Page 6 of The Playmaker (The Legends of Fire #1)

JAX

H er core clenched me like a velvet vice I wanted to drown in. The look of need on her face—that fierce desperation in those brown eyes. Every moment of our encounter plays through my mind on repeat.

I wasn't planning to get naked with the reporter. It just happened, like a dream materializing. She was perfect—wanton yet demanding, sweet yet sultry. The way she took me in her hand, claiming every inch...

I drop the football after an easy catch. The guys on the bench boo.

Right. I'm on the field warming up for practice.

But my mind is still in that restroom with Avery thirty minutes ago, doing unthinkably unprofessional things to the journalist assigned to shadow me.

"Carter," Coach Thorne barks.

Shit. Doghouse time.

Hawk swoops in, grabs the ball, and shoves me aside, jolting my receiver instincts awake. I sprint, position for the catch, then execute one of our plays.

Coach waves dismissively, turning back to the other guys. Saved by my closest friend .

"Dude. Where's your head at?" Hawk asks, swaggering over as I grab water.

Before I can answer, he shoves my shoulder playfully. Typical. We all have too much testosterone for the real world. It's what makes us top athletes.

"She's here. Now I get it." He nods toward Avery sitting alone on the sidelines.

I can't suppress my smile. She looks adorable—prim and proper on her bench, tablet on her knees, intensely focused as Coach preps plays with the younger guys.

"The reporter's got you all tangled up, huh?" Hawk teases.

The reporter. My self-proclaimed enemy. I tear my eyes away.

"Nah. Riley's been on me again about social media, driver's license... the works."

Hawk shrugs. "You've got to let go eventually."

"She's too young," I snap.

"Whatever you say, bro." He swipes the ball and jogs toward Coach.

People think I'm grumpy. Rude, even. That's what happens when you're forced into parenthood while barely an adult yourself. Before Avery, I thought being grumpy was my entire personality—that and the fake playboy facade.

But now, I've tasted something real. With her. Maybe it wasn't just sex for me, but I know she's right—it was just sex. It has to be.

I focus on Coach and the ball for the rest of practice. We have our second preseason game tomorrow and need another win. I run through each play on autopilot, avoiding looking at Avery. Avoiding even thinking about her.

But when Coach benches me right in front of her to run Hawk through plays, I know it's a lie—I am thinking of her. She's in my head.

I feel those brown eyes on me as I approach. But she doesn't look at me like the woman who just came undone around me. She looks every inch the disinterested journalist.

Until I get closer. Then I see it: the slight flush on her cheeks, the way she bites her bottom lip, the lingering look at my mouth.

So. She feels it too. This attraction that absolutely cannot exist between us.

She stands, that gray skirt I pushed up around her waist now hugging her hips perfectly. She gives me a quick nod and leaves.

What did that nod mean? Thanks for a good time? Unlikely. See you soon? Maybe.

I shouldn't be thinking about her. She's just a reporter assigned to shadow me. For all I know, she really does hate my guts and thinks I shagged that cheerleader and who knows who else.

Well. We have a few weeks of close proximity to let her see I'm not like other alpha male athletes.

I have an anchor keeping me out of the playboy lifestyle.

I have a secret. And I'll guard it with my life.

I slap my laptop closed at the sound of my sister's voice. I'm not looking at porn or gambling—just researching a certain honey-blonde reporter for NY Sports Mag.

But I feel guilty doing it in front of Riley. Those are two separate parts of my life that can never intersect.

"What's up, Riles?" I force a smile.

She holds up a large box. "My ballet showcase dress just came in."

She looks so happy. I'd do anything to keep her life this simple and carefree for as long as possible.

"Well, let's see it!" As she turns to place the box on the table, I quickly close the tabs full of research on Avery Monroe. All's fair—she's probably digging into my background too.

From what I've found, she has an eye for bullshit and isn't afraid to ask hard questions. If I'm honest, I admire those qualities. I just don't want them in a reporter shadowing me.

