Page 38 of The Playmaker
"No way. What is she doing here?" I murmur.
A gorgeous figure with full hips and voluptuous breasts stands silhouetted in front of the door. Her hair is pulled back away from her face giving me a clear view of her features.
Avery.
She's on her phone, forehead tight in concentration and head tilted. The evening light catches the honey highlights in her hair, making her glow like something out of a dream. The dress she's wearing hugs every curve like it was made for her—elegant yet undeniably sensual.
My heart stutters at how glamorous she looks in that dress. Classic and sexy at the same time. Then, my brain catches up.
How much of my life did she just witness? How much did she see…or hear?
I slow my steps, debating on whether or not to approach or retreat. I decide to continue approaching her. Better to get a feel for what she might know than not. She is an investigative journalist, after all.
And then, she looks at me. It takes my breath away. I should force my walls back up, but the words of my coach warning me to keep my distance and the promises I'd made to myself to disengage since she's a reporter feel like problems of the past.
I don't like to think about the past.
Especially not with such a beautiful version of the present standing right in front of me.
I smile, a thrill running through me when she smiles back.In that moment, I realize I'm in dangerous territory—because that smile makes me want to risk everything.
CHAPTER 17
AVERY
"Astomach 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 victimof 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?"
