Page 5 of The Playmaker (The Legends of Fire #1)

AVERY

I love chocolate chip muffins. I inhale the warm gooey-ness as I take a huge bite.

"And that's why the Phantom's PR team chose you to shadow the team!" Ann announces.

I choke, muffin lodging in my throat as Juan pats my back.

"Ah, good, I see you're excited about this!" Ann's smile doesn't reach her eyes.

"No," I croak.

"Excuse me?" She arches a pencil-thin brow.

"No!" I repeat.

Her eyes turn steely. "I'm not sure you understand what you're being offered." She rises from the conference table, commanding the room. I gulp.

"The NYC Phantoms made it to the Super Bowl finals last year," she says, pacing. " Finals ," she repeats with emphasis.

"Right—" I start.

She silences me with a raised finger. "Their star player, Jaxon Carter, is on track for the Hall of Fame. Do you know what that means?"

Her eyebrows arch expectantly. "It means you're being given direct access to write about the good parts of his life and career. Not an exposé. Not on this guy."

"That's a problem. My specialty is exposing the shady parts of athletes' lives."

I shiver thinking about being near Jax. Those piercing green eyes, that tousled dark hair. It makes my thighs clench and my breath catch. There's something different about him that I can't explain—and I hate what he does to me.

Meeting Ann's gaze, I harden my resolve. "You'll need someone else."

"Avery." Ann's voice cuts like ice. "I'm not asking. Unless you want a sudden demotion, you'll accept the Phantoms' invitation and write the most positive story of your career. Got it?"

She exits without waiting for a response, Juan trailing behind like a loyal puppy.

"Oh my god," I groan.

My phone rings—Pen's name lighting up the screen.

"Finally something good in my day," I answer.

"Two seconds to talk—I'm at a restaurant owners brunch. Girl, I just heard Jax and Hawk from the Phantoms are investing in a new restaurant chain! Put in a good word for me? I want to be at their grand opening!"

I blink, processing this.

"Got to run. Catch you later!"

I stare at my phone. Jax is an entrepreneur?

"No freakin' way."

As I gather my courage to head to the Phantoms' stadium, I feel something other than suspicion stir inside me. Maybe there's more to this guy than meets the eye.

I shield my eyes from the sun, searching for the lean, muscled physique of my assignment. When I spot him stretching on the field, I try—and fail—not to stare.

When he lifts his shirt to wipe sweat from his face, I press my thighs together involuntarily. What I could do with all that sex appeal... if he were anything but an athlete.

"Ms. Monroe?" a voice interrupts my fantasy.

I squeal, startled.

Coach Marcus Thorne holds up his hands apologetically. "Didn't mean to startle you."

I force a laugh. "No worries."

He waves, and Jax jogs over in powerful strides. I bite my lip. This assignment just got infinitely harder.

Not that I'm into athletes. I'm not. But I have eyes, and he's pure sculpted perfection.

"Well, I assume you both know why you're here," Coach says before leaving us alone.

I level my gaze at Jax. "Look, buddy, I don't know why you pulled strings to get me here, but I have a reputation for digging up skeletons. So wait—what the heck!"

I sputter as he smirks and reaches toward my face. Is he seriously coming onto me in front of everyone?

"You've got some chocolate on your cheek." His smirk deepens as heat floods my face.

I stand frozen while his thumb swipes across my skin.

"All good now," he murmurs, stepping closer.

My eyes follow his thumb as he raises it to his lips and licks it clean. My legs quiver. My jaw drops. The flirtation in his eyes makes me ache.

"Careful, Carter," I say, finding my voice. "I thought we agreed to keep things professional after that rooftop stunt."

His eyes darken. "Is that what we agreed? I remember a kiss that said otherwise."

"A kiss that someone photographed," I hiss, glancing around. "Have any photos surfaced? "

"Worried about your reputation, bench warmer?" His tone teases, but something else lurks beneath—hurt?

"Worried about my career. Unlike you, I can't just flash a smile and make scandals disappear."

He steps closer, voice dropping. "Nothing's surfaced. And I didn't arrange for that photographer."

I press my hand to my burning cheek. I need space.

"I need a minute," I mumble, retreating toward the stadium tunnel.

"Running away again, Monroe?" he calls, just loud enough for me alone.

