Page 9 of False Start, Real Passion

The Practice Game

Iwalkontothepractice field, clutching my clipboard like a life preserver, hoping it will keep me afloat amid the waves of Jaxon’s bare chest. My pulse sets its own frenetic rhythm as the memories of that gala kiss replay in my mind, vivid and mortifying. He’s there, mid-drill, with teammates moving in a blur around him. The world reduces to the intensity of his blue eyes and the arrogance of his half-smile. I’m supposed to be working. I’m supposed to be indifferent. Instead, I’m staring, heat crawling up my cheeks, my resolve dissolving faster than an ice cube on this sun-drenched field.

This is supposed to be business as usual. That kiss was nothing—just a PR move, I tell myself for the fifteenth time this morning. A tactic. Strategic. Planned. Except for the part where his lips were so soft and his hand was so firm on my waist and I might have kissed him back. Yeah, except for that.

I squeeze the clipboard tighter, trying to wrangle my thoughts back into a tidy list of bullet points. Media training. Interview prep. Distance between lips.

“Jax, heads up!” a teammate yells, but Jaxon’s already on it, pivoting to catch a pass. The guy’s a damn athletic miracle, muscles rippling with an effortlessness that should be illegal. And now he’s jogging toward me, smirk firmly in place.

Focus, Tori. I fumble with my notes, trying to pull my eyes away from the glorious spectacle of shirtless Jaxon. Instead, I manage a feeble glance at the ground, which does nothing to cool the heat on my cheeks.

Jaxon comes to a halt in front of me, not even winded, his grin nothing short of smug. “Hey, PR Lady. Here to catch a game, or are you just into shirtless guys?”

“I’m here to work,” I say, sounding far more breathless than I’d like. “Some of us have jobs to do.”

He leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “So you’re just into shirtless me, then?”

My cheeks are burning. “In your dreams, Reid.” I lift my chin, trying to reclaim an ounce of dignity. “I have a schedule to keep. Interviews don’t ace themselves, you know.”

“Schedule, huh?” He runs a hand through his hair, the move more of a panty-dropper than it has any right to be. “Pretty sure I saw you staring for a solid five minutes. Need to work on your timing.”

The guys on the field are watching us, pretending not to eavesdrop while doing a terrible job of it. I take a steadying breath, reminding myself of the agenda. Number one: restore Jaxon’s public image. Number two: stop wanting to kiss him.

“Are you going to take this seriously?” I say, flipping through my pages. “I have a whole list—”

Jaxon interrupts, eyes gleaming. “—of ways for me to stop being such a bad boy? Tori, you wound me. I thought that’s why you liked me.”

“Please. I’ve dealt with worse.” Not true. So not true.

He crosses his arms, muscles flexing distractingly. “All right, lay it on me. Media training: take one.” He mimics a director’s clapboard, and a laugh almost escapes my mouth.

Almost. I bite it back, determined to regain the upper hand. “Fine. Let’s try this.” I clear my throat, affecting my best professional tone. “Jaxon, how do you handle the pressure of being the team’s star quarterback?”

“I let my skills speak for themselves,” he says, then adds with a wicked grin, “just like at the gala.”

God, he’s infuriating. And infuriatingly good-looking. I fight the blush creeping up my neck. “Focus. What’s the most important quality in a leader?”

“Charm.” He winks. “And good looks. Nailed it.”

I glare at him, trying to ignore the laughter from the field. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly hot?”

“Impossible to work with!” I fire back, but the corners of my mouth betray me by twitching upward. “If you want to win people over, you need to be sincere. Genuine.” I pause. “Less like a cocky athlete, more like a—”

“—boyfriend?” Jaxon cuts in, stepping closer, dropping his voice again.

“—normal human being,” I say, trying not to gulp.

He narrows the gap between us, the air sparking with his proximity. “How about you give me a real interview, Tori? Not the kind on your clipboard.”

Just focus on the media training points, Tori. Stay professional. Easier said than done when flashes of last night’s gala keep intruding—the heat of Jaxon’s gaze, the brush of his lips against mine...

The challenge hangs there, heavy, and I can’t back down. He wants me to play along? Fine. I can do that.

I square my shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. “Why do you care what anyone thinks, Jaxon?” I ask, pressing with more force than I intend. “Isn’t your bad-boy reputation part of the charm?”

A flicker of surprise crosses his face, but only for a moment. “Maybe I care what you think,” he says, soft and dangerous.

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