And, yet again, she found herself staring down the barrel of another decision. Hide out in the pool house like a coward, or be an adult and have coffee with the man.

“I don’t even like coffee,” Taylor said, giving the carousel a final, brutal twirl.

She gingerly made it back to the couch—without the aid of crutches, thank you very much—and stored the bed away. After pulling her braids into a topknot, she went into the bathroom and added extra moisturizer to her face to combat the dry, early winter air. She grabbed her favorite fleece pullover from her bag and tugged it over her head. The black letters that spelled out ARMY were so worn you could barely make out the word.

Taylor stopped with her hand on the handle of the French door. She took a deep breath, then another.

“It doesn’t have to be awkward,” she reminded herself.

It was sex. Really good sex, but still. It. Was. Just. Sex.

It didn’t change anything between them.

She left the pool house. Wisps of smoke coming off the heated pool lent an eerie haziness to the morning as she crossed the walkway to the main house. She went to the side door that led to the gym and punched in the key code Jamar had provided her. Her stomach dropped for a moment when she noticed a figure in the corner, but it was only the foam dummy he’d ordered to practice his defensive blocking.

Remember, everything is normal.

Fixing her face into a neutral expression, Taylor headed to the kitchen. She found Jamar leaning against the counter, one hand wrapped around the handle of a coffee mug, the other in the pocket of his gray sweatpants.

Fuck. Me. How did he make simple sweatpants and a T-shirt look so damn good?

He stared at her from across the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said.

Everything is normal.

“Good morning,” Taylor answered. Who in the hell did that squeaky voice belong to? That was not a normal voice. She coughed, then asked, “Is there coffee?”

He nodded and gestured to the coffee machine. With its frothing nozzle and the whole coffee beans ready to go through the built-in grinder, it made the one in the pool house look like a relic from the Middle Ages.

“There’s also kombucha in the fridge. I had groceries delivered this morning because I know you prefer that to coffee.”

Well, hell. How was she supposed to resist screwing him on the kitchen counter again when he went and did stuff like that?

Stop searching for excuses for more kitchen sex!