Page 10 of Undisputed Player
My life was perfect, carefully constructed to maximize pleasure and minimize complications.
The model from the gym had texted four times already, her messages becoming increasingly explicit and creative.
Any other night, I would have invited her over without hesitation. Another conquest, another few hours of mindless pleasure, another opportunity to be appreciated for the work of art I was.
But I drove past her exit, continuing along the coastal highway toward home.
Weird.
The beach house was dark when I arrived, glass and marble andluxury. I parked in the garage, the Bentley's headlights illuminating the pristine exterior before fading to darkness.
Inside, I poured myself a scotch, eighteen-year-old Macallan, because I had standards, and walked out onto the terrace.
The ocean stretched before me, vast and unknowable, waves crashing against the shore in a rhythm as old as time.
I raised my glass to the horizon, to the perfect life I'd built, to the mirror-like surface of the infinity pool that reflected the stars and made everything look twice as beautiful.
"To having everything," I murmured to the night air.
Because really, what more could a man with everything possibly want?
CHAPTER ONE
Jax
Inavigated through Friday afternoon traffic, the leather seats still warm from sitting in the sun. I drummed my gold rings against the steering wheel, checking my Rolex for the third time in five minutes.
2:00. Technically on time for Seaside Academy's dismissal, but cutting it closer than Jovie would appreciate.
For anyone else, I wouldn't have bothered showing up until they called, but my family was different. And Avery had me wrapped around her tiny finger from the moment she was born. And today she’d decided she really wanted to see Toffee.
The week had been a blur of training sessions, photoshoots, and forgettable women. Monday's blonde had finally stopped texting after I'd ignored her for forty-eight hours straight.
Tuesday's brunette had proven more persistent, showing up at the gym yesterday in workout gear that left little to the imagination. I'd taken her home, fucked her until she couldn't remember her own name, then sent her packing before the sun rose.
They were the two who had the unfortunate opportunity of meeting each other in my beach house.
It was standard operating procedure. The only deviation from my usual routine had been turning down the leggy model from Wednesday. Something about her eager smile had irritated me, though I couldn't pinpoint why.
I pulled into Seaside Academy's circular drive, cutting off a Mercedes SUV driven by some hedge fund manager type who shot me a glare until he recognized me.
His expression morphed into that familiar mix of awe and resentment I'd grown accustomed to—the look of a man who'd trade his stock portfolio for my life.
I smirked, adjusting my dark sunglasses as I stepped out of the car. I loved them looking, them envying me. I was undefeated in the ring and untouchable outside it, and my reflection in the Bentley's window confirmed that today was no exception.
The security guard at the gate nodded as I approached, his eyes darting to the coiling snake tattoos visible beneath the rolled sleeves of my designer button-down. "Mr. Easton."
I gave him my literal billion-dollar smile. "Rick. How's the son doing? Still pitching?"
His face lit up. "Yes, sir! Made varsity this year. Been showing him those grip techniques you mentioned."
I made a mental note to send the kid some signed gear. Small gestures and immense loyalty, a lesson my father had drilled into me before he'd fucked off with some bikini models around the world.
The marble foyer of Seaside Academy gleamed under crystal chandeliers, the air scented with polish and privilege. A cluster of nannies and parents milled near the main desk, their voices a gentle hum of affluence.
I leaned against a pillar, scrolling through my phone while basking in the not-so-subtle glances from a group of mothers gathered nearby.
One of them, a yoga-toned woman in designer athleisure, keptflipping her hair and laughing too loudly, clearly hoping to catch my attention.
