Page 7 of Undisputed Player
Perfection, as usual.
The Bentley purred to life beneath me, its engine a comforting growl that matched my mood. The sun glinted off the ocean to my right, off my perfectly styled hair, off the gold of my watch—everything in my vicinity seemed to gleam golden brighter, as if the universe itself thought I was the sun.
This was my kingdom. Fast cars, lots of women, and the promise of victory in the ring. What more could the most attractive man in professional boxing want?
The gym was a symphony of familiar sounds: gloves hitting bags, trainers shouting instructions, the rhythmic slap of jump ropes against the floor.
I strode in like I owned the place, which technically I did—a third of it, anyway, split between Connor, Adrian, and me.
"Look who decided to grace us with his presence," Adrian calledfrom the ring, where he was sparring with a rookie who looked about two punches away from unconsciousness.
His green eyes gleamed with mischief, his tattooed torso glistening with sweat beneath his awful cropped top.
"Traffic," I lied smoothly, dropping my bag by the bench where Connor sat. His dark gaze tracked my movements with that unnerving intensity that had earned him the nickname "Killer."
"You know how it is. Every red light becomes a photo opportunity when you look like this."
Connor's eyebrow twitched. Almost a smile.
"Traffic in the form of two models?" His voice was low, a rumble that carried no further than my ears.
I smirked, unwrapping my gold Rolex and placing it in my bag. "They met this morning. Wasn't pretty. Well,theywere pretty, but the situation got ugly fast."
Adrian's laugh echoed across the gym as he danced away from the rookie's clumsy jab. "Another day, another broken heart with you. Or was it two this time? You're like a one-man natural disaster of romance!"
"I prefer to think of myself as a natural phenomenon," I called back, stripping off my shirt and beginning to wrap my hands. "Like lightning—beautiful, powerful, and gone before you know it."
Connor watched me in silence, his own hands already wrapped in black, his expression unreadable. Of the three of us, he was the only one who'd settled down and found love with Sierra, a quiet bookworm who'd somehow tamed the dangerous man.
"Sierra has some books she wants to give you for Avery personally," he said finally, his tone making it clear this wasn't his idea.
“Personally?” I finished one hand and started on the other, the familiar pattern soothing. “Why?”
"Because she thinks your dick is gonna fall off between all these women.”
I laughed low. She definitely didn’t say that.
"Do I seem lonely to you? I just had to evict two beautiful women from my house because I had too much company."
"Yes."
The simplicity of his answer caught me off guard.
Lonely? Me? I was Jax fucking Easton. I'd been votedSexiest Athlete Alivethree years running. My socials had millions of followers who hung on my every shirtless workout video.
Coach Miller appeared before I could formulate a properly devastating comeback, his weathered face set in lines of disapproval.
"Nice of you to join us, Easton. If you're done with your beauty sleep, maybe you could grace us with some actual work?"
I grinned, all charm and confidence. "Beauty sleep is a myth, Coach. This"—I gestured to my face—"is just superior genetics and excellent skincare. Can't have me showing up to the shoot later with bags under my eyes, can we?"
Miller's scowl deepened. "The only thing that's going to be under your eyes is bruises if you don't get your ass in that ring."
I saluted him mockingly, grabbing my gloves and mouth guard. "Whatever you say, sir."
The ring was my domain, the one place where the facade fell away completely. Here, there was no need for charm or wit, for the careful calculation of smiles and touches. Here, I was pure instinct, pure power, pure devastation in motion.
The rookie Adrian had been toying with was sent to cool down, and a more seasoned sparring partner took his place. He was good, almost good enough for the professional circuit, but lacking that indefinable something that separated champions from contenders. Theitfactor that I was born with and had spent years perfecting.
