Page 25 of Undisputed Player
Jax
Icouldn't stop thinking about her.
Three days since I'd seen Estelle Moore in that classroom, and she'd taken up permanent residence in my mind like some sort of beautiful rose that bloomed there.
Those honey eyes haunted me. The way they'd barely acknowledged my existence, like I was just another parent picking up their kid.
Me.
Jax fucking Easton. The undefeated. The untouchable. The man whose bed had seen more runway models than Milan Fashion Week, whose smile had graced magazine covers, and whose body had been voted "Most Likely to Cause Spontaneous Ovulation" three years running.
And this woman, this beautiful, understated academy teacher who wore thrift store jeans like they were couture, had looked right through me like I was invisible.
I eased the Bentley into Seaside Academy's circular drive, deliberatelyearly for pickup. The engine purred beneath me, responsive and powerful, just like everything else in my life.
Everything except the one thing I suddenly couldn't stop thinking about.
The steering wheel was warm leather under my palms, the afternoon sun streaming through the windshield and catching the gold of my Rolex as I drummed my fingers in restless anticipation. Fifteen minutes until dismissal. Fifteen minutes until I might see her again.
The thought sent a ridiculous surge of anticipation through me. What the hell was happening to me? I'd never waited for a woman in my life. They waited forme—in hotel lobbies, at VIP sections, outside my prep room after fights, lined up like eager disciples hoping for a moment of my attention.
Yet here I was, sitting in a school parking lot like some lovesick teenager whose balls hadn't dropped yet, all for a fucking glimpse of Estelle Moore.
Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. And yet...
I ran a hand through my hair, irritated at my own fixation but unable to shake it. She was perfectly, beautifully natural, with those cool eyes that seemed to look right through my charm like it was smoke.
And somehow, it only made me want her more.
She'd dismissed me so easily. The memory still stung, even three days later. The polite smile that never reached her eyes, the careful distance she maintained, the protective stance she took with Leo, as if I were some sort of threat she needed to guard against.
I wanted to crack that armor. I wanted to see what was underneath all those careful defenses. I wanted to be the one who made her cheeks flush, who made her breath hitch, who made her look at me like I was the only man in the room.
Like I was worth looking at in the first place.
The security nodded as I stepped out of the car, and I slipped my sunglasses on to mask the intensity I knew must be visible in my eyes.The last thing I needed was Rick seeing me looking like some sort of deranged stalker.
"Mr. Easton, good to see you again," he nodded with the respect I'd grown accustomed to.
"Rick.”
I excused myself from his proud father monologue and made my way inside, Italian leather shoes clicking against marble floors that gleamed like mirrors.
The usual parade of recognition followed me, parents doing double-takes, staff members offering respectful nods, the occasional whispered "Is that really him?" that I pretended not to hear.
I was used to the attention, had built a career on it, but for once, I wasn't interested in the admiration of strangers. There was only one woman whose attention I wanted, and she seemed determined to pretend I didn't exist.
Through the classroom door's window, I caught sight of her before she saw me. She was kneeling beside a little girl with pigtails, helping with a jacket zipper that had clearly staged a rebellion. Her profile was illuminated by afternoon sunlight streaming through the tall windows, turning her brown hair gold at the edges.
Fuck, she was beautiful.
Not manufactured, no fillers, no calculated angles designed to photograph well. This was something real, something that hit me every time I looked at her. The delicate line of her jaw, the way her lips pressed together in concentration, the gentle curve of her neck as she bent to help the child.
She looked tired today, the shadows under her eyes more pronounced, and I wondered if she'd eaten lunch, if she ever took breaks, if anyone was making sure she took care of herself.
The thought of her skipping meals, of pushing herself too hard, made something protective and possessive rise in me like a tide.
I wanted to take her home. I wanted to sit her down, watch her eat a proper meal, and see her cheeks flush with health instead of exhaustion.