I duck into the women's restroom, seeking refuge in its emptiness.

It was just Jaxon being Jaxon—using any excuse to rattle me. I should've stood my ground instead of crumbling like a schoolgirl.

Get it together, Avery.

I splash cool water on my flushed face, shaking off whatever spell had taken hold.

With a steadying breath, I stride back out...

...And collide with his solid chest.

"Alright, bench warmer? Easy to get lost in here."

His hands steady me, one dropping to my lower back, fingers grazing the curve of my ass. My gaze travels up his broad chest to his lips, then those smoldering eyes that held the same intensity on that rooftop.

"We shouldn't," I whisper, even as I lean into him. "What if someone sees us? Like on the roof?"

"No cameras here," he murmurs against my ear. "Just us."

I can't say no, though I should. I'm trapped in a haze of need, a dare to let go just this once.

I want this, surprisingly. People hook up for fun all the time, right? It'll mean nothing but feel like everything.

I pull just close enough for him to make the first move, to press those warm lips against mine .

Alarm bells remind me men like him never stay. They hurt you then discard you. But this is just sex. No feelings involved.

Then my mind goes quiet. All I can do is feel—the hardness pressed against my waist, the musk of sweat and cologne intoxicating me.

I shiver as he walks me backward into the restroom, locking the door with one hand.

This is it. Be smart and pull away, or be the dumbest journalist alive and encourage him.

But really, there is no choice.

I lean in, parting my lips to welcome his tongue.

I gasp as his hands squeeze my ass, lifting my professional gray skirt around my waist.

He nips my bottom lip, pulling back as my fingers reach for his shorts, pushing them down.

I place one hand on his chest while the other strokes him through his briefs. His eyes darken, his breathing shallow. Then he's tearing at my thong.

"Fuck, yes!" I moan as his finger brushes my folds—just a tease, but enough to reveal how ready I am. I'm soaking.

I push his briefs down to grasp his naked length. Glorious. Firm, long, and impressively thick.

"Think you can take it," he teases, voice husky with desire.

"Every. Damn. Inch," I promise, squeezing with each word.

"Fuck, you're amazing." His finger works magic on my clit, swirling and flicking.

"I want to feel you inside me," I demand, reason abandoned.

His lips claim mine again as he lifts me onto the sink. He scrapes his teeth down my neck, then sucks at the sensitive skin.

"Line me up, little bench warmer," he growls.

I grasp him, rubbing his tip along my entrance, my legs wrapped greedily around his waist. With excruciating slowness, I press his thick head inside.

Our eyes lock as he fills me completely. I've had sex before, but nothing has ever felt like this. His green eyes darken with desire as he breaks contact to watch where we're joined, sliding in and out, my body eagerly taking him again and again.

The intimacy surprises me, emotions soaring higher than I expected.

He leans in, forehead against mine, our breaths mingling. I moan as his thumb circles my clit with perfect pressure. My cheeks flush, inner walls quivering.

"Come for me, Avery. Come all over my cock."

"Yes," I cry, letting go, feeling my arousal coat him as he explodes deep inside me. Wild. Reckless. And with a man I don't even like!

Yet I wanted this. Needed it.

Eventually, we separate. I avoid his gaze as I smooth my skirt and he dresses.

"You good?" he asks, reaching for my cheek again.

I pull back. He's an athlete. I can't do this.

"Yes." My voice is breathless. "That was...just sex."

"Like that kiss was just a kiss?" he challenges.

"That was different?—"

"Public?" he finishes. "Is that the issue? You're fine with this as long as no one sees us together?"

I have no answer that doesn't make me a hypocrite.

My phone pings, saving me. I bend to retrieve it from my bag.

Strong hands grip my hips as his solid frame presses against my backside. I meet his green eyes in the mirror.

"I don't do 'just sex,' little bench warmer. And I don't do secret relationships either." He holds my gaze, gives my ass a playful smack, then walks out.

Holy hell. What just happened ?

I glance at my phone.

Ann: Good news! Producers want a web series about future Hall of Famers. You've been tagged to write the script. About Jaxon. Talk more in the office.

Good news? I take in my kiss-swollen lips and too-bright eyes.

She has no idea the temptation she's putting in my path.