Page 7 of The Playmaker (The Legends of Fire #1)

AVERY

M y apartment is modest, but with NYC rent prices, I'm lucky to have a place without roommates. Pen offered me a bedroom in her lush pad, but while she's comfortable living off her family's wealth, I value my independence too much.

That's why at nearly five p.m., I'm trudging up the narrow staircase to my third-floor unit in this "historic" building—code for "old," poorly temperature-controlled, and sweltering in summer while freezing in winter.

I don't mind though—it's mine. I hoist groceries into my left arm while fishing out keys with my right, letting myself in before quickly stowing everything away. Then I settle on my couch, laptop open, determination set.

I can't let myself get drawn in by a man like Jaxon Carter. My only defense is to channel this magnetic attraction into its exact opposite: suspicion.

"What are you hiding, you sexy man, you?" I murmur, fingers flying across the keyboard. My plan is simple: find dirt on him. Something—anything—that will work as a pitch to Ann.

Last year, my piece on a shady NASCAR driver titled " Beneath the Hood: Secrets in the Dark" went viral.

I plan to follow that success with whatever secrets Jax is keeping.

Everyone has a facade, even me. But not everyone's innocent.

Sometimes fame and money corrupt, leading to mistakes that haunt forever.

I pause, staring at a photo of Jax from last season's championship game.

That confident smile, those piercing eyes.

My stomach tightens. Dad had that same charismatic presence—the kind that made people orbit around him like he was the sun.

The kind that made my mom forgive him time and again, until he finally left us for good, chasing glory and adrenaline over family.

"Not falling for that again," I mutter, clicking away from the image.

Pen's unique triple tap followed by a sing-song "yoohoo" jolts me from my research trance. I've been buried in a new story pitch for two hours. I swing open the door and welcome her with a hug.

"Girl, you have that look in your eye," she announces, swooping in to place a box of gluten-free pizza on the counter. "I brought dinner. How was your first day as that sexy man's shadow?"

She takes my hands and pretends to swoon into my arms. "Did you faint into his strong embrace, as if he were Mr. Darcy incarnate?"

I groan. "Oh my god." If she only knew the deliciously dirty things I did with Jax today...

"No?" She straightens, studying me with narrowed eyes. "You're hiding something, Avery. That violates best-friend code, you know."

I force a laugh that sounds hollow even to my ears. I won't tell her about the sex, but I will share my plan to expose whatever facade Jax maintains.

"I might have done some digging into Jax. Remember that piece I did on NASCAR last year? "

She pulls out plates and serves pizza. "Yep. You found some gnarly skeletons in that driver's closet."

I follow her to my couch where my pitch glows on my laptop screen. "Well, I might be about to do that for the Phantoms. A piece on Jax."

Pen freezes, pizza plates held out like scales of justice. "No."

With that single word, I know it's a bad idea. But I'm not ready to abandon it.

"Look, I just know he's hiding something. I can feel it. His friend 'Hawk'? He seems like the type who dabbles in shady business, so it'd be no surprise if his skeletons came to light. But Jax? He acts all high and mighty, which tells me he's got secrets locked down tight somewhere."

Pen sets the plates down and sits, uncharacteristically serious. "This is a terrible idea. Why target the very guy you're supposed to be writing a script about—one that could end up on Netflix? Hello? Conflict of interest much?"

She's not wrong.

"There's more," she presses, leaning forward.

I shake my head. "Just eat your pizza," I grumble. "I'm still sending my pitch to Ann, not that she'll see it any differently than you do."

Pen picks at her food. "I know you want to end up at ESPN.

Sometimes getting noticed means throwing people under the bus for a good story.

But when I looked into that restaurant deal he and Hawk are pursuing, I discovered he's actually a good person.

Lowkey about his good deeds, but genuinely decent. "

"Good deeds?" I scoff, even as guilt builds in my chest. What if he is a good guy and I'm digging for nonexistent dirt?

"Really good," she insists. "He saved a failing ballet school through his donations.

He contributes to five different charities.

He shows up to every community event the Phantoms organize.

And then there's the restaurant chain. There are plenty of shady athletes out there—I just don't think he's one of them. "

"Well." I shrug, because what can I say to that?

Pen tilts her head, studying me. "What is it with you and athletes anyway? I've known you since college, and you've had this... vendetta against them. Especially the successful ones."

I take a bite of pizza, chewing slowly to buy time. "I don't have a vendetta."

"Please," Pen rolls her eyes. "Remember that quarterback from State you were supposed to interview? You went in loaded for bear."

I feel my defenses rising. "He was a jerk."

"Maybe. But you decided that before you even met him." She sets her plate down. "Is this about your dad? You never really talk about him."

The pizza suddenly tastes like cardboard in my mouth. "Not much to talk about. He chose his career over us. End of story."

"Avery—"

"He played semi-pro, always convinced he was one call away from the big leagues," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

"Every time he'd leave for a road trip, he'd promise to call, to bring back something special.

Mom would wait by the phone, and I'd sit by the window.

Half the time, nothing. Then one day, just..

. nothing, period. No calls, no visits. Just child support checks that gradually became less frequent. "

Pen's eyes soften. "Not all athletes are your father, Av."

"I know that," I say quickly. Too quickly. "Logically, I know that. But..."

"But emotionally, they represent everything that hurt you," she finishes gently.

I look away. "Can we change the subject? Please?"

She gives me a look that says this conversation isn't over, but mercifully pivots. "Fine. Let's talk about what we're wearing to Restaurant Week! You're still coming, right?"

"Of course. But that's weeks away—plenty of time to figure out my outfit."

After a few hours of much-needed friendship time, Pen hugs me goodbye. "Just... keep an open mind about Jax, okay? Judge him for who he is, not who you're afraid he might be."

Her words linger after she leaves. I spend another hour staring at my computer, debating whether to send my pitch to Ann. Eventually, I hit send. But when I wake the next morning, I find not only a polite refusal from Ann, but a complete misinterpretation of my message!

I hastily call her.

"Avery, I was just about to reach out. Great pitch idea, by the way. But we both know you cannot simultaneously write a glorious web series script and shadow Jax as a future Hall of Famer...while also writing a scathing investigative piece."

"I don't mind just doing the exposé," I interject.

"There's no appetite for that. The Phantoms are league leaders after making it to the Super Bowl Finals.

What I do want is for you to fly to the West Coast with them for their season openers.

I know you're polishing your résumé for ESPN consideration, so what do you say?

Get in on the action, expand your on-camera presence a bit for us? "

Ann is stern, but she's always supported my career goals and her own mission to shatter glass ceilings.

"And the preseason game today and this weekend?"

"I'll send a junior reporter. You'll have plenty of time with Jaxon Carter and the team on the flight to LA. You can work on the web series script and our other Phantoms pieces simultaneously. What do you say?"

The only possible response:

"Thank you, Ann. I'd be happy to join the team for their West Coast games. "

But inside, I'm quaking at the thought of being 20,000 feet in the air on the Phantoms' private jet with Jax for five hours.

That's exactly where I find myself one week later, wearing a practical suit and sensible shoes, standing nervously among the team staff while players strut from their luxury cars and board the plane.

When those gorgeous green eyes land on me, when those full lips curve into a knowing smile, I realize I'm already in too deep. It doesn't matter how many times I tell myself I feel absolutely nothing for wide receiver Jaxon Carter—I know I'm lying to myself.

And that terrifies me more than any turbulence we might encounter. Because if there's one lesson my father taught me, it's that falling for a man who lives for the roar of the crowd means setting yourself up for heartbreak when he inevitably chooses the spotlight over you.