“Rent-free?” London asked. “This sounds like the perfect setup for you. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I want to ride him like a contender at the Kentucky Derby,” Taylor said.
“Again, what’s the problem?”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Come on, Samiah. You’re my voice of reason. Am I making a mistake here?”
“I don’t know about this one, chick. It is an ideal setup. You just have to make sure you’re ready for whatever happens.”
“My suggestion is that you don’t justletit happen,” London said. “Go there knowing what you want andmakeit happen.”
Again, Taylor rolled her eyes. But the more she thought about it, the more intriguing she found London’s advice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Taylor sat in the cushioned rattan armchair and tracked Jamar’s movements as he moved from one area of the pool house to another. He’d been at this for the past twenty minutes, pointing out every available feature. He picked up the electronic tablet from a stand on the coffee table and swiped his finger across the screen.
“This controls everything from the lights to the television to the thermostat, just like the one in the main house. You’ve used it before, right?” He pressed something, and the ceiling fan started to twirl lazily above them. With another swipe, taupe window shades began to lower inside the double-paned floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the side of the structure that faced the Olympic-size pool.
“It’s all pretty easy to operate,” he said, reversing the window shades with another swipe of his finger. “If you need help, just call. I’m . . . you know . . . right there.” He hooked a thumb toward the main house.
“I will,” Taylor said. She started a mental countdown to see how long it would take him to find something else to point out.
He snapped his fingers. “Oh, and converting the sofa into a bed is pretty easy too. You just pull this out.” He tugged on a metal bar Taylor hadn’t even noticed protruding unobtrusively from the bottom of the sofa. He glanced over at her wrapped ankle. “Actually, it’s probably better if you call me to pull it out for you when you’re ready to go to bed.”
Oh, of course. Because having him inhabit her space just before she slipped into bed would be no problem at all. He must be delirious.
“I think I can handle it,” Taylor said.
“Well, okay, then.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Um, about dinner. I plan to heat up the quinoa and grilled chicken you made for me. There’s two of them in there. I can bring one for you.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Actually, I’m not a fan of quinoa.”
“So why are you making me eat it?”
Taylor waved off his indignation. “Because it’s a healthier alternative to rice. Now, I’ll take the green chili enchiladas if you have any of those left.”
He shook his head, a rueful grin on his face. “I’ll check.” He took a step toward the sliding glass door but then turned back to her. “The bathroom. It has fresh towels, but if you need—”
“I’ll call you,” Taylor said, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. One thing she had not counted on was Jamar Dixon being outrageously adorable when flustered.
She stood and, using one of the crutches—even though she was pretty sure she didn’t need them anymore—started for the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Jamar asked.
“To get a glass of water.”
“I can do that for you.”
“I can get my own water, Jamar.” But by the time she traversed the half dozen or so yards to the kitchen, he was already filling a glass from the refrigerator’s dispenser. He held it out to her.
Setting the crutch to the side, Taylor grabbed the glass from him and took a sip.
“You do realize that I will have to do some things for myself, right? I can’t call on you for every little thing.”
“Except that you can. I told you to call me if you need anything.”
She rendered a slow, deliberate perusal from the top of his head to his feet. In a warning voice, she said, “You need to be careful about the offers you make.”
