Read Defending Taylor (Hundred Oaks #7) for Free Online Page A

he’s wearing a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, navy pants, a silver watch, and chestnut-brown leather shoes. Definitely Ralph Lauren and Prada, but I doubt he knows that. His mother always picks out his clothes. Just like my mother does with Oliver.
    He checks me out too. I took off my shin guards and cleats earlier, but I’m still wearing the same tank top and short shorts I wore to practice.
    “I remember those socks,” he says, nodding at my smiley faces. “Those are your lucky ones, right?”
    “What are you doing here?” I ask.
    “He dropped by to see how we’re doing!” Mom says. Seeing Ezra is a treat for her. “I’ll go pour us some iced tea while you two get caught up.”
    “Thank you, ma’am,” Ezra says.
    He watches her leave the living room, then turns back to me with a slow smile. A smile that gets my lady parts all revved up. Stupid lady parts.
    I glance down at my white tank top as I take a seat on the couch. Yup, I’m covered in embarrassing sweat stains.
    Only once I’m seated does Ezra sit back down. I had forgotten how much I love the dark freckles on his tan nose and cheeks.
    He speaks first. “I’ve missed you.”
    I lift an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you’re in Franklin.”
    “I was surprised to see you too… I talked with Oliver,” he says softly with a knowing look in his eyes.
    “Great, so you heard everything.”
    “I’m so sorry, Tee.”
    I bite a hangnail dangling from my thumb. The pain distracts me from my thumping heart. Ezra has gotten cuter and cuter over the years. Now, I’d call him handsome. And buff. His tan forearms are corded with muscles. He’s a man.
    “How do you like Hundred Oaks?” he asks.
    “The soccer team isn’t that good,” I say, knowing he’ll understand, since he was the St. Andrew’s goalie for four years.
    “Are you okay?” he asks with genuine concern.
    I give him a curt nod.
    “Do you want to talk?”
    No thanks, I don’t care to gut myself. It took forever to get over Ezra. Only when I met Ben did I think there might be more than one guy for me, and look how that turned out.
    I internally repeat my mantra. No. More. Boys.
    I decide to go on the offensive. “I texted Oliver this morning. He didn’t know you’re here.”
    “He knows now.”
    “Why are you here?”
    He turns to stare out the window into our garden. The sun is beginning to set. “Would you want to go out tomorrow night?”
    He’s asking me to do something on a Friday night ? Everybody knows that’s date night. Is he asking me on a date? “To do what?”
    “To talk. Maybe over dinner?”
    I don’t even bother asking if he means as friends or more. It doesn’t matter. I will not put myself in a situation where a guy could hurt me again.
    I stand up from the couch. “I’m sorry, Ez. I can’t.”
    He hops to his feet in gentleman mode. “No dinner. Got it.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Maybe I could get us into the Cumberland Science Museum after closing? We’d have the whole place to ourselves.”
    My eyes go wide. Of course he’d have a connection. I bet his family knows the curator or something.
    He’s good. Real good. He knows exactly how to entice me. Museums. Set me loose in one, and I could stay for weeks, reading all the little placards describing each exhibit. When Mom finally convinced Dad to visit Europe, I went to the National Gallery in Vienna. I couldn’t stop staring at the Venus of Willendorf, a tiny statue of a voluptuous woman carved twenty-five thousand years ago, in a time when no one was voluptuous, when humans were cold and hungry. I wanted to know more about who carved that woman. I loved thinking about how much the world had changed since then. My parents finally had to drag me away before we missed our train to Prague. Museums are my Kryptonite.
    Still, I say “no thanks” to Ezra’s invite.
    “If you’re grounded, I could talk to your mom—”
    “No, now’s just not a good time. I need to