on her headset as Final Fantasy VII Remake loaded on the TV screen.

I stood there a moment debating if I should keep defending myself before I decided it was pointless, and then I pushed outside into the cool evening air before I could talk myself out of it.

The real reason behind the muffins was that Holden had been cleared to return to practice today. I’d had a hand in it, meeting with JB and my father early this morning and updating them on where we were in his rehab. I felt confident he could start practicing, even if he had to take it easy for a few days. He wasn’t experiencing any pain or limitations in physical therapy, and his shoulder was strong, mobile.

What surprised me most was that Dad trusted me.

He believed me, seemingly impressed with my answers to his questions. Before the meeting was over, Dad assigned JB to take over and move Holden into the next phase.

And I was proud.

I was proud — God, when was the last time I’d felt that? I couldn’t remember a time outside of unlocking a new trick in pole. The studio or my living room with that chrome lover were about the only times I felt good.

Until recently.

Something about working with Holden had given me purpose, had given me confidence.

Him being released back to practice felt like something worth celebrating — for both of us.

And so, I carried the platter of muffins with my chin held high, knocking on the front door of the Pit on what sounded like a particularly quiet evening for them.

Leo opened the door, and I was thankful it wasn’t Kyle — who had been pretty relentless in his advances since that night of the party.

“Julep,” he said with a surprised smile, opening the door for me to step in. “What’s up?”

“I made muffins,” I said stupidly, holding up the tray. “Thought there might be some hungry football players here who could help me eat them.”

“Oh, you have come to the right place, cari?o,” he said, taking the tray out of my hands.

I followed him into the kitchen where he sat them down on the counter, and I looked around, a bit impressed with how clean the place was considering how I’d seen it at the party last time I’d been inside.

Leo groaned when he unwrapped the cloth I’d put over the muffins, and he picked one up, peeling the wrapper off the bottom and shoving half of it in his mouth. “Homahgod,” he said, moaning. “They’re still warm.”

I chuckled, crossing my arms as I looked around. I hated the way I not-so-subtly looked for Holden, wondering why he hadn’t come down when he heard me.

But there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d ask where he was.

“It doesn’t often look like this,” Leo said around another bite of muffin, nodding to where I was looking. “This clean, I mean. Cap has been in a mood since he got home from his last class. He scrubbed these counters like Coach Lee himself was going to come and inspect them after.”