“Yep, that one. He would have paid fifty bucks for my autograph and a selfie. Easy.”
Taylor burst out laughing. “No way!”
“No doubt,” Jamar said.
“First of all, what makes you think that? And secondly, why would you charge someone for an autograph?”
“I would never charge someone for an autograph. I was only pointing out that you could if you wanted to play my celebrity to your advantage. And I know he’d do it because he has a Chicago Bears tie pin and phone case, and he’s come over to talk to me three times already tonight.”
“Well, next time I’ll set up an autograph booth,” Taylor said with a laugh. She hooked her arms around his neck. “For now, I’ll bask in the knowledge that every woman—save for my mother, of course—is jealous that I’m here with you.”
His brow arched. “Even your sister?”
“Hell yes. Chester is all right, but he’s no Diesel Dixon.”
She felt his deep chuckle reverberating through his chest.
As they swayed to the music, Taylor tried to figure out exactly what she was feeling. It took her a moment to recognize it as contentment. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced anything close to this, especially when surrounded by people who never missed the opportunity to throw some of her ill-advised teenage antics in her face.
Being cocooned in Jamar’s embrace provided a sense of peace she desperately needed, his presence making this trip home not only bearable but also enjoyable.
The party lasted until midnight, with much of the crowd remaining until the very end. Taylor was beyond relieved to learn that the same company that had furnished the decorations was in charge of cleaning up the mess now that the festivities were over.
Her mother had planned a postparty brunch for tomorrow, but Taylor and Jamar’s early afternoon flight out of Raleigh would require them to leave by nine in the morning. Which was why they said their goodbyes to both her sister’s and brother’s families, then followed her dad’s car back to the house.
Taylor and Jamar got caught by a red light, so her parents arrived home a few minutes before they did. The two were making their way up the walkway, holding hands like a couple of teenagers, when Jamar turned the Lincoln into the driveway. The Powells waited at the door for Jamar and Taylor to join them before entering the house.
Her dad wrapped his arm around Taylor’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Although I would have liked to have you home for Thanksgiving as well, I’m happy you chose to come for the party. Tonight was pretty nice, wasn’t it?”
“The most fun I have had in ages,” Taylor said. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Happy birthday, Daddy.”
She gave her mother a kiss and bid both her parents good night. They headed toward their downstairs bedroom, leaving Taylor and Jamar to linger in the quiet stillness of the empty great room.
“You had a good time tonight,” he said.
“I did. Did you?”
“Yes.” He nodded, then added, “Well, except for your sister-in-law stepping on my foot a dozen times during the Cupid Shuffle. If I can’t run the forty during my tryouts, it’s probably because she broke my little toe.”
“Oh no,” Taylor laughed. “I noticed you wincing a few times tonight. You should have told me. I would have rescued you.”
His amusement faded, a somber, pensive expression taking its place.
“No,” he said, the sudden rasp in his voice sending pinpricks of unease down Taylor’s spine. “That’s um…that’s not why I was wincing. And it’s not why I won’t be able to run the forty-yard dash.”
She frowned, her anxiety ratcheting up even more as he took her by the hand and led her to the sofa.
“You’re scaring me,” Taylor said.
“Don’t be,” he said. “There’s nothing for you to be scared about. Me, on the other hand…yeah, I’m a little scared.”
“Would you please stop with the vague bullshit and tell me what’s going on!” She glanced toward her parents’ bedroom, then lowered her voice. “Tell me,” she said.
He rested his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands together. Releasing a deep breath, he finally said, “A few weeks ago, I felt something in my knee.”
Her stomach dropped. “Something like what?”
“It started as a pinch, but the ache has gradually progressed.” He tapped his fingers against his lips, then looked over at her. “I’m scared my knee won’t hold up.”
“How long has this been happening?”
“Since Mount Bonnell,” he said. “Maybe a little before.”
“Jamar,” she said in a fierce, accusatory whisper. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You know why, Taylor. Because you would have stopped the training.”
“Of course I would have stopped. I’ve read nearly everything there is to read about your injury; I know how devastating it would be if you suffered another blow to your knee. There would be no coming back from that kind of damage, Jamar.”
“I know,” he said. “I just have so much riding on this.”
The agony in his voice tore at her heart, but this could not be up for debate.
“It’s not worth it. Nothing is worth you permanently injuring yourself. You have to know this.” Taylor cupped his jaw in her hands. “I’m so sorry this is happening, because I know how hard you’ve worked. But you can’t do this to yourself.”
She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his. In a pained whisper, she asked, “Do you think Silas would want you to put your body in jeopardy because of him?”
“It’s not just about Silas,” he said. “I told you, it’s about me leaving on my own terms.”
“So if you make it through that tryout and onto a team, what makes you think you wouldn’t get carted off the field in the very first game? That’s the risk you’re willing to take?”
His eyes fell shut, the corded muscles in his neck constricting as he swallowed. His anguish was a tangible thing in the room.
Taylor squeezed his hand, her soul aching for him. She wished more than anything that she could fix this, but some things just weren’t meant to be. This was one of them. She had to get him to see that his health was more important than playing football again.
