But I knew if I wanted her in a way that wasn’t just a quick tumble in the sheets that ended with her kicking me to the curb, I would have to move at a snail’s pace. I could go as slow as I needed to.
Taylor said nothing, just continued to study me. I cleared my throat. “Look, I’d really like it if we could try to be friends.” I felt like a five-year-old asking someone to play with me at recess—a jumble of nerves and anxiety.
She turned her head to look out at the darkening fields, and I held my breath, hoping she’d stay. Moments passed before Taylor returned her gaze to me. “Okay.”
“To friendship or food?”
A small smile tipped her lips. “Both?”
The tightness between my shoulder blades eased, relief coursing through me. I reached a hand down to help her out of the pool. Water splashed, and then she was standing in front of me. I grabbed her towel from the lounge chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. A shiver coursed through her, and I rubbed her arms. “Let’s get you inside.”
She nodded, saying nothing as we walked up the stone path to the back door. I cleared my throat as we stood in the kitchen. “I’ll show you to the guest room, and you can shower and change while I fix you something to eat.”
Taylor’s eyebrow quirked. “You cook?”
I smirked. “I do. But in this case, I’ll just be heating up leftovers.” My parents had taken my grandma, Jensen, and Noah out to dinner, but I hadn’t been up for a crowded restaurant after my crappy day.
“You’re full of surprises, Cole.” She was still uncertain around me after last night’s events, but we were slowly finding our way back to normal.
I led her towards one of the downstairs guest rooms. “Here you go,” I said, opening the door. “There are towels and soap in the bathroom. Do you need anything else?”
“Nope. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I shut the door on her towel-clad form, fighting the desire to follow her into the shower. I shook my head and turned towards the kitchen.
I busied myself heating up last night’s lasagna and reciting baseball stats in my head. Before long, I heard soft footfalls on the hardwood floor. Turning around, I took in Taylor, pink-faced and freshly showered. Her wet hair was piled on top of her head, and she was wearing short-shorts and a t-shirt that clung to her petite yet curvy frame.
It was apparent that she wasn’t wearing a bra. My gaze zeroed in on a pair of perky little nips, and I ground my teeth together so hard, pain shot through my jaw. “Do you want to borrow a sweatshirt? It’s pretty chilly.”
She flushed. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
I jerked my head in a nod and went in search of one of my high school football hoodies in my old room. Finding a worn, gray one, I returned to the kitchen to see Taylor nibbling on her thumbnail. “Here you go.” My voice was rough, even to my own ears.
“Thanks, not just for this, but for dinner too.” She slipped the sweatshirt over her head. It almost came to her knees, meaning it looked like she could be naked underneath.
I imagined sliding a hand up one of her tanned legs to find her bare beneath. Fuck. I had to stop. “You’re welcome.” It came out half choked. Grabbing an oven mitt, I pulled the two plates out of the oven. “Hope you like lasagna.”
“Love it.” Taylor’s eyes sparkled when she said it, in a way that told me she did indeed love food. “Can I get us drinks?”
“Sure,” I called as I made my way to the dining table. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge and grab me a beer.”
“Got it.” I placed our plates across from each other just as she returned with a beer and a bottle of water. “Thanks.”
“This looks amazing,” Taylor said as she sat.
“Tastes even better.”
She took her first bite and moaned. Fucking moaned. I choked on my drink. Her eyes looked panicked for a moment. “Are you okay?”
I coughed, then got out, “Yeah, fine. Just a little beer down the wrong pipe.”
“This is delicious. Even better than my favorite Italian restaurant in LA.”
“Gran will be happy to hear that. It’s her recipe.”
“Impressive.”
I took a pull on my beer. “I have a favor to ask.”
