Okay, so the old Taylor would have totally fallen for that line. But she’d changed in the last three months. It would take more than a cute, but still corny, pickup line to get her number these days.
Mr. Hot and Fit was about to learn that lesson.
He did a couple of side bends while the last two members of the class gathered their belongings. As soon as the women walked off, he made his way toward her.
“Thanks for coming out today,” Taylor said before he could speak.
“I knew when I signed up that I would get a good workout, but this was incredible. Even better than I anticipated,” he replied.
Oooh, he went with flattery. Nice move. It wouldn’t work, but she appreciated the tactic.
“I’m Jamar, by the way,” he continued.
“I’m happy you enjoyed the class, Jamar. Thanks again for participating.” Taylor slung the strap of her backpack over her shoulder and started for the parking lot where she’d parked Nessie.
He followed.
To his credit, he didn’t crowd her personal space, but she still didn’t want to deal with some kind of awful pickup attempt.
“Hey, umm . . . you give one-on-one instruction, right?” he asked.
Ah, here we go. The old Let’s have some one-on-one fun together line. Gah. She so was not up for this today.
This was the downside of having to advertise her business on social media. It was all but impossible to avoid the creeps who signed up for her classes with something other than getting in shape in mind. The problem had only gotten worse since that stupid video with Craig.
Taylor stopped and turned. “Look, I appreciate you taking the class and everything, but this is a really shitty way to hit on women. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a smoothie with my name on it.”
“Hey, wait.” He put his hands up. “That’s not what this is about. I want to hire you as my personal trainer.”
Of course he did. So did every other Craighole.
She fought not to roll her eyes. “Look, if you want to schedule a consultation, you should email me or send a message through—”
He pulled at the waistband of his shorts.
Taylor took a step back and braced her legs apart, preparing to deliver a swift kick to his groin. “What in the hell are you doing?”
“Huh? What? No, I’m only getting my phone.” He tugged it out of a pocket sewn into the waistband of the tights he wore underneath his shorts.
He swiped his fingers across the screen and then turned the phone toward her.
“I messaged you a couple of days ago through the Taylor’d Conditioning Facebook page, asking about a consultation meeting. See the message from YourFavorite23?” He tapped his chest. “That’s me.”
She had at least one hundred unread Facebook messages. Including his if he’d only sent it this week. She really needed to get better at checking her inbox.
“I’m sorry, but I’m behind on reading my Facebook messages.”
“I was impressed after watching your videos on YouTube, but after this”—he hitched a thumb back toward the soccer fields—“I have no doubt that you’re exactly the personal trainer I need.”
Taylor couldn’t deny that he’d seemed really into their workout. He didn’t behave like those jerks who only signed up for her classes because they wanted to hang out with an Internet celebrity.
Okay, so maybe celebrity was pushing it, but whatever.
She hefted her backpack higher on her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest.
“At the risk of stroking your ego, you don’t look like someone who needs a personal trainer. Based on how well you kept up in today’s class, I’d guess that you know your way around the gym pretty well.”
“I’m trying to take my fitness to the next level,” he continued. “Look, why don’t you let me buy you that post-workout smoothie? I can go into more detail about what I’m looking for in a fitness and nutrition coach, and you can decide if I’m someone you want to work with.” His smile, framed by his neatly trimmed goatee, hit Taylor in a way she was not expecting.
She gave him a slow and deliberate head-to-toe perusal, making sure he knew that she was sizing him up. How could she be sure he wasn’t a Craighole?
So what if he was? Did that mean she would turn down a free smoothie?
“I’ll meet you at the food truck park on Barton Springs Road,” she said.
His broad shoulders practically wilted with relief. He made a sweeping motion with his hand, indicating she should go ahead of him. “I’ll follow you there.”
CHAPTER THREE
Jamar Dixon divided his attention between his phone and the ancient Nissan Sentra parked across the street. He stood just to the right of an A-frame chalkboard that listed today’s smoothie selections, watching as Taylor Powell sat behind the wheel of her car and stared intently at her phone. Or maybe she was just pretending to be enthralled by the phone while debating whether to start her engine and take off.
Her initial skepticism had caught him off guard, but he could also see why she was suspicious of his motives. He tried not to buy into the notion that all professional athletes were superstitious, but when the Facebook post about that pop-up fitness class had appeared on his timeline this morning, he received it as a sign from the universe. Taylor’s no-nonsense training style, along with the right combination of cardio, calisthenics, and a targeted weight-lifting regimen, would get his body back into top physical shape. And if he had any hope of securing one of the coveted spots on an NFL roster next season, he would have to be in the best shape of his life.
Taylor Powell was the answer to his prayers. Now he just had to get her on his team.
Some of the tension in his shoulders receded when Taylor’s car door opened and she slipped from behind the wheel. Jamar tried not to stare as she waited on the other side of the street for two cars to pass, but damn! How could he not stare? After all, it wasn’t her exercise moves that had first drawn him to her.
A couple of months ago, one of his former teammates had forwarded a video of this guy being handed his ass by three women in a local downtown sushi restaurant. The first time he watched it, he’d zeroed in on Taylor.
He hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from her exquisite cheekbones or her full lips. He remembered the way those lips had curved upward in a triumphant grin and how she’d sauntered from the table, her head held high after tearing that Craig guy apart. She’d worn her hair in thick braids that day. He liked it now but kinda missed the braids.
Someone had posted a link to her workouts on YouTube in the comments section of the video from the sushi restaurant, and Jamar had immediately watched every one. From one athlete to another, he understood the discipline it took to reach that level of fitness. That was when he realized, if he had to choose between pursuing her as a potential hookup or his potential kick-ass fitness trainer, there was only one option.
Still, it was damn hard not to stare.
“Sorry about that,” she said as she approached the food truck. “I had an emergency call from a client.”
“Not a problem,” Jamar said. “It’s good to know you’re always on call.”
“Being on call costs extra.”
“Again, not a problem. As I was saying at the park—”