"Mr. Carter." Keller's tone could freeze hell. "Punctuality isn't in your playbook, I see."
Carter laughs, unfazed. "I'm saving my timing for the field." His gaze shifts to me, and I feel an unexpected jolt when those green eyes lock with mine, something electric shooting down my spine.
Recognition flashes across his face, along with a slow, knowing smile. “Well, if it isn’t the bench warmer with the sharpest tongue in New York.”
My brows lift. “You remembered.”
“Hard to forget someone who questions my love life in front of a dozen cameras.” His voice dips lower, just for me. “You always come in this hot, or was I just lucky?”
“Luck has nothing to do with it.” I meet his gaze evenly. “I just call it like I see it. And I saw an overpaid wide receiver with a PR problem.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “And here I thought the green dress meant you came in peace.”
I take a sip of my champagne. “Don’t mistake couture for surrender.”
“The guys with three concussions liked your article,” he says, gaze flicking over me with that same quiet fire from the locker room. “Management? Not so much.”
Before I can respond, Keller clears his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I should greet the other honorees.” He levels Jaxon with a pointed look. “Try not to make headlines tonight, Carter.”
As Keller walks away, the air seems to thicken between us. Jax steps closer, not touching me, but close enough that my breath hitches.
“So what is it tonight, Monroe?” he murmurs. “Work? Pleasure? Or still deciding whether I’m worth the risk?”
“I haven’t decided if you’re a story... or a cautionary tale,” I say.
His eyes flick to my mouth, just for a second. “You’ll have to get closer to figure that out.”
I ignore the heat creeping up my neck. “Just don’t flatter yourself. This is a charity gala. I didn’t come here to chase down clichés.”
His smirk turns downright sinful. “Good. Because I’m not one. I’m the playmaker, remember?”
My pulse stutters. Damn him. That nickname has way too many layers when he says it like that.
Before I can decide whether to laugh or throw my drink at him, someone from the league taps his shoulder. He leans in, his lips nearly brushing my ear.
“Stay close, Monroe. Something tells me we’re just getting started.”
Then he’s gone, swallowed by the glittering crowd, leaving behind the scent of cedarwood, arrogance, and something dangerously close to temptation.
“Careful,” Pen says, suddenly at my elbow. “You looked two seconds away from dragging him into a coat closet.”
I don’t look at her. “Please. He’s exactly the kind of man I write about.”
“Yeah.” She sips her wine. “And now you’re looking at him like you want to writeonhim.”
CHAPTER 4
JAX
Imake my way through the crowd after that league rep pulled me away, but my mind's still back there with her. Monroe. That sharp tongue, sharper mind, and the way she didn't back down for a second.
My PR team would be having collective heart attacks right now. Jaxon Carter, voluntarily seeking out a journalist? One who's already proven she won't play by the rules? I should focus on the sponsors. Find Hawk. Do literally anything else.
But I can't.
Instead, I scan the room until I spot her again—champagne glass in hand, those honey-blonde waves catching the light as she talks with her friend. I weave through clusters of tuxedos and evening gowns, nodding at teammates, offering the occasional autograph. But my eyes keep drifting back to her.
She's slipped out onto the balcony. The Manhattan skyline glitters beyond her, a backdrop of diamonds against the night. She's alone, leaning against the railing, the emerald fabric of her dress shifting in the breeze.
