Page 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jake

July 14th

S he walks out like we didn’t just make out against a mirrored wall with my hands halfway in her joggers.

I follow a second behind, still hard, still sweating, still trying not to throw her over my shoulder and take the consequences later.

I swipe the keycard with more force than necessary, and the door clicks open into luxury at its finest.

Floor-to-ceiling glass, soft neutral tones, skyline views, and furniture I probably shouldn’t be allowed to put my boots on.

Tahlia steps inside first and takes in the surroundings admitting the view.

“This is nice.”

“It is. They usually don’t go all out like this.”

“Hmm. I wouldn’t know. This is my first All-Star game.”

She sets her binder on the dining table like this is a damn Airbnb and she’s here for business.

I drop our bags by the closet and exhale hard.

She’s already peeling off her hoodie, revealing a fitted tank that shows off way too much curve for someone who claims she’s focused on Evidence.

“Where’s your laptop?” she asks, opening hers like nothing happened.

“Still trying to remember how to walk,” I mutter.

She hums, clicks into something bar-related, and sits.

One leg folded under her, like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

I move to the kitchen area and crack open a bottle of water before I embarrass myself.

“You’re unusually quiet,” she says without looking up.

“I’m recalibrating.”

“Big word for a man who just tried to climb me in an elevator.”

I walk over slowly, stop just behind her chair.

Place both hands on the backrest and lean down until my mouth is inches from her neck.

“You’re not making it easy to stay respectful.”

Her breath catches.

Then she turns her head and meets my eyes over her shoulder.

“That’s not my problem.”

“Not yet.”

I straighten up and start unwrapping the compression wrap around my torso.

No flinch.

No wince.

Just movement.

She sees it.

Her eyes flick to my ribs, then back to my face.

“You really are cleared.”

“Told you.”

“You also said I could ask questions before I touch anything.”

“You already touched everything.”

She leans back in her chair, satisfied.

“Good point.”

I walk to the bedroom area, pull out a clean shirt, and start changing.

Behind me, I hear the soft clack of keys, the rustle of flashcards.

She’s locked in again.

Back to law student mode.

But I can still feel her pressed against me.

Still hear that moan

Still hard.

And still very much not okay .

All-Star presser.

Even though I’m not participating in any of the activities, Troy thought it would be good to participate in some things to help keep me relevant.

I sit down at the mic and already feel the cameras heat up like they’ve been waiting to pounce.

The league rep nods to the room.

“We’ll start with questions for Jake Reynolds. Please identify your outlet.”

The first hand goes up.

“Kaitlyn Monroe, SportsSouth. Jake—can you walk us through exactly what happened that night? We all saw the footage, but what was going through your head in that moment? Was it a missed call? A delayed reaction?”

I lean into the mic.

“It was a fastball. Inside pitch came up high and tight smacked me right on the ribs. That’s on me. I hesitated. Tried to adjust too late, and it cost me. As for what was going through my head?” I pause.

“Mostly pain. And regret. And wondering how bad it looked on camera.”

Light laughter from the crowd.

I let it land before continuing.

“And no it wasn’t a missed call. Just one of those things. Baseball moves fast. Sometimes you’re the highlight. Sometimes you’re the cautionary tale.”

Next voice—different tone.

Older guy, more serious.

“Ralph Dennison, AP. Jake, your team said you’ve been on a tight rehab schedule. Can you give us more detail on how recovery’s gone? Anything specific that’s been tough? Or unexpected?”

I nod.

“Yeah, rehab’s no joke. It’s been all core work and rotational mobility. Lotta breathing drills. At first, just getting out of bed without feeling like my insides were rearranged was the win.”

“Unexpected part?” I tilt my head.

“How much time you get to think when you’re sidelined. You miss the game, yeah—but you also sit with your own head way too long.”

Someone from the DEN raises a hand.

Confident.

Eager.

“Lisa Vance, DEN Network. The team announced you’ve been medically cleared. Can you confirm your return timeline? And is the July 19 game your official comeback?”

I glance at the league rep like I’m waiting for them to cut me off.

They don’t.

“Yeah. Cleared. Back in full swing starting this week—practice, team work, light game drills. Assuming nothing changes, I’m back in the lineup on the nineteenth.”

Lisa pushes, as they always do.

“And are you ready? Mentally, physically? Any hesitations stepping back into live play after something that intense?”

I don’t blink.

“I’m ready. Been ready. I’m not the guy who sits out longer than necessary. If they’d let me play taped together, I would’ve been back last week.”

Next question comes from a younger voice, more conversational.

“Miles Bishop, Nashville Insider. So… let’s talk about the last week. You show up at the ESPYs with someone who’s not just stunning, but according to our sources—also a corporate law clerk prepping for the Bar exam. Everyone wants to know—who is she? And what’s going on between you two?”