But before she could conjure up a new argument, he said, “I’ll call Micah in the morning, before we leave for the airport. If I can’t get through a line dance, I sure as hell won’t get through any team’s training camp.”
The relief that crashed through her took her breath away. She should feel guilty, knowing how hard this was for him. But all she could feel was the tension ebbing from her body.
Still holding his hand, she rested her head against his shoulder. There were no words, no platitudes she could utter that would make this better for him. All she could offer was her presence and hope that it would be enough.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
They sat in the silent darkness until the clock on the mantel read a quarter past one.
With a reluctant sigh, Taylor slowly lifted her head from its resting spot. “We have to wake up early.”
“I know,” Jamar said.
“We could just sleep here on the sofa,” she offered.
“We could.” There was a thread of amusement in his voice. “Except that I’m afraid of what your dad would do to me if he found us together while on his way to the kitchen for his late-night snack.”
“The Colonel does not snack,” Taylor said with a soft laugh. “If you heard someone last night, it was more likely my mom.”
“In a way she’s even scarier than your dad,” he said. “She’s got that super nice thing going, but I can tell she’s the kind who would eviscerate anyone who crosses her or her family.”
“And she would do it with a smile,” Taylor confirmed as she pushed herself up from the sofa.
Jamar stood as well, recapturing her hand in his. “I now see where you get your badassness,” he said with a wink.
<
br /> There was zero urgency as they made their way to the staircase, neither one wanting to say good night. Once there, Jamar trailed the back of his finger along her cheek, his deep brown eyes brimming with want as he stared into hers. He tipped her chin up and lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her lips that was tender and sweet and perfect. It set off a cascade of warm tingles down her spine.
Taylor encircled him in her arms, running her hands along his sides and around his back. “Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night on the couch?”
Jamar let out a deep breath and took a step back. “You should go up to your room.”
“You’re probably right,” she murmured. Taylor cupped the back of his head and tugged, kissing him again.
“Good night,” she whispered against his lips.
“Good night,” he returned.
She started for her bedroom, not letting go of his hand until she’d climbed four of the steps. Once she reached the second-floor landing, she looked down to find him still lingering at the bottom of the staircase. Their gazes caught and held, the same longing she was feeling reflected in the depths of his eyes.
See you in the morning, Taylor mouthed.
He nodded and gave her a short wave.
Taylor slipped into her bedroom before she gave in to the temptation to go back downstairs. It was only a few hours until she would be with him again, yet her body still mourned the loss.
She grabbed her pajamas and went into the bathroom. Bracing her hands against the pedestal sink, she stared at herself in the mirror.
“How did you let this happen?” she whispered. She hadn’t just fallen—she’d fallen hard.
A secretive smile curved up the corners of her mouth. Who knew a hard fall could feel so good?
She took out the bobby pins and hair tie that held her updo together, covered her hair with a shower cap, then got into the shower. But the cascade of hot water did nothing for her. A shower wasn’t enough. She needed Jamar. And she knew he needed her just as much.
Dressed in a T-shirt and pajama shorts, Taylor slipped out of the bathroom as quietly as possible and padded barefoot down the stairs. She went through the kitchen to the spare bedroom, finding the door slightly ajar.
Jamar sat on the edge of the bed. He was shirtless, the corded muscles of his eight-pack gleaming in the light from the bedside lamp. He still wore his pants, although he’d loosened the belt buckle and unzipped them.
When he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and started to stand, Taylor took it as her cue to invite herself in.
“I’ll do that for you,” she said softly.
He froze. Hands at his waist, eyes wide with surprise.
“What are you doing—” he started, but she put two fingers against his lips, silencing him.
She moved his hands out of the way and took over, shoving both his pants and the black boxer briefs down his legs. She knew what tonight had done to him, the disappointment at realizing he would have to give up his dream. She wanted to provide whatever solace she could.
Flattening her palm against the center of his chest, Taylor pushed him back onto the bed, then got down on her knees and pulled his pants and underwear the rest of the way off.
“Tay—”
“Shhh,” she whispered. She braced her hands on his thighs and dipped her head, running her tongue along the side of his hardening erection.
He released a groan straight out of a porno flick.
“Shhh,” Taylor murmured again as she sucked on the head. She closed her eyes and swallowed more of him, taking half his length into her mouth before drawing up again. Jamar pumped his hips, thrusting upward as she once more lowered her head.
Need thrummed through her veins, the spot between her legs demanding attention. Instead of using her hands to sate the pleasurable ache pulsing from her center, she wrapped both her fists around his dick and began to massage him. She rubbed with increasing pressure, moving her lips up and down his length.
“Fuck!” He gasped. He caught a fistful of her braids in his hand before clasping the back of her head and guiding her strokes. He slid the other hand inside her shirt and captured a breast, using his fingers to torment her nipple. Every pinch and tweak sent a jolt of electricity straight to her clit.
“Taylor.” Her name came out on a choppy breath. “I’m close.”
