“What did you plan to do with a marketing degree?”
“Market research. Back when I was in high school, I took a class in free enterprise. I had to write a paper on how cereal companies choose where to place cereal on the shelves and became fascinated with the concept.”
“The sugary stuff at kid level, right?”
He nodded. “It’s genius when you think about it.”
“It is.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Too bad you won’t be able to use all that knowledge. You’ll be too busy playing football for many years to come.”
“Hopefully.”
“Not hopefully. Youwill. No defeatist attitude allowed, remember?”
“I’m not being defeatist, Taylor. I’m being arealist. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but it’s better to be prepared just in case things don’t go your way.”
“If you work hard enough—”
“You’re still not guaranteed anything,” Jamar said. “No matter how hard you work to make something happen, there’s a chance that it won’t. That’s just life. Having a backup plan is smart.”
Her expression turned contemplative, as if she were taking stock of his words. After a moment, she shook her head and said, “So, marketing? Is that what you plan to do?”
“Nah.” He shrugged. “My agent thinks I should join his sports management agency. He’s convinced I would be good at it.”
“Well, I know even less about what sports agents do than I know about football,” she said, amusement illuminating her brown eyes. “But I’m sure he’s right. After witnessing your determination in the gym, I’m convinced you’re the type of person who would kick ass at anything you set out to do.”
Jamar couldn’t conceal the stunned smile that stretched across his face. “Thank you,” he said. “That’s probably one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”
“I call ’em how I see ’em.” She issued a teasing warning. “Don’t let it inflate that massive ego of yours.”
“You know my ego really isn’t that big,” Jamar said. “I’m only joking when I try to come across as this super arrogant kind of guy.”
“Nooo,” she said with feigned shock. She shoulder-bumped him again. “I know you’re only joking. You’re one of the good ones, Twenty-Three. I can tell.”
The sincerity reflected in her eyes triggered a reaction better left unexplored. Jamar swallowed past the sudden knot that formed in his throat, knowing he didn’t deserve her praise. She had no idea what kind of guy he was. The things he’d done. How he’d treated the person he’d called his best friend.
The simmering shame that had burned continuously in his gut for the past seven years flared to life. He quickly doused it, shoving the reminder of his long-ago sins to the recesses of his mind. He was in the process of righting his wrongs; harping on them would do him no good.
Jamar continued to gently dab at Taylor’s palm with the edge of his shirt. When he looked over at her, her attention was on his face instead of what he was doing to her hand. The thumping in his veins escalated.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, flooding his brain with the memory of how those soft lips felt against his. If someone asked him to trade the car they’d arrived in for another taste, he would toss them his keys without a second thought.
He angled toward her. Her eyes roamed over his face as she leaned forward.
But then she pulled back.
“Umm, we should probably hit the trail before the rain comes,” Taylor said as she gently extracted her hand from his hold. She jumped up and walked over to the edge of the pavilion.
Jamar closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing past the knot of lust clogging his throat. “Yeah, that’s what we’re here for after all.”
He tucked his shirt back inside his running jacket and tugged at the zipper, securing it underneath his chin.
“Is this a race?” he asked as he came up behind her.
She turned. “Of course it is—”
He took off before she could finish her sentence.
Jamar jogged along the path, dodging any protruding stones. She’d been right with her dexterity argument; the way he had to sidestep the various impediments mirrored the fancy footwork he often found himself doing on the field.