I lift my eyebrows.

That one came in hot.

I shift forward, forearms on the table.

“Her name is Tahlia Carter. And yeah—we’re dating. We’re not hiding it. She came with me to LA, she’s here with me now. She’s smart as hell, brutally focused, and the only reason I haven’t dismantled this recovery out of boredom.”

The room reacts.

I hear someone chuckle.

Someone else starts typing faster.

“She’s not interested in the spotlight. So if you’re waiting for her to start a TikTok or give an interview, it’s not happening. But she’s with me. Fully. And I’m proud as hell of that.”

Follow-up from the same reporter.

“How’s she handling the attention? And is she attending any of the All-Star events with you this weekend?”

I laugh.

“She tolerates attention. She’s more worried about passing the Bar than making headlines. But yeah—she’ll be at a few things. Not because she wants to be seen. Because I asked her to be there.”

I pause.

Then look right into the main camera.

“And counselor—if you’re watching this on the DEN feed while highlighting Civil Procedure for the fourth time this week… love you. You’ve got this.”

The reporters eat it up.

The league rep tries to close it, but one more reporter shouts from the side: “Are you back back? Or just doing damage control right now?”

I grin.

“I don’t do damage control. I do damage.”

And with that, the rep officially ends it.

Mics click off.

Cameras lower.

People still whispering, already planning the soundbite reels.

I stand, stretch.

No flinch.

No hesitation.

Because I meant it.

I’m back.

And she’s upstairs.

And that’s the only thing I care about.

The suite’s quiet when I get back—low light, soft music drifting from the speaker.

Some smooth instrumental thing Tahlia probably picked to help her focus.

I step inside, let the door click shut behind me, and reach down to untie my sneakers.

“Leave them on.” Her voice is low, sensual and with authority.

I glance up and she’s standing in the middle of the suite, one hand resting on the back of a dining chair, the other on her hip.

Her hair is down and falling just past her shoulders accentuating the emerald green matching bra and G-string that’s barely legal hugging every inch of her like temptation had a tailor.

“Tahlia.” Her name falls from my mouth dripping with curiosity.

She lifts her chin.

“Take a seat.”

I don’t protest.

Why would I?

I walk over, drop into the chair like I’ve just been sentenced to sit the fuck down.

She follows, her pace slow and smooth as she circles the chair before coming to a stop in front of me.

“Mr. Reynolds,” she begins, her voice steady tone professional, “is it true that earlier today, while under the lights of the national sports press conference, you made a public statement regarding your romantic relationship status?”

I swallow.

“Yes, counselor.”

She takes the collar of my Terrors T-shirt and lifts it over my head in one swoop.

Dropping it to the side, leaving me covered with only my compression wrap.

“And is it also true,” she continues, kneeling in front of me and now moving to my shoes, “that said statement included a direct expression of affection using the phrase…” She glances up, eyes dark.

“‘Love you, baby. You’ve got this.’”

“Yes. That’s also true.”

Shoes and socks come off next.

Bare feet planted on the marble-tiled floor in the suite.

She rises to her knees between mine and rests her hands on my thighs.

“And in this declaration, did you knowingly refer to the recipient of said affection by her professional alias?”

I grin.

“You mean ‘counselor’?”

Her fingers slip under the waistband of my khaki shorts and makes light work of the button and zipper.

“Strike that from the record,” she murmurs.

“It’s already exhibit A.” She presses play on the TV remote and my voice comes through the surround sound declaring my love for her.

She pulls down my shorts with unhurried precision.

I lift my hips, assisting her in her mission.

My cock is already hard—thick and pulsing through my boxers—and she hasn’t even touched me skin-to-skin yet.

She looks at the effect she has on me and doesn’t comment.

She doesn’t have to.

She straddles me instead—bare thighs against mine, her body warm, her breath steady—and settles right into my lap.

The scent of her rich shea butter and brown sugar cream she always uses hit me.

The soft, sweet, and sinful fragrance clings to her skin like an open dare.

And every time I catch it, all I can think about is tasting her.

Tongue first.

Hands next.

As if the smell itself is made to be licked off inch by inch.

I grip the sides of the chair to keep from grabbing her ass and flipping the script too soon.

She leans in, her voice now brushing my ear while her hair teases me.

“I also heard you’re cleared for baseball activities as of this week. Is that true?”

“Yeah.”

“And what about… other activities?” Her hips shift slightly, pressure over my dick sharp and perfect.

“Are you medically cleared for those?”

I grit my teeth.

“Yes.”

She kisses me with intent.

Tongue.

Teeth.

Hands curling into my hair, grinding against me like she knows I’ve been hard for her since the elevator and she’s ready to collect.

