Page 11 of The Playmaker (The Legends of Fire #1)

AVERY

" I diot," I mutter to myself as I splash cold water on my face in the fancy hotel room's bathroom.

I was an idiot to kiss Jax. Then to open my door to him, hot and bothered enough to think about wanting him to come inside and worship my body.

Then to stand in my empty hotel room for ten minutes afterward, staring at the wall that separates us, both fuming at whoever Riley is and also more than a little horny.

I can hear the TV playing in his room. It's louder than it needs to be. Likely his way of trying to irritate me. I meet my own gaze in the mirror and a deliciously evil plan hatches in my mind.

"Oh, he wants to be loud?" I huff. "I can be louder."

I march to my suitcase, throw it open, and pull out my favorite vibrator. I grin at it, stripping my clothes off and flopping onto my bed. I need a release. No, I need to feel large, strong hands on me while green eyes devour every inch of my skin in appreciation.

But I'll settle for what I have.

"It's just you and me," I murmur, turning my toy on.

I am already wet and aroused and I have nothing but that kiss to blame for it. I close my eyes, calling to mind Jaxon's impressive cock, the ripped planes of his abs, that sexy happy trail of barely there hair that went from his belly button all the way down to…

"Oh, fuck, yes!" I call out, unnecessarily loud. "Just like that. Right there!"

I moan and work myself up to the peak of arousal slowly and vigorously, even using my free hand to push the headboard up against the wall as if I'm being aggressively fucked. When I hear his TV turn off, I know he's enjoying the audio show I'm putting on.

I spread my legs and let my toy take me to bliss. Not once. But twice. When I'm done in one particularly wanton moan, I lay there. I feel amazing. But also very much alone.

The walls of the room close around me a little and I'm about to get up and force myself to work when I hear a masculine grunting on the other side of the wall.

Son of a gun! He's getting off on – dare I think it – me getting off?

It's oddly…hot. I sit up, listening as I realize I can easily picture him in my mind, remembering that look on his face when we'd had sex, right before he came into me. His seed in me still gives me a thrill. I'm on the pill, so there's not a chance of pregnancy.

"That was so risky," I murmur, my fingers pressing against the headboard, wishing I could press through the wall and touch him.

"Yeah, me and like a million other women. Get a grip, Avery."

The thought should cool my desire, but instead, it sparks something else—a competitive edge I've always had.

What if I could be different? My father taught me early that athletes were selfish creatures who abandoned their responsibilities for glory.

I've built my career exposing that truth. But what if Jax is the exception ?

My phone buzzes, reminding me I have work to do. I pull on some clothes and get to work, pausing only to smirk when I hear his shower turn on. Who knew being next door to him could be so interesting. And you better believe I'm going to be listening for any noises coming from his room tonight.

I bet Riley is one of his hookups. And if she comes calling tonight, I'm going to hear it. Every damn word. Every damn sound.

Stomach rumbling, I step out of the elevator a few hours later. I plan to grab a quick bite then head straight back to my room. The hotel has a restaurant in it, so I cross the polished marble floor toward the restaurant and bar.

A bout of masculine laughter greets my ears before I enter.

Oh, hell no.

The Phantoms are in the restaurant. I have zero interest in fake smiling with the team or giving Jax the pleasure of my company. I look on my phone and find a nearby burrito place, a little hole in the wall that is in walking distance.

Perfect.

Head down, I quietly exit the hotel, beelining for the little place.

The smell of jalapenos and refried beans hits my nose as I enter.

The lady behind the counter yells out in a mix of Spanish and English that I should get the house special and take a seat.

I guess the house special it is. I find a seat and get lost on my phone until the food arrives.

A small burrito, an enchilada, and lots of rice and beans. Heaven on earth.

I lift the burrito to my mouth to take a huge, unladylike bite, my eyes lifting from my booth for the first time in ten minutes.

I lock eyes with a pair of amused green ones.

Jax.

Damn it !

Just to prove a point, I shove even more of the burrito on my mouth giving him a stink eye.

He laughs, grabbing his plate and joining me uninvited in my booth.

"Impressive," he says about the amount of food I can chew at once.

I almost choke laughing.

"I didn't invite you to sit with me."

"You didn't tell me to leave."

"Look, I'm clearly trying to avoid the team, and you, so…" I gesture vaguely away from me.

"Trying, huh? Maybe you should look into why it's so much effort for you to not want to be around me."

He waggles his eyebrows at me and scoops up some of my rice with my fork. I glare at him.

Then I sit back, observing him away from the team. He seems different. Lighter. "That's why I don't trust you. Well, part of it. That flirty little 'I'm so hot' athlete attitude you have…it doesn't feel real. Like, at all."

"Look at you, oh wise one."

"So why do it? Why put on this player act of yours?"

"Maybe because it's expected." That's all he gives me.

I study him, remembering what Coach almost revealed earlier. There's something here that doesn't fit the narrative I've spent years reporting on.

"Could be. But there's more. Hawk does it too, but with him and the younger guys, it feels real."

"As real as your orgasm earlier?" He winks at me.

"More real than yours," I snark back at him.

"I guess you'll never know that."

I put my burrito down. "Who's Riley?"

"Oh no, we're not going there. You and I," he gestures to us, "are no where near being close enough for that."

"Close, huh?" I squint at him. "You lost your family years ago, so it can't be that. You wouldn't guard an ex, I don't think."

His expression shifts subtly—a tightening around the eyes, a tension in his jaw. I've hit a nerve, and my reporter's instincts are screaming that I'm onto something important.

"Off limits conversation."

I finish my burrito in three bites, throw some cash on the table and start to slide out of the booth.

"It's probably super boring, anyway." I smile sweetly at him. "Well, it's been fun, but I've got to go."

"Your vibrator's waiting for you, I get it." He shrugs.

I stand there, jaw on the floor. Then, I laugh. "Better than my hand," I quip.

"But not as good as mine."

A flush of arousal consumes me, my breath catching in my throat. I feel a strong sensation of need and want and denial all working together to confuse me. This is the dangerous dance we keep falling into—this pull between professional boundaries and primal attraction.

"Jax, if you want me to go back to your room with you…"

His eyes turn sensual and dark. It makes my heart stutter.

"Well, if you want to play sleuth with my secrets, what better way than being?—"

"Close," we both say.

"Fuck," I whisper. I totally should not do this. For too many reasons to count.

My career. My reputation. The promise I made to myself after watching my mother crumble when my father chose fame over family—never trust an athlete with your heart.

But I find myself eyeing his tall frame and broad shoulders as he slides out of the booth, towering over me. There's something about him that defies all my carefully constructed rules.

"Avery," he says, leaning down to brush a kiss to my cheek…only to stop an inch from my face. "You have hot sauce right…here."

His thumb brushes against my skin, taking me back to the last time we had sex when I had chocolate on my face. The gentleness contradicts everything his public image suggests.

I shoot him a withering look that he squashes with a heated kiss on my lips. A kiss that leaves me breathless, wanting, haunted by its absence.

"Walk with me," he says.

And I know when we have sex this time, it's going to be different.

There's enough time to back out, to say no. Doing this with him isn't impulse. It's intentional. Deliberate.

Exhilarating.

And terrifying—because this time, I'm risking more than my body. I'm risking the walls I've built for years. Something tells me Jaxon Carter could be the story that changes everything.