Page 30 of The Playmaker
"Just the usual." I won't tell him a word. Some things are too precious to share.
He taps my shoulder and we start to jog up and down the side of the field. I notice Giselle, the blonde cheerleader, eyeing me as she entertains the crowd with the other dancers.
I ignore everything but my goal for today: I want to win. Not just for the team, but because somehow, I want to prove something to the woman who walked out of my room last night.
I wish Avery hadn't run off, but for now I can tell myself that she's totally into me and it wasn't just sex for her. There was something in her eyes—a conflict that mirrors my own.
I head out onto the field when the game starts, running each play and adjusting as needed. Every move feels instinctive, every catch perfect. I'm in that rare zone where mind and body work in harmony. We end up winning, just barely. But I know I did well, and that matters more than any score.
"Jax! That was your best game in five seasons," Coach says as we celebrate on the field.
"You were in the damn zone," Hawk adds, grinning as he squirts cold water at me, a tradition for solid wins. I dodge his attack, laughing. I feel on top of the world. Invincible.
The dancers run behind us, shaking their pom poms. Only one singles me out in ways she shouldn't.
Giselle. She coos at me as she runs by with her dance team.
"You were amazing out there today!"
I ignore her. She's trouble I don't want. The old Jaxon might have played along—part of the act, part of the shield I've built. But today, I don't have the energy for pretense.
Instead, my eyes turn to the press box. I see those warm brown eyes right away.
Avery. My little sexy bench warmer.
"Stop eye fucking the journalist, Jax," Hawk says, whacking the back of my head.
It's a sobering reminder that I'm on the field and she's in the press box…a boundary between our roles that shouldn't be crossed publicly.
A line that reveals our very different views on the sport and the players in it.
But for a moment, as our eyes lock across the distance, I wonder if that line is already blurring for both of us.
CHAPTER 13
AVERY
Watching Jax on the field was exhilarating. Each time he caught the ball, my heart leaped into my throat. I feel connected to him in ways I know I shouldn't. My job is to root out secrets and his is to maintain whatever image he wants for the media. In the locker room after the game, I ask my requisite questions but try to stay lowkey, avoiding his eyes.
The truth is, I liked sex with him last night. A lot. Too much. He's just the type of guy who could swoop in, steal a girl's heart, and then fly away without a backwards look. All athletes are this way. My dad did it to my mom and me, picking the good life over the boring responsibilities of raising a child and being there for a wife. I've spent years building walls to protect myself from men like him, yet here I am, letting one in.
I slide a little lower in the staff car as we tail the players' SUVs from LA to the next city, the next game. I hope in this new hotel, I'm not stuck in a room next to Jax. It's too tempting. Too torturous to pretend I don't want something that I think I do want. Too dangerous to admit that "just sex" might be the biggest lie I've told myself in years.
I text Pen and give her G-rated updates about my trip so far, reading her replies all about her latest restaurant reviews. I feel like I've been gone for more than a few days because so much has happened for me emotionally. And that's the problem—emotions get you in trouble. Especially where Jax the Phantoms' wide receiver is concerned.
I've gotten to know a few of the PR staff and lower level coaching team during my trip. While at first everyone seemed wary of me—I do have a reputation as an exposé writing journalist, after all—by the end of that five day trip, we feel like friends. So much so that after the Phantoms win their third away game in a row, I decide not to go back to my hotel room as I had been doing but instead go out with the staff.
I heard the team is going out to a private club, so why not also head out to blow off some steam?
Dan, one of the lower level coaches who seems like a happily married guy in his fifties raises his beer in a toast to a winning team with their eyes on the Super Bowl. I lift my vodka tonic in solidarity.
"How excited are you to get back to real life before our next roadie?" Sam, a junior coach asks him, and they both laugh like there's an inside joke to be had somewhere between them. I look around the bar for someone nearby to talk to, but Dan's next words stop me cold.
"You mean back to a stale marriage and kids who just want me for their allowance?" Dan scoffs. "I do what I need to do to keep them all happy, but you know how it goes. It's hard to stay satisfied when the flame has died out."
I feel intensely uncomfortable and attempt to walk away, my father's face flashing in my memory. This is exactly the kind of talk I overheard as a child—men justifying their selfishness.
"Avery, you married, engaged, or happily divorced?" Sam asks me, drawing me into their conversation.
