Page 19 of The Playmaker
"He played semi-pro, always convinced he was one call away from the big leagues," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "Every time he'd leave for a road trip, he'd promise to call, to bring back something special. Mom would wait by the phone, and I'd sit by the window. Half the time, nothing. Then one day, just... nothing, period. No calls, no visits. Just child support checks that gradually became less frequent."
Pen's eyes soften. "Not all athletes are your father, Av."
"I know that," I say quickly. Too quickly. "Logically, I know that. But..."
"But emotionally, they represent everything that hurt you," she finishes gently.
I look away. "Can we change the subject? Please?"
She gives me a look that says this conversation isn't over,but mercifully pivots. "Fine. Let's talk about what we're wearing to Restaurant Week! You're still coming, right?"
"Of course. But that's weeks away—plenty of time to figure out my outfit."
After a few hours of much-needed friendship time, Pen hugs me goodbye. "Just... keep an open mind about Jax, okay? Judge him for who he is, not who you're afraid he might be."
Her words linger after she leaves. I spend another hour staring at my computer, debating whether to send my pitch to Ann. Eventually, I hit send. But when I wake the next morning, I find not only a polite refusal from Ann, but a complete misinterpretation of my message!
I hastily call her.
"Avery, I was just about to reach out. Great pitch idea, by the way. But we both know you cannot simultaneously write a glorious web series script and shadow Jax as a future Hall of Famer...while also writing a scathing investigative piece."
"I don't mind just doing the exposé," I interject.
"There's no appetite for that. The Phantoms are league leaders after making it to the Super Bowl Finals. What I do want is for you to fly to the West Coast with them for their season openers. I know you're polishing your résumé for ESPN consideration, so what do you say? Get in on the action, expand your on-camera presence a bit for us?"
Ann is stern, but she's always supported my career goals and her own mission to shatter glass ceilings.
"And the preseason game today and this weekend?"
"I'll send a junior reporter. You'll have plenty of time with Jaxon Carter and the team on the flight to LA. You can work on the web series script and our other Phantoms pieces simultaneously. What do you say?"
The only possible response:
"Thank you, Ann. I'd be happy to join the team for their West Coast games."
But inside, I'm quaking at the thought of being 20,000 feet in the air on the Phantoms' private jet with Jax for five hours.
That's exactly where I find myself one week later, wearing a practical suit and sensible shoes, standing nervously among the team staff while players strut from their luxury cars and board the plane.
When those gorgeous green eyes land on me, when those full lips curve into a knowing smile, I realize I'm already in too deep. It doesn't matter how many times I tell myself I feel absolutely nothing for wide receiver Jaxon Carter—I know I'm lying to myself.
And that terrifies me more than any turbulence we might encounter. Because if there's one lesson my father taught me, it's that falling for a man who lives for the roar of the crowd means setting yourself up for heartbreak when he inevitably chooses the spotlight over you.
CHAPTER 8
JAX
Attraction blooms hot and hard when I spot her standing primly beside the team's physical therapists and staff. I flash my trademark smile—as fake as my bad boy persona—while taking in every curve of the journalist whose sole mission is to write about me.
I bite back a laugh. She hates this assignment; I love it. From my research, she's more the "athletes always have secrets" type than the "kiss athletes' asses" type. She meets my gaze with cool detachment.
She's had days to rebuild her walls since our encounter. With a five-hour flight ahead, we'll see how thick those walls really are.
"Eyes ahead," Hawk murmurs. "Coach is giving you the stink eye."
"You're the one he needs to worry about with the ladies," I counter.
"Truer words," Hawk grins. "Though there is a small room with a bed in the back of this jet, if you and the journalist wanna get cozy." He winks. I glare.
