Page 17 of The Playmaker (The Legends of Fire #1)

AVERY

" A stomach flu? Oh, Pen! No! I am already here, hun." I look around me at the crowd of people gathering in one of the restaurants participating in Restaurant Week. It's growing loud, so I step further into the place, find a door, and step outside.

"I'm so sorry," she says. "I knew there was something off about that sushi last night. Good thing I haven't posted my review yet."

"I'm coming right over to take care of you. What do you need? Tums? Laxatives? Imodium...?"

She snorts indignantly. "Um, no. I'll be keeping the details of my tummy issues to myself, thank you. Look, I feel so gross right now. If you really," she draws out the word, "want to help, you can take notes on any notable dishes you have tonight."

I shake my head, studying my cute, new shoes under the outdoor lights at the back of the restaurant. My feet already hurt. There's no way I'm staying here alone.

"It would mean a lot to me, Avery."

"Oh no, Penelope! Do not try to guilt trip me into doing your food tasting work for you tonight.

Plus, you're a victim of your last food tasting.

I don't want to get food poisoning." But we both know she's already won me over.

How could I not support her by doing my best to form an opinion of food tonight beyond just "delish" or "overcooked"?

She's quiet, letting her apparent need for me sink in.

I really don't want to hang out by myself tonight, so I procrastinate answering her. My eyes wander. Then land on the last thing I expect to see.

Jaxon Carter. Standing outside some posh looking dance studio and event venue next door to this very restaurant. And the dress—I remember the dress and the teenager in it. She's hugging him, now.

That's her. Riley. I grow quiet, taking it in. I feel like a voyeur looking at a scene that is meant to be kept from prying eyes. But I can't look away. My heart does that annoying flip flop thing that it does around Jax.

But to my surprise, he doesn't follow Riley and the older woman into the dance studio. He watches them walk off and then he's on his phone, walking right toward me!

What do I do? I'm frantic. Last I heard from him, he was not having any of my reporter type of questions aimed at him, what will he think if he sees me standing right here observing his big secret right out in the open?

I accidentally flicker my eyes to him, then.

.. Shoot! He's looking right at me. And he's not looking away.

I feel all kinds of attraction that I have no business feeling for him.

It's that same magnetic pull I felt in California—the one I've been trying to convince myself was just physical, just convenient.

But standing here now, my heart racing at just the sight of him, I know it's more than that.

"Hellooo?" Pen calls out in my ear.

"Right. Yes. I'll do it. I'm staying. I'll get you the best foodie type of details I can, Pen, but I make no promises."

"You're the best! You'll do great." I hear her groan. "I have to go. Literally. Call me later? "

Then she hangs up.

Poor thing.

But then I feel a tall, masculine presence beside me.

Lucky me.

I bite my bottom lip to keep that giddy little tilt of my lips under control. And then I turn and face him.

Hello, Handsome, are you busy tonight? my body says to him.

"Jax," I actually say. "Do you always sneak in and out of back alley parking lots?"

He surveys me with one smooth glance, his eyes looking a little brighter than they did seconds ago. "Only when it counts, it would seem." He raises his eyebrows.

Oh. Right. I should explain why I'm here in high heels and a dress with way too much cleavage showing, even after the alterations. But part of me wonders if I should mention that I saw him with Riley. Would he panic? Shut down? Run? The knowledge sits heavy between us, unspoken.

He opens the door for me, one hand on the small of my back. The perfect gentleman. I feel a shiver rush through me at his touch, my nipples hardening instinctively at the mere nearness of him.

"Chilly," he says dryly, though it's anything but.

"You men have it easy, in your suits and comfy shoes." It's just something to say while I gather my bearings.

"Why are you here, Avery?" His voice is melted chocolate and I want more than anything to be his strawberry, covered in all that sex appeal.

Which is dumb, since the last time I saw him he shut me out hardcore. His eyes search mine, sobering my emotions real quick.

Is he curious about my social calendar or is he really wanting to know if I saw his sister outside? I pretend ignorance on that topic. Some secrets deserve to be kept, even by a journalist .

