“Is that a thing we’re doing? Morning coffee?”
“That wasn’t the important part of the question, Taylor.”
“Okay, so I guess it’s something we need to discuss,” she said. “Where doyouthink we should go from here?”
He looked pointedly at her breasts. “Don’t expect coherent conversation from me when you’re sitting there like that.”
Taylor pulled her bra and T-shirt down to cover herself, as if that mattered when they were both still naked from the waist down.
“Better?” she asked before purposely brushing the back of her hand across his semi-erect penis.
“Stop,” he said with a hoarse groan. He leaned forward and tucked his head against her neck, inhaling deep before taking a step back. “Living here with you is going to be the hardest fucking thing in the world.”
“Was the pun there intended?”
He leveled her with a look that clearly said he was not amused.
“I’m sorry,” Taylor said. “Are you still okay with me living here?”
“I’m not that much of an asshole. I wouldn’t ask you to leave just because I’m going to go half crazy thinking about you sleeping so damn close by.”
“Did I mention that I sleep in the nude?”
“Taylor.”
“It was a joke!” She ran her hand along his rib cage. The sleeveless T-shirt he still wore was damp with sweat. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be just as hot and bothered as you’ll be.”
“Not sure that makes me feel better.” He tilted his head to the side. “Okay, maybe it makes me feel a little better. Misery does love company.”
He hooked his hands underneath her knees and lifted her off the counter, placing her gently back onto the floor. After pulling up his own underwear and pants, he helped her into hers. Then he braced his hands on either side of her and stared into her eyes with an intense, probing look.
“If I invited you to come into the main house, what would be your answer?”
She knew she couldn’t do that. He knew it too. It would cross a line that was even bigger than the one they’d just crossed.
“I can’t,” she said.
He didn’t speak; he just gave a resigned nod before backing up.
“Not that you don’t already know this, but if you need anything . . . ” he said.
“I know where to find you.”
She watched as he left through the French doors and took off across the small patch of stone that connected the main house to the pool house. Taylor closed her eyes and leaned back against the kitchen counter—the kitchen counter where she’d just gotten laid.
She wouldn’t obsess over what just happened. He was no longer her client. He was her fake boyfriend, for goodness’ sake! If you couldn’t smash your fake boyfriend in his pool house, what was the point of having one?
And now that they’d both satisfied this itch, they could peacefully coexist until her apartment was mold-free. They could even have morning coffee.
You did the right thing.
Maybe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
In a typical month, Jamar spent approximately twenty minutes sitting at the desk in his office, however long it took to handle the few bills that weren’t set up for automatic payment. Being surrounded by the trophies, plaques, game balls, and other memorabilia from his playing days that decorated the room put him in the shittiest mood.
Not this morning. He’d discovered a dozen different tasks that could only be done in this particular room. His agent had asked him weeks ago to autograph some eight-by-ten photos from his rookie season. They would be auctioned off at a fundraiser to benefit several schools in the Chicago area. After repeated “you got those pics” texts from Micah, Jamar suddenly felt a burning need to finally get to signing them.
