Taylor threw her hands up in the air. “Didn’t I just explain this? He’s a client!”
“You know,” London drawled, swirling the wine that remained in her glass. “This has been a really enlightening conversation. I’m learning things about myself that I never considered. For example, I never saw myself as an amoral person. I mean, come on, I save the lives of children for a living. But, I have to admit, you’re a better person than I am, Taylor Powell. I would be fucking that man every chance I got. Screw being a professional.”
Taylor covered her face with her hands. Peeking through her fingers, she looked to Samiah and asked, “Are you going to be the voice of reason here?”
Samiah lifted her shoulders in an apologetic shrug. “I’m totally dick-whipped, so my advice would be the same. Screw being a professional.”
Taylor growled. “You two are absolutely no help,” she said, pushing herself up from the floor. “But thanks for the Ethiopian food, I guess.”
“You’re leaving? It’s only—Oh, shit, it’s almost ten,” London said, looking at her phone. “I need to get out of here too. I have two consultations scheduled before nine tomorrow morning.”
They cleared the food from the coffee table and divided the leftovers into take-home containers. Samiah put her arm around Taylor’s shoulder as they followed behind London to the door.
“I know we weren’t much help tonight when it comes to advice,” Samiah said. “But I applaud you for being so principled about this.”
Taylor tried not to roll her eyes. Unless principles became a magical cure for horniness, she wasn’t sure they did her much good.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“This shit is not working.”
Jamar peeked out of one eye, then quickly shut it again. He forced himself to remain in the massage chair, pressing his head back against the mechanical balls made to mimic thumbs. He still saw a massage therapist monthly, but for the time between his sessions, the therapist had suggested he set up a “tranquility room.”
He’d ordered an obscenely expensive massage chair, along with a commercial-grade aromatherapy diffuser that misted lavender, rosemary, and other shit that was supposed to relax him. He’d even had mood lighting installed, thin LED strips that ran along the crown molding, casting off colors he manipulated by remote control based on the ambience he wanted to set.
None of it was working today.
It would have helped if his “Soothing Sounds” playlist hadn’t filled the room with the sound of gentle raindrops. The moment he heard them, his mind immediately went back to that secluded spot at the summit of Mount Bonnell and the feel of Taylor’s body pressed against his. He felt her hands cradling his face, her hard nipples against his palms as he massaged her breasts through her wet T-shirt.
How was he supposed to relax when every molecule in his body craved her, when her taste still lingered in his mouth? How was he supposed to continue with this pretend relationship after getting a glimpse of what the real thing could be like?
“Fuck,” Jamar whispered. He should have told Alec Mooney the truth from the very beginning. Just two weeks into this fake dating scheme and they were already in too deep to call it off.
His phone rang, startling him. He set the phone to Do Not Disturb while in his tranquility room, so the only people who got through were those he deemed worthy enough to have on his favorites list.
Jamar smiled at the name on the phone. Andrea Cannon, Silas’s older sister by three years. She was one of the few people healwayshad time for.
“Hey, Drea. What’s up?”
His smile faded as he listened to her share that her grandfather had gone into the hospital. He could tell she was trying to keep her tone even.
“I’m on my way,” Jamar said.
“That’s not necessary, Jamar. I just wanted you to know about Big Silas.”
“Okay, thanks for calling,” he said. He hung up the phone and immediately started for his room. As if he would sit here doing jack shit while Silas’s grandfather lay in a hospital bed.
He grabbed his leather duffel and threw in some clothes, along with a Dopp kit embossed with the Hill Sports Management logo.
He called Taylor as he bounded down the stairs.
“I was just about to call you,” she greeted, answering after the first ring. “I finished the last of your meal prep. I should be there in about an hour.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel our workout for today and tomorrow,” he said. “I need to go home—to Katy,” he clarified.
“Is everything okay?” Concern colored her voice.
“I’m not sure. A close . . . ” How could he describe Silas’s grandfather? He wasn’t just a family friend. He was so much more than that. “The grandfather of a really close friend is in the hospital. I need to make sure he’s okay.”
