19. Kate
Chapter Nineteen
Kate
Waking up in Jordan Taylor’s bed almost every day this week hadn’t exactly been the plan. Then again, neither had tripping headfirst into whatever this was and enjoying it far more than I should have.
His bare chest rose and fell against my back, his arm slung lazily around my waist. I didn’t think I’d ever get sick of the warmth of his body curled around mine, holding me there.
His breath stirred the back of my neck, and when I shifted slightly, I felt the soft press of his mouth against my shoulder.
His hand drifted lower, skimming my inner thigh, fingertips tracing sensitive skin that sent sparks dancing through my hips.
“Jordan?” I murmured, eyes still closed.
“Mhm?” His voice was rough and laden with sleep.
“You’re making me wet and I haven’t even opened my eyes yet,” I said, teasing.
His laugh rumbled warmly against my neck. “I’ll add that to my list of talents.”
“Well,” I breathed, smiling into the pillow, “last night was…aggressive.”
He huffed a laugh against my skin. “You loved it.”
“You ripped my dress,” I said, exasperated.
“I’ll buy you a new one.” He laughed.
He had a later start this morning, which was a relief considering I’d been getting up at 6:00 a.m. on my bloody week off for a man I’d only just met.
What in the crimes against feminism was that about?
I turned toward him, and there he was, eyes soft, hair a glorious, unruly mess, that lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. God help me.
“You’re smiling,” I said, stretching like a cat beneath the sheets.
He brushed a thumb along my jaw. “You’re here. What’s not to smile about?”
He had no idea what he was doing to me. I felt a pang in my ribs, somewhere just behind my heart. He pulled me into a kiss that was slow, drawn-out, and familiar now in a way that felt far too dangerous. Then I shoved his shoulder lightly. “Go make coffee before I change my mind about liking you.”
He groaned as he rolled out of bed, dramatically muttering something about slave labour, and left me cocooned in the sheets like that stupid grin hadn’t just undone me.
A few minutes later, I padded out to the kitchen wearing nothing but his T-shirt. It drowned me, skimming the tops of my thighs, and I liked the way his eyes flicked up and down my entire body when I wandered in.
“You’re dangerously cute right now,” he muttered, handing me my mug.
“Oh, then my plan is working,” I said, taking a long sip. “Wimbledon final tomorrow, and I’m still keeping you coming back for more.”
He chuckled, leaning back against the counter, bare chest on display like he hadn’t a clue what he was doing to me. The urge I had to run my tongue down his abs was borderline criminal. We stood side by side, elbows brushing, the morning light catching the gold in his skin.
“I’m proud of you, you know,” I said after a moment, nudging his elbow. “Which is mad, considering I only met you five days ago.” I added, shaking my head with a smile.
He glanced sideways at me, his grin turning gentle. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you yesterday. Even out there. Between points. Every time I looked up, I only saw you.”
My throat tightened. This was overwhelming.
Not because I didn’t feel the same, but because of how fast it was hurtling toward me.
I could feel myself being pulled under, fast, and it scared me a little.
It scared me how much I wanted it. I looked away, blinked it back, intending to deflect. Because that’s what I did.
Before I could say anything else, his phone buzzed on the counter. I could see the FaceTime call lit up with Mum. Without hesitation, he answered.
“Mum,” he said, his voice lighting up instantly. “Hey.”
And just like that, I watched him become someone’s son.
His shoulders dropped. His tone softened. He leaned against the counter like he was eighteen again, not a grown man about to play the biggest match of his life. Her voice came through bright and warm, teasing him, checking in, promising to watch the final no matter the hour back home.
And I just…watched.
I didn’t say a word. Just sat there in his T-shirt, hands wrapped around my mug, with this quiet flurry in my chest. Because of course, he was like this.
Of course he loved openly, easily. You could hear it in her voice: pride, affection, a calm certainty that had nothing to do with tennis. Just who he was.
And then I heard it.
“So, who’s this girl I’ve seen in the papers then, Jord? Mystery blonde in the stands?”
It felt like my heart stopped, the colour draining from my cheeks.
Oh God.
I’d tried to pretend it wasn’t a thing. Gwen had texted me a screenshot that morning. A grainy tabloid photo of me cheering in the players’ box. Jordan Taylor’s mystery blonde—courtside kiss sparks rumours, the caption read.
Jordan didn’t even blink. He just turned to me with a grin full of mischief.
“You mean this girl?” he asked, and before I could stop him, he tilted the camera and pulled me in under his arm.
“Jordan!” I hissed, my cheeks turning scarlet. But it was too late.
“Hi,” I said awkwardly to the screen, cheeks burning. “Sorry…I wasn’t expecting that.”
His mum beamed. “Oh, love, don’t worry. What a lovely surprise! Jordan, she’s far too pretty to be keeping from your old mum.”
He grinned even wider. “Yeah, sorry, Mum…this is Kate.”
“Well, Kate,” she said brightly, “it’s lovely to meet you, sweetheart. You must be the one keeping him in check, getting him out of his own head.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that…” I blushed.
I think he could sense I was a little overwhelmed, because he ended the call quickly, promising to ring her again tomorrow.
“Jordan,” I whispered, my cheeks still burning as he set his phone down, looking far too pleased with himself.
I stared at him in disbelief. “Did I seriously just meet your mother for the first time in your T-shirt with no makeup on?”
He raked his gaze down me slowly, clearly enjoying every second. “You look gorgeous.”
“Jordan,” I said for the third time, half exasperated, half giddy.
“Couldn’t help it,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around my waist. “You looked too damn cute stood there, drinking my coffee like you lived here.”
My stomach flipped. He didn’t even realise how that landed. Like a brick through a window. As if he had just said something I’d been too scared to even think.
“I…don’t,” I said, my cheeks flaming.
“Not yet,” he replied far too easily, pressing a kiss to the top of my head before I could fall apart.
I didn’t know what to do with that. Not yet. So I held my coffee tighter and tried not to smile too hard despite the urge.
By the time Jordan left for the club, it was nearly half past nine. He kissed me goodbye like we’d been doing this for years, hand at my jaw, lips lingering like he didn’t want to go, and then he was gone, and the flat felt too quiet without him.
I wandered around, tidying things that didn’t need tidying. Rewashed a mug. Opened a window. Watched the soft July haze settle across the London skyline. My heart was still trying to catch up with the morning.
I’d woken up in his bed.
I’d met his mother.
I’d worn his T-shirt.
I’d heard the way she spoke to him—with warmth, pride, love that had nothing to do with headlines or trophies. Just him. Just Jordan. And it ached a little. I didn’t think I’d ever had that. Not really.
It still felt strange being in his flat alone all day. I might have been falling for him at warp speed, but I wasn’t daft. I didn’t want anyone to think I’d clawed my way into his life and set up camp.
I was about to get dressed and head back to Gwen’s when my phone buzzed.
Jordan:
Meet me down at the training court at 2. I need a favour. Don’t worry, it’s all good. J x
I pulled on my jeans that I’d packed in my overnight bag, stole a hoodie, tied my hair back, and told myself to get a grip. I wasn’t here to fall in love.
Last night, Jordan mentioned he’d spoken to Chris about me, which immediately made my heart skip a beat.
He was actually talking about me to others.
Someone was actually being nice about me.
My ex had spent years quietly resenting my successes, like any pride in me somehow threatened his own.
He never talked about me like that. Never really bothered to take much of an interest in me after we got married. That should’ve been my first red flag.
This…this was different. And I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. But I knew one thing:
Jordan had asked me to meet him.
And Chris wanted to meet me, too.