Page 23 of The Playmaker
I find myself crowded into a corner as Jax and other guests with bulky luggage file in. He positions himself right beside me, and I catch a hint of his cologne—something woodsy and subtle, not the overpowering scent I'd expect from someone with his public image.
"Well?" he presses, studying me with amusement.
"Starting today, yes." I aim for haughty but end up blushing as he dips his head to whisper in my ear.
"You sure about that?"
His warm breath sends shivers down my neck. This isn't just playboy charm—there's something more intimate in the way he speaks to me, as though we share secrets already. It's this unexpected depth that keeps catching me off guard, making me question everything I thought I knew about him.
The elevator jolts to a stop, emptying out everyone but us. I glance at the illuminated panel.
"You're on the top floor too?" The question comes out breathier than intended.
I hold out my keycard with the room number printed on the slip.
"Well, well, well," he muses, making no move to step back as the doors close and we resume our ascent.
"No way," I groan, spotting his room number. "We cannot be neighbors."
"I hope you don't snore, little benchwarmer."
I scoff. "I hope the cheerleaders in your room tonight keep it down."
His eyes darken slightly, and for a moment, I glimpse something like hurt before it's masked with mischief. "Yeah? Is that the roleplay lingerie you packed?" He nods appreciatively. "I approve."
"What? No!" I sputter, feigning outrage.
"Who knew that with all your online research into my love life, you'd become my biggest cheerleader." He delivers a roguish wink.
"You wish," I toss over my shoulder, attempting a dignified exit as the doors open.
But my toe catches on my suitcase wheel, sending me pitching forward—straight into his waiting arms.
I should pull away immediately. This is exactly the kind of entanglement I've always avoided—professionally and personally. Athletes are off-limits for a reason. My father taught me that lesson the hard way.
Yet here I am, steadied against his chest, looking up into eyes that seem to hold more questions than answers. For a brief moment, I see past the superstar to the man beneath—someone carrying burdens I don't yet understand.
And then we're kissing. Not because he's a hot football player or because I've momentarily lost my professional ethics. We're kissing because something deeper is pulling us together—something I'm not ready to name.
A soft moan escapes me as his lips move against mine with surprising tenderness. His hand traces up my side, and Ifeel myself responding to his touch as if my body recognizes something my mind hasn't accepted yet.
A gentle vibration from his pocket breaks the spell. Reality crashes back—we're in a public elevator with cameras. What am I doing?
I step back abruptly. He pulls out his phone, and I watch his expression transform at the name on screen—a softness I've never seen from him before.
"Riley, huh?" I say, confusion rather than accusation in my voice.
Something about his reaction doesn't fit the playboy narrative. There's genuine concern there, not the annoyance of someone whose hookup was interrupted.
Still, I step out of the elevator, needing space to clear my head. Whatever is happening between us—whatever secrets he's keeping—I need to approach with my journalist's mind, not just my awakening heart.
CHAPTER 10
JAX
Ilet Riley's call go to voicemail as I watch Avery storm off, her skirt swaying with each determined step. Heat surges through me—I want nothing more than to chase her down that hallway, press her against the wall, and finish what we started in the elevator.
"Damn it," I mutter, still rooted in place.