"See, it's a princess style." Riley holds up a pretty blue gown. "It has a sweetheart neckline. All the girls are wearing them this year." She shrugs. "They're all going to post pictures on social media too."

She gives me a woeful look, then sighs. "Except for me."

I chuckle, having anticipated this moment. I have a surprise for her. "Well, it's a beautiful dress, little sis," I say sincerely.

In my mind, I see Avery in a slinky royal blue dress that would contrast perfectly with her honey-blonde hair and those big brown eyes. I picture the fabric clinging to her curves, the plunging neckline revealing just enough.

I shift in my leather recliner. I can't think about her now. Those thoughts are too... arousing.

Riley carefully returns her dress to the box. "Thanks. I think it'll photograph well. See the sparkles in the tulle? Not too many, but they'll catch the lights."

I reach into my duffel bag and pull out a Tiffany & Co. box. "Here. For you. Mrs. Mathews said you've been working hard on your ballet, so I got you something to match your dress."

Mrs. Mathews is her former nanny, now driver and chaperone when I can't attend her events without drawing attention.

Riley's eyes widen at the diamond-accented silver pendant. "It's so pretty, Jax! I love it! I'm going to show Mrs. Mathews!"

She hugs me tightly, then bounds to the kitchen where the older woman is preparing an after-school snack. We'd be lost without Mrs. Mathews .

I smile at my sister's enthusiasm before an email pulls my attention back to my phone.

My agent has agreed that I'll participate in a web series for YouTube with potential to be picked up by Netflix or Hulu.

"A web series?" I mutter, unimpressed that he made this deal without consulting me. But he's made me millions in brand deals over the years, so I've learned to trust his judgment. "Ahh, it's featuring the best athletes across different sports. Cool."

I'm ready to move on when a name catches my eye.

The scriptwriter for my segment? None other than the woman dominating my fantasies: Avery Monroe.

Well. This opportunity just got more interesting and complicated. Avery is smart and attractive, but she seems like the type who'd reveal Riley's existence for a headline. Or am I judging her unfairly?

Riley's excited squeal as Mrs. Mathews fastens her necklace pulls me back to reality. This is what matters. My sister's happiness. Her safety. Her well-being.

I cannot let some beautiful journalist with a nose for news get close to me. I have too much to lose and someone too precious to jeopardize.

The phone rings, interrupting my brooding. Coach Thorne. I've been expecting this call ever since yesterday's "encounter" with Avery.

I stride to my private office, closing the solid French doors behind me before walking to the bay windows.

"Coach," I say, letting him lead.

"Jaxon. How are you feeling about tomorrow's preseason game, son?"

Thorne has been like a father to me—sometimes a pain in my ass when he corrects me, but always a firm supporter of my career.

"I think we'll pull out another W, Coach." I keep my voice upbeat .

"Good, good. A win would do us all good." He sounds distracted, confirming my suspicions about why he's calling.

I wait.

"Jax. I need to level with you, son."

Here it comes.

"To put it bluntly, I need you to keep it in your pants. I hate to come down on you like this, but we all saw the chemistry between you and that journalist, Avery Monroe."

"Right," I say noncommittally.

"You're bright and talented. We can't afford to have you getting cozy with staff—including journalists. In the end, it only hurts them since you're too valuable to lose. Do you really want her to lose her assignment with the Phantoms because you two have a little crush on each other?"

I hadn't considered that angle. Still, I won't admit anything to Coach. I don't think he expects me to.

"Coach, you're one of two people who know my home situation. I won't let some reporter get too close. For Riley's sake. And for team morale. I don't want drama."

He audibly relaxes. "Good, Jax. Very good to hear. I'm counting on you. You've got a few great years left in your prime. Let's not waste them."

Another solid point. From what I've seen online, Avery is making waves in sports journalism. And I'm at my peak with the Phantoms.

We'd be fools to distract each other from what matters just because our sexual chemistry was intense.

After all, Avery did say it was just sex.

Right?