Page 17 of The Playmaker
Well. This opportunity just got more interestingandcomplicated. 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?
CHAPTER 7
AVERY
My 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.
