Taylor clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.
“Okay, folks. It’s time to get that heart muscle pumping! Now, I understand that fitness levels vary, so you have a choice between burpees and the easier jump squats. I’ll show you.” She demonstrated both exercises, jumping with her hands stretched toward the sky, before quickly making it to the ground and executing a push-up.
“Do not push yourself to do the burpees if you don’t think you can handle them,” she cautioned. “This isn’t a competition. Work at your own fitness and comfort level.” She gave them an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up. “Ready? Burpees in three, two, one!”
She was relieved to see the Glam-Ma had opted for the jump squats. She sensed that the older woman had set her sights on the class’s lone male participant.
“Keep going,” Taylor called out, repeating the burpees again and again and again. “Your heart will thank you for it, but your arms and thighs may not be so happy in the morning.”
“Mine aren’t happy now!” one woman called.
“Remember to pay attention to your body,” Taylor instructed. “Don’t push yourself past anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
The Glam-Ma inched closer into Mr. Hot and Fit’s personal space, “mistakenly” bumping into him as he returned to a standing position.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” the woman said in a breathless Scarlett O’Hara–style pant.
“Are you okay?” Mr. Hot and Fit asked, his tone exceedingly patient as he took her by the elbow.
“I am now.”
Did she wink at him? Taylor didn’t know if she should intervene on his behalf or high-five the Glam-Ma for shooting her shot with a man half her age.
“Let’s kick this up a notch,” Taylor said, accelerating her pace just to see if Mr. Hot and Fit would follow. He did.
“If you want to . . . elevate your cardio even more . . . add some height to your jump,” she called.
Of course, Mr. Hot and Fit went for the high jump. He probably thought he could impress her with his stamina.
You think so, boo? Let’s see you do this!
“This is only for the most advanced,” Taylor said. “If you think you can handle it . . . put one hand behind your back . . . and give me an alternating single-arm burpee.”
Surprise, surprise. Mr. Hot and Fit was the only one who attempted—and perfectly executed—the most difficult workout move in her arsenal.
Well, damn. What would it take to break this guy?
Sweat poured down his face. His sculpted chest pushed against that expensive high-performance workout tee with each labored breath, but he withstood every challenge she threw his way.
Taylor was about to add on a few four-way lunges when she remembered that this was not a competition between herself and Mr. Hot and Fit. She had other class participants to think about.
Instead, she did one last burpee before instructing, “And rest.”
She derived some satisfaction from the fact that the class show-off looked to be on the verge of collapsing. But so was she. She’d pushed herself close to her own limits.
Not that she would allow him to see that.
Shaking out her arms and legs, Taylor pasted on a smile and said, “Do you feel those endorphins rushing through your bloodstream? Doesn’t it feel good?”
“My thighs are on fire.” This from the college student who had been studying when Taylor and her class of seven gathered for their workout. The girl had pushed her books aside and joined them, paying the ten-dollar fee through Cash App before they got started.
“But is it a good burn?” Taylor asked. “The key is to listen to your body and to keep things fun. The more you enjoy your workouts, the more likely you are to stick with it.”
She instructed everyone to sit and assume a butterfly pose; then she cued up her favorite cooldown playlist on her phone and guided the class through a series of stretches. She felt good vibes coming from this group. It would be awesome if she landed a few new regulars.
Once they completed the cooldown, she went over to her backpack and grabbed a handful of the overpriced business cards she’d bought when she’d first started Taylor’d Conditioning.
Pro tip: Just say no to embossing. Nobody cares.
“I offer both fitness and nutrition services,” she said as she passed out the cards. “I also plan to offer more group classes in the very near future.”
As in tomorrow, if she could get them to pay her another ten bucks each. She’d posted this pop-up class to her Facebook page out of sheer desperation. And just like that, her portion of the bill from last night’s dinner was covered.
She was unable to mask her smile as she handed cards to Mr. Hot and Fit and the Glam-Ma, who was now standing so close to him she could probably gauge his body temperature. Taylor had to hand it to the guy, he’d remained a gentleman throughout the older woman’s antics.
“Make sure to follow my Instagram account and YouTube channel,” Taylor added. “I provide free tips on both platforms.”
“Do you offer meal planning?” asked a redhead wearing an I KEEP PRESSING THE SPACE BAR, BUT I’M STILL ON EARTH T-shirt.
“Yes, I do! I offer both meal planning and meal prep—healthy, nutritious, and fresh meals. And I tailor them to your lifestyle. Whether you’re doing keto, paleo, low-carb, low-sodium, whatever you need.”
“I took my great-aunt to her diabetes specialist last week, and he recommended we meet with a registered dietician to work on a low-carb, low-sugar diet. Can you do that?”
“I can,” Taylor said. She could do everything a registered dietician could do. But she couldn’t lie, even if it was by omission. “Although, I’m not technically a registered dietician,” she admitted. “But I can absolutely help you come up with meal plans.”
“Oh.” The woman frowned. She hunched her shoulders in an apologetic shrug. “I would be more comfortable working with someone who’s certified. Thanks for the class, though. It was so much more fun than the exercise classes I’ve joined at the gym.”
“Yes, it was.” This from the Glam-Ma. “I travel too much to sign on with a long-term trainer, but I can handle getting sweaty every now and then.” She tossed Mr. Hot and Fit a brazen smile.
Taylor bit down on her lip in an effort to contain her giggle.
“Thanks. I’m happy you all enjoyed the class,” she replied, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.
You win some. You lose some.
And sometimes you lose a lot. But she wasn’t ready to give up. She never gave up.
She pulled the elastic ponytail holder from her hair and gathered the flyaway strands. She’d sweated it out again, which meant at least an hour of blow-drying and flat-ironing tonight. She needed her hair braided in the worst way, but the thought of spending two hundred dollars at the salon was laughable. Braids were a luxury she couldn’t afford at the moment.
As she watched the class disperse, she noticed Mr. Hot and Fit had finally managed to fend off his new crush. He was now off to the side, performing calf stretches.
Oh, c’mon. Could he be more transparent? He was clearly waiting for the others to leave so he could shoot his shot.
Taylor rolled her eyes and prepared for the inevitable corny pickup line. She only hoped he was smoother than the Craighole who’d joined her Muay Thai class last week. He’d approached after their workout, stretched the hem of his sweaty shirt toward her, and said, “Feel this. I wore it for you. It’s made of boyfriend material.”