He pulls me inside the front doors of the school, ducking us down a side hallway as everyone is filing into the huge auditorium by the entrance. Tonight is a ballet showcase, and I can't wait to see Riley perform.
"Where are we…?"
"I need to show you something first."
I'm breathless as he guides me into a small music room adjacent to one of the practice studios. An acoustic guitar rests against a chair in the corner.
"I didn't know you played," I say, genuinely surprised.
He picks up the guitar with a familiarity that tells me this isn't just a casual hobby. "There's a lot you don't know about me yet," he says with a hint of vulnerability I've never seen before. "Music was my escape after my parents died.Everyone expected me to just be the athlete, but this... this was where I could actually be myself."
He sits down, adjusting the guitar on his lap. "I wrote something. For you."
My breath catches as his fingers begin to strum the opening chords of an acoustic ballad. When his voice joins the melody, deep and surprisingly soulful, I'm transfixed. The song?*, "The Playmaker," weaves our story together—the journalist with questions and the athlete with secrets, two people from different worlds colliding in ways neither expected.
As he sings about press rooms and playbooks, about taking risks and running routes, about falling with nowhere to hide, tears spring to my eyes. The raw emotion in his voice when he calls me "little benchwarmer" makes my heart skip. When he reaches the bridge about walls falling and the mask he wears, I understand completely what he's telling me—that I've seen the real him, the man behind the carefully constructed image.
The final notes fade, and for a moment, we're suspended in perfect silence.
"That was..." I whisper, unable to find words adequate enough.
"How I feel about you," he finishes simply. "Everything I couldn't say before."
I cross the room and take his face in my hands, kissing him with everything I have. The guitar slides to the floor as he pulls me into his lap.
"Now there is the small matter of you turning me down the other day…" he murmurs, his voice playful but his eyes intense.
I blush pink.
He kisses my jaw then my lips. "Care to update the record on that?"
My hands tangle in his hair as I pull into him. "Yes. I will date you."
His eyes darken with desire as he lifts me up, guiding us to the adjacent practice room with mirrors and ballet bars. He locks the door behind us, his intentions clear in every movement.
"I think I have a new question for you, my little benchwarmer."
He guides me to one of the thick mats on the floor, his movements reverent.
"Will you be my girlfriend?"
I lay down as he hovers over me, all strength and masculinity.
His eyes tell me everything I need to know. He's all in with me. He wants this. Wants me.
"Yes, Jax. I will."
He groans as he slides his length into me, making me gasp at the fullness of him in me. He brackets his arms by me, those full lips meeting mine. Each thrust ignites fireworks in my mind, a delicious awareness that this time we're not just having sex. This time, every part of him feels like it is making love to me.
The lyrics of his song echo in my mind as our bodies move together—we're in the red zone, hearts on the line. This is so much more than just physical pleasure.
I arch my back as his thrusts go deeper, faster, my legs instinctively opening further.
"That's it, baby, let go. Open up for me."
I cry out, pleasure building in my body.
"Touch yourself, baby. I want to feel you cum on me."