I break the kiss only long enough to say, “Fuck, Tahlia. You keep this up, and I’m not making it to the bed.”

She hums.

“This isn’t about you, Jake. You’re under direct examination.”

She climbs off me, slowly and with purpose.

Standing in front of me, she reaches behind her back, unhooks the bra, and lets it fall to the floor.

My eyes lock on her full and perfect breasts, that rise with every breath.

I want to mouth her name against one nipple while tugging the other between my fingers.

She reaches down and runs a single finger under the strap of her G-string.

“So, Mr. Reynolds, let’s recap. You’ve declared your love for me on national television. You’ve confirmed you’re medically cleared to return to the game and for sexual activity. And yet, you failed to notify your partner of these facts in advance. Is that also true?”

I drag my eyes up her body and meet her gaze.

“It was on a need-to-know basis, counselor.”

She nods, slow.

“There’s just one last question, Mr. Reynolds.”

She steps forward and leans down to meet me face-to-face.

“Do you, in fact, love me?”

I stand and take one slow step toward her, closing our distance.

Fist her hair at the base of her neck and pull her mouth to mine—hard, hungry, like the need’s been tearing through me since June third when she knocked on my door.

I kiss her like I’m trying to brand it in before finally breaking the kiss.

“Yeah,” I breathe.

“I fucking love you.”

“I think you’re about to prove me right.”

“About what?”

“That you’re obsessed with me.”

“I absolutely fucking am.”

I lift her in one clean motion.

Her legs wrap around me instantly.

I carry her into the bedroom and lay her on the bed like something sacred.

“Been thinking about this body since the second I met you.”

Taking her legs into my hands I kiss each of her feet one by one, like a prayer.

Move up to her ankles then her calves.

“This ass has ruined my ability to focus on anything else.” My hands slide under her thighs and lift her just enough to grip the curve of it.

She moans as I kiss my way up her thigh, close—so close—and then finally, I move her G-string aside.

I don’t rush.

I savor each and every inch of this beauty lying before me.

When I get to her pussy, I take my time—teasing, licking, stroking her with fingers and tongue until she’s gripping the sheets and saying my name in a voice I’ll never stop chasing.

“Jake—”

The way she says my name when I lick that first stroke—deep, flat, slow—almost makes me come right then.

She’s wet.

Slick.

Sweet.

And loud.

“Oh my God. Yes. Right there—don’t stop—” Her hips buck.

Her hands grip my hair.

“Fuck, Jake—yes, yes, yes?—”

She comes once and then again sweetly breaking apart under me.

And I don’t stop until I feel every pulse, every tremor.

Only then do I kiss my way up her stomach, her ribcage, her breasts.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I whisper.

“Do you know that?”

I suck one nipple into my mouth, then bite the other gently.

She arches like she wants to be swallowed whole, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want to try.

I’m hovering over her, her hands on my back, her mouth parted and swollen from every kiss.

“I want you,” she whispers.

“I’m already yours, Tahlia.”

I kiss her again—deeper this time.

The kind of kiss that says forever, even if we haven’t said the word yet.

I roll the condom on with care, steadying myself so I don’t lose it from my own damn touch.

I’m so fucking close I could come from the look in her eyes alone.

I take my time easing into her, and it’s better than I imagined.

“Fuck,” I breathe.

“You feel… you feel perfect.”

I keep the rhythm gentle at first, stretching out every second.

You don’t get a do-over on the first time with the person you love.

She meets every thrust like she’s been waiting just as long.

“Look at me,” I growl.

“I need to see you when you come.”

Her eyes snap open and she nods.

“I’m close—baby, I’m so close?—”

I slide one hand between us and stroke her clit—just once.

Her mouth drops open.

Her body goes tight.

“Fuck, I’m coming—Jake—oh my?—”

She clamps down around me, and I lose every ounce of control I had left.

Her name leaves me in a whisper.

I groan, burying my face in her neck, driving as deep as I can without falling apart.

I taste the sweat on her skin, murmuring her name like it’s the only thing keeping me together.

We stay like that for a minute.

Breathing.

Shaking.

Holding each other close.

I roll off her and pull her into my arms.

She lays her head on my chest, hair tangled across my collarbone, her fingers trailing lazy lines over my ribs like she’s tracing what’s left of me.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too.”

She’s already asleep—barely—but I can’t stop looking at her.

I’ve done this before.

Woken up next to women I couldn’t name, in places I didn’t remember walking into.

But this?

This is the first time I’ve ever wanted to stay still.

The first time it hasn’t felt empty afterward.

She makes me want things I’ve never let myself say out loud.

But I’m not running from it.

I kiss the top of her head and settle under the sheets with her right there beside me.