Page 13 of The Playmaker
"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.
