Jamar continued to gently dab at Taylor’s palm with the edge of his shirt. When he looked over at her, her attention was on his face instead of what he was doing to her hand. The thumping in his veins escalated.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, flooding his brain with the memory of how those soft lips felt against his. If someone asked him to trade the car they’d arrived in for another taste, he would toss them his keys without a second thought.

He angled toward her. Her eyes roamed over his face as she leaned forward.

But then she pulled back.

“Umm, we should probably hit the trail before the rain comes,” Taylor said as she gently extracted her hand from his hold. She jumped up and walked over to the edge of the pavilion.

Jamar closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing past the knot of lust clogging his throat. “Yeah, that’s what we’re here for after all.”

He tucked his shirt back inside his running jacket and tugged at the zipper, securing it underneath his chin.

“Is this a race?” he asked as he came up behind her.

She turned. “Of course it is—”

He took off before she could finish her sentence.

Jamar jogged along the path, dodging any protruding stones. She’d been right with her dexterity argument; the way he had to sidestep the various impediments mirrored the fancy footwork he often found himself doing on the field.

Out of nowhere, he felt a stinging slap on his ass.

“Pick it up, Dixon,” Taylor said as she whizzed past him and darted down one of the narrow paths that shot off from the main trail.

He bolted after her, skirting around a huge branch that had fallen along the path. He was mindful of his knee, waiting for that twinge he’d felt earlier to return. He slowed, unsure if the pinch he’d felt just now was real or a figment of his anxious as hell imagination.

Fuck. He’d faced this before, back when he first started rehab. Every twinge sent him spiraling. He often thought the fear of reinjuring his knee was as debilitating as if he actually did hurt it.

He heard Taylor approaching and assumed an exhausted pose, resting his hands on his thighs. He’d rather her think he couldn’t keep up than let on that there was possibly something wrong with his knee. He had no doubt she would demand they put an end to the workout if she thought he could reaggravate his injury.

Jamar wasn’t about to stop now. He could work through this.

“Really?” she said as she came upon him. “If you can’t handle this, some of my more challenging training circuits might just kill you.”

He sucked in several shallow breaths, then with a wink said, “Bring it.”