"My best friend is a food blogger and restaurant critic. Her name is Pen. She really wanted to come tonight, eat all the good food, and then," I step away from him just inside the main area of the restaurant, breaking contact, "well, food poisoning slowed her down a bit."

He whistles, checking his phone. "Sounds rough.

Hope she feels better..." His lips press together in annoyance.

"Well. Looks like I'm riding solo tonight, too.

Hawk," he looks at me to see if I remember his teammate; I nod, "was supposed to attend this with me tonight.

We, uh," he glances at me, "are going to invest in a restaurant chain together. But looks like he's held up."

A beat of silence hangs between us, both capable of inviting the other to stay together for the event.

But the first to ask is the one who will look eager, and it appears he doesn't want that any more than I do.

A wicked idea crosses my mind as my ego remembers how he dismissed me on the jet a week ago.

I look him dead in the eye and extend my hand formally. He just looks at it.

"I should let you get going, and I," I take back the hand he's ignoring and grab a tiny pencil and notebook on the entry table for guests to personally rate their favorites for tonight, "need to start tasting the delicacies on display for tonight. For Pen, of course."

To my great and utter surprise, he lets his gaze drop to my lips and further down to my bouncy breasts that seem to have taken on a life of their own in this dress.

"I love tasting...delicacies." His gaze rakes up my body to meet mine. "I'll join you."

My mouth goes dry at the hungry look in his eyes, but then I remember that I'm mad at him.

I should be walking away, maintaining my professional distance.

Instead, I shrug, the girls pressing together, then turn and move from one table to the next with speed.

Every touch, every look sets my heart aflutter.

And then when he feeds me a tasting size of chocolate lava cake, I feel my thighs quiver.

Arousal and need war against my better sense.

I flip the little notebook shut, check the photos and videos I took for Pen of each good dish, and slip both in my clutch, turning to announce that I'm ready to go.

Oh hell no.

I find myself chest to chest with him. He did this. Not me. So I can't be held accountable for what could happen next.

I feel my breaths coming in short pants, and when his hand closes around mine—not my waist, not my back, but holding my hand—I know exactly what is going to happen next.

There's an intimacy in the gesture that's more powerful than any of our previous encounters.

This isn't just about physical release anymore.

"Let's get my stole," I whisper breathily.

He squeezes my hand then leads me to the coat check located down a hallway by the entrance. I feel my hip rub against his crotch when we arrive and I step across from him to look inside. No one is there.

His groan sounds primal, his length hard and long against my hip.

"Fuck, I want you," he growls out.

His strong hands grasp the small of my waist, then my hips. I feel him push me into the coat check area, past the desk, and into a closet. The smell of wool and leather greets me as we brush past coats of all types. He closes the door and locks it.

When he looks at me, it's pure desire with a splash of worship. God, the things he could do to me...

"Take me," I say.

"Strip for me," he murmurs. I hear his pants hit the floor, then the sound of a condom wrapper.

I free my breasts and he growls again, lower this time. I reach for his sheathed length to feel the hardness of him but release him as his soft lips latch onto a nipple, twirling his tongue around my hard peak.

I gasp and moan, hands in his hair, feeling him push my dress up. His finger finds my wet core and I moan in a high pitch that is far too wanton to be my own. But it is. I'm already losing myself in him. In this.

He kisses up to my lips and nips at my lower lip. Then, I'm in his arms, lifted as if I weigh no more than a feather.

He looks me deep in the eyes as his head teases my ready entrance.

He slides into me, the act made even more intimate with the way he is looking at me. This isn't just sex anymore—it's something deeper, something that terrifies me even as it thrills me.

"So wet, so tight for me," he murmurs.

I press my lips against his, opening my mouth to connect with him in every way possible.

And when he starts to thrust, my breasts bouncing up and down against his muscled pecs, I see stars from the intensity.

My body wants him, even as my mind knows better.

There's no way this could work out long term.

He has his secrets—Riley, the carefully constructed public image, the walls he's built to protect what matters to him.

And I have mine—the story I'm not writing, the professional boundaries I'm obliterating, the trust issues I've never fully resolved.

I close my eyes and surrender to here, to now, to what is. But not to what could be.

Even as something inside me whispers that maybe, just maybe, there could be more.