He huffed out a laugh as he tapped the Sharpie cap against his lips. Of all the bullshit excuses he’d drummed up, at least this one would benefit a good cause.
There was only onerealreason for his sudden affinity for this room: the vantage point from behind his desk gave him the best view into the window of his pool house’s kitchen. He only caught the briefest glimpse of those dark burgundy braids piled atop Taylor’s head when she passed in front of the window, but it was enough to ignite an explosion of flashbacks to the things they’d done to each other against that kitchen counter yesterday.
Jamar tossed the marker on the desk and ran both hands down his face. He was turning into a Peeping Tom. It didn’t matter that he was peeping on his own property.
He’d gone back and forth, questioning just what in the hell he’d been thinking to invite Taylor to live here. They weren’t under the same roof, but what difference did that make when it took him exactly thirty-eight seconds to walk from his living room to the pool house? Thirty-eight seconds to get to the place where she now slept, bathed,lived.
The fact that they were no longer trainer and client obliterated the one barrier that stood in the way of them being together.Reallybeing together. Not just a one-time hookup or this pretend dating ruse they had going on. There was nothing stopping them from starting a real relationship.
Except Taylor didn’t seem to be interested in more than what had transpired between them in his pool house yesterday. She wanted him, but not in all the ways he wanted her. So he had to settle for sitting behind his desk and reminiscing about the way it felt to have her legs wrapped around his waist while he explored every inch of her mouth.
And wishing there could be more.
Therecouldn’tbe more. Not right now. Heknewthat, just as he knew he could never be satisfied with those few rushed minutes he’d had with her yesterday. Why did he allow it to end so damn soon? Why hadn’t he carried her to the sofa and spent hours bringing her more pleasure than either of them could handle? Then spent even more hours whispering in her ear all the ways they could be perfect together if they gave themselves the chance.
The way she laughed at his jokes, even while claiming that she didn’t find them funny. The way she listened so intently when he talked about the most mundane things. That couldn’t be totally fake, could it? She had to feel something more for him than she was letting on.
Jamar’s phone chimed with Micah’s ringtone. The FaceTime app on his computer joined in a second later.
“Hey, man, I was just about to call you,” Jamar said as he leaned back in his chair. “I need the address of the school where I’m supposed to mail those autographed pictures.” He squinted at the screen. “Wait a minute. Are you in your home office?”
“Shocking, isn’t it?” his agent drawled.
“Did your wife and kids recognize you?”
“Not really. My youngest keeps calling me Uncle Kyle,” Micah said, referring to his twin brother, who was the other half of Hill Sports Management.
“As long as Rhea doesn’t call you that,” Jamar laughed, speaking of Micah’s wife.
His agent laughed along with him, then took a drink from the mug on his desk before continuing. “Is that what you were calling about yesterday?” Micah asked. “Those pictures?”
“Uh, not really,” Jamar said.
It had been less than twenty-four hours since he’d left that voicemail for Micah, but it felt like an eternity. It had been just before he’d called to check on Taylor and upended his entire world by inviting her to live with him.
But Taylor’s presence didn’t alter his reason for contacting his agent. In a way, shewasthe reason behind this call that Jamar had been putting off for weeks. Her ankle injury had brought things into perspective for him. He recognized the precariousness of her line of work, and how her livelihood could be snatched away as quickly as his football career had been taken from him. He wanted to be a success story for her, a shining example that she could broadcast to the world.
He’d vacillated over when to tell Micah about his decision to make a return to the NFL. He wanted to get a feel for how things were progressing under Taylor’s training program before bringing his agent into the mix. Jamar knew his body, and he knew that if he didn’t feel as if the work he’d done this past month was going to get him where he needed to be that he wouldn’t even bother telling Micah.
He was ready to tell him.
You sure about that?
He immediately silenced that bitch-ass voice in his head. Those twinges he’d felt in his knee were more than likely phantom aches. It wasn’t enough to derail his plans, not when he still had so much riding on them.
He was ready.
His body felt stronger, but even more important than that, hismindfelt stronger. He believed in his ability again. The endurance he’d managed to build up these last few weeks had him more confident than he’d felt since that fateful Thursday last year when he injured his knee.
“I called yesterday because I need something from you,” Jamar said.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Micah asked, his body leaning out of the field of vision as he reached for something to the right of his desk.
“I need reassurance from my agent that I have a fighting chance at getting my old job back. I want to return to the League.”
Jamar couldn’t remember a time he’d seen Micah Hill speechless. He stared at the screen in confusion, as if he were trying to decide if he was looking at an actual person or an alien pod.
“You want to play football again? In the NFL? With a shattered knee?”
