Page 20 of The Playmaker
We file up the stairs and I claim a window seat. The plane is spacious and cool, AC blasting. I've taken hundreds ofthese flights over the years, but never with my own dedicated reporter. I can't deny the rush of arousal that floods me at the sight of Avery hesitating near the entrance, looking around as if contemplating escape.
I wave obnoxiously, beckoning her to the seat opposite mine—a position that would put us knee to knee. Her full lips press together, brown eyes narrowing. She forces a smile as Coach passes her.
Her perfume hits me as she approaches and takes her seat—something light with hints of vanilla and jasmine that reminds me of the night my parents took Riley and me to a summer carnival years ago. Before everything changed. Before I became the man I am now.
I push the memory aside. No room for that now.
I open my mouth to greet her, but she has other plans.
"I hear the Phantoms won two of their three preseason games." All business, her face buried in her tablet. "That should set you up for a record-breaking season, if the West Coast games go well."
She looks at me expectantly—no smile, no scowl, just pure professional indifference. Annoying as hell.
"If you need my stats for your web series or story, Avery, you can get them from my agent." I pull out my phone, scrolling social media with feigned nonchalance. Let's see how long she plays ice queen.
Her silence speaks volumes as we ascend. She remains stubbornly mute until we reach cruising altitude. Then she makes the cutest huff.
"The story isn't about your stats."
I look up. She's still determined to be distant. I smirk. "No? Is it about the skeletons you like to find in athletes' closets?"
That brings a flash of a smile. "You've been looking into me."
I grin. "I think we've both done some... exploring into each other."
Her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink. "I guess I was just curious about your off-field hobbies." Her lips curve upward.
Her words hit wrong. I lean forward, voice low. "I assure you, little bench warmer, sex isn't a 'hobby' for me."
Surprise registers in her eyes before a mask slides into place. "My research into your recent love life might suggest otherwise."
The damn cheerleader story again. The headlines that painted me as just another entitled athlete with a new conquest every weekend. If they only knew how I spend most Friday nights—helping Riley with ballet choreography or watching movies with her when her teenage friends are out partying. The image I've cultivated keeps the press at a distance, keeps them from digging deeper. At least, it did until Avery.
She clears her throat. "I have a checklist of topics to cover during our flight." She looks pleased at the torture she's about to inflict.
I groan. "Can't you just fill in the blanks yourself?"
Her brown eyes gleam. "I could. And fiction from me might be far more scandalous than any facts you'd provide." She pauses, fingers poised over her tablet. "You sure you want to give me that much power, Jax?"
I let my eyes trail down the curves hidden beneath her suit. "That depends..."
Her breath hitches just enough to confirm she feels this fire between us.
"On what?" She looks like she's enjoying playing with danger. Anyone glancing over would notice the slight bulge in my pants and the unmistakable flush creeping up her neck.
I steeple my fingers in mock contemplation. "On positioning. Last time was a bit..."
"Limited," she finishes.
"How many times have you thought about it?" I push further, overcome by a fierce need to feel her under me, on me, surrounding me.
Laughter from my teammates jolts her back to reality. She straightens, resuming her schoolteacher demeanor.
"I don't know what you mean."
As she reaches into her bag, her knee brushes mine. She freezes. Her eyes flick to my hardening length, then up to meet my gaze.
She swallows hard, biting her bottom lip.