He tried to pull away, but she gripped his thighs, holding him still. She sucked faster, harder, relishing the knowledge that she could provide a brief escape from tonight’s painful revelation.
She felt him stiffen moments before hot liquid rushed into her mouth. She continued to suck, not releasing him until she was sure he was completely spent.
Jamar fell back on the bed, his chest heaving with his labored breaths. He leveled up on his elbow and looked at her with half-lidded eyes. “You’re not finished, are you?”
Taylor shook her head. “Nope. Not even close.” She slipped out of her clothes and climbed on top of him. Grabbing his wallet from the bedside table, she slapped it to his chest and said, “Condom.”
He fumbled with the wallet, but within seconds he’d removed the disc from the package and rolled it on. Moments later he was inside of her, his hands at her waist, his hips lifting to meet her downward thrusts. Taylor held on to his shoulders as she rocked back and forth, quickening her pace until pure, explosive pleasure erupted throughout her body.
She landed on his chest in an exhausted heap of satisfaction. Feeling blissfully drained, she was unable to move the few inches it would take to lie on the mattress instead of on top of him. She refused to budge; she was exactly where she wanted to be.
Jamar ran his hand along her hair, lifting one of her braids and wrapping it around his finger. “I can’t believe you did this in your parents’ house,” he whispered.
Taylor released a breathless laugh against his chest. “Believe me, I’ve done worse in their house,” she said.
“Such as?”
“I once smoked weed in my bedroom. My mom would consider that to be worse than giving my boyfriend a blow job. My dad?” She tilted her head to the side. “Let’s just say he wouldn’t approve of either one.”
“So you really were the wild child?”
“It’s all relative. The ‘wild child’ in the perfect Powell household is just your typical teenager in any other family.” She traced her finger along his chest, drawing swirls across his well-defined pectorals. “I meant to say this earlier.” She looked up at him. “Thank you.”
“Me? For what?”
“For being here with me. I haven’t felt this…this at ease with my family in…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Probably forever. Having you here as a buffer, it allowed me to enjoy my time with them without the constant anxiety I usually feel.”
Several moments passed before Jamar said, “At the risk of ruining what has been a surprising and extremely pleasurable end to my evening—”
“Don’t ruin it,” Taylor warned.
“I have to. This has been on my mind since yesterday.”
She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “What is it?”
“I still don’t understand why you went off on your brother the way you did. I know you said that you two get along like oil and water, but it seemed as if you were looking for something that wasn’t there.”
“You’re right,” she said. “You are ruining it.” She started to get up, but he clasped his hand against the small of her back.
“Can you hear me out?”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hear whatever you’re about to say,” Taylor told him. “But fine.” She folded her hands over his chest and rested her chin on top of them. “Psychoanalyze me.”
“I’m not psychoanalyzing you. Well, maybe a little,” he said. “I just think that you’ve gotten so used to expecting your family to think the worst of you, that you automatically view whatever they say through that lens. Based on the way you described them, I was prepared to meet a bunch of
ogres, but your family is great. Okay, your dad’s a bit intimidating, but even he’s not as scary as I thought he would be.”
“I never said they were ogres,” she said.
“But do you think you’ve been fair to them? I haven’t seen anyone in your family judging you or talking down to you this weekend.”
“Look, I know what you’re getting at,” she said.
“Do you?”
“You think this has something to do with my learning disorder.”
“Your undiagnosed learning disorder,” he corrected her. “But, yeah, possibly. Now, this is really going to sound like I’m psychoanalyzing you, but I think it’s possible that you’ve projected what you feel about yourself onto your family. They’re not the ones who see you as the black sheep, at least not from what I can tell.”
Taylor pinched his side. “I’m going to start calling you Doctor Phil instead of Twenty-Three.”
“Don’t put too much stock into my bullshit pop psychology,” he said. He trailed the pad of his thumb down her cheek. “I just don’t want you selling your family short.”
It would have been easier for Taylor to write his analysis off as bullshit if she hadn’t had similar thoughts over the years. Convincing herself that she was a normal, everyday slacker in a family of perfectionists had given her the green light to ignore her suspicions about why she’d always had such a hard time in school.
Maybe she had been unfair to them. Maybe when her dad referred to Taylor’d Conditioning as her little fitness thing, there was more affection in his tone than she gave him credit for. Maybe it was more concern than censure she heard in her mom’s voice when she asked about how things were going.
Taylor considered how different it would feel if the next time she walked into this house, she felt relaxed instead of anxious. If she could enjoy her family without the fear that she was being judged. She felt the stress ebbing from her muscles just at the thought.
She laid her head flat on Jamar’s chest, but then jerked up. “What time is it?” Taylor asked.
Jamar reached over and grabbed his phone. “Just after three,” he said.
“Oh, shit,” Taylor said, pushing up from the bed. “I hate to come and run, but I need to get back to my room before the Colonel finds me in here. He’s always awake by four a.m.” She pulled on her T-shirt and shorts, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to Jamar’s mouth. “See you in a few hours. Remember, we need to be out of here by nine.”
The Dating Playbook Page 26
