“Are you sure that’s all he wants?” London asked.
Taylor laughed. “My self-esteem is as healthy as the next chick’s, but even I don’t think I’m worth going through that much of a hassle.” She shrugged. “He said he needs a personal trainer and nutrition coach, so I’m going to take him at his word. I’m meeting him at a café in Round Rock tomorrow. If we decide to work together, I can at least use his fee to start paying down my debt.”
“Text us when you get there, when he shows up, when he leaves, and when you get back home,” London said.
“Sure, Mom. I’ll do just that,” Taylor said, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t be upset that people care about you, Taylor Marie.”
“Oh my God, now you do sound like my mother. And it’s Taylor Renee,” she said. “And, don’t worry, I promise to call you both as soon as I’m done speaking with the hot football player.”
“Is he hot?” London asked.
“Oh yeah,” Samiah said. “He’s too young for me, but so damn fine. You should Google him.”
“I’ll do that after my shift. I need to go,” London said as she shut the plastic lid on her salad container. “Oh, shit! I was supposed to call my stepmom. Forget it, she’ll just have to call my mom if she needs to bitch about my dad.”
“Wait,” Taylor said. “Your stepmother actually calls your dad’s ex-wife to complain about him?”
“All the time,” London said. “My mom loves to tell her that he’s her problem now.” She shook her head. “It’s a strange relationship, but surprisingly healthy.” She stood and threaded her arms through the sleeves of her white coat. “Talk to you guys later,” she said before clicking out of the call.
“I need to go too,” Samiah said. “But my offer still stands. If you need to borrow rent money, all it takes is a phone call. No sleeping in the car.”
“Thanks,” Taylor said, even though she knew she wouldn’t take her up on it.
After saying goodbye to Samiah, Taylor pulled up the browser on her phone. She did another web search for Jamar Dixon, clicking until she reached web hits that she had yet to read. She knew as much about football as she knew about botany or hieroglyphics, but based on the numerous sports blogs she read, Jamar had been one of the most promising running backs to make it to the NFL in a generation.
He’d also made it onto a number of Hottest Players in the NFL lists and Pinterest boards. She couldn’t refute that. The man was hot.
“Yeah, you’re fine and all,” Taylor said. “I just hope you’re legit.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Taylor hadn’t realized just how tense she was until her fingers relaxed their grip on the steering wheel. Seeing Jamar Dixon’s fancy SUV parked in one of the slots facing the café eased a smidgen of the worry that had taken hold since Melonie dropped that atomic bomb on her yesterday afternoon. Taylor wanted to play it cool with Jamar and not come across as too eager. But with the way she was shedding clients, she feared she would fall at the man’s feet and beg him to hire her the moment she saw him.
Please, don’t do that. You’re a professional.
A professional in desperate need of some business, but still a professional.
She waited for a Subaru Outback to back out of a spot near the entrance before guiding Nessie into the space. As she approached the entrance to the café, the door opened and Jamar walked out. Her brain stuttered at the sight of him.
She had a type. She liked her men lean but toned. Height didn’t matter, but she gravitated toward those who were a bit taller than her five-foot-four frame. Dreadlocks were a plus. Add in a nose ring and a couple of tattoos and her panties started to melt away.
Basically Lenny Kravitz. Just give her Lenny Kravitz.
Jamar Dixon was no Lenny, but maybe she should add sculpted shoulders and a goatee to the list of qualities on her DTF list.
Stop it! You want him as a client, not someone you’re down to fuck!
She gave the horny little devil on her shoulder a stern warning as she got out of her car.
“Hey there,” Taylor said.
“Hi,” he replied. “Glad you could make it.” He smiled as he held the door open for her.
“Are you hungry?” Jamar asked, pointing to the counter. “It’s my treat.”
Taylor ordered a jackfruit and black bean burrito, carrot juice, and a vegan brownie that would absolutely be her dinner tonight. Jamar added an orange juice to the order.
“You mind if we sit back there?” Jamar asked once they’d collected their food. “It’s a little more private.”
She looked around, wondering why it would make a difference in the virtually empty café. “Um, okay.”
As they made their way to the table, Taylor took the opportunity to size him up from the back. She decided she now had two types: Lenny Kravitz and any man with a firm butt. She was pretty sure if she flicked Jamar’s ass, she would break her finger.
Oh my God. Stop!
If she was going to work with him, she had to get her filthy mind off his world-class ass. Well, except when it was time to work his glutes. That was the only context in which she would think about his ass. It was a muscle. A very shapely, ridiculously firm muscle that was worthy of her attention and appreciation as a fitness professional.
Taylor tried not to attack her food as soon as they sat down, but once the aroma of the sautéed onions hit her senses, there was no holding her back. She’d been so caught up in binge-watching her missed episodes of Real Housewives of Atlanta that she’d skipped breakfast this morning.
“So what exactly do you have in mind?” Taylor asked as she finished her first mouthful.
“Full immersion,” he said. “I need to go all in with my workouts.” He glanced around as if he expected the CIA to come bursting through the doors at any moment. “I have a fitness goal that I’d like to reach by the end of December,” he said in a lowered voice. “I’ve been trying to do it on my own, but my results just won’t cut it. I need you to create a blueprint that will jump-start my fitness regimen.”
“What does your normal workout look like?”
Jamar filled her in on his typical day—a six- to eight-mile run, weights, more cardio. “I’m looking to up my training to between four and five hours a day, five days a week. The doctors said I only have a twenty percent chance of ever playing professionally again, but the way I see it, twenty percent is still twenty percent. I’ve spent too much time focusing on the eighty. I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to move forward.”
Taylor pushed her lunch to the side and brought her elbows up on the table. “So what’s your goal in terms of this blueprint you want me to create?”
“How much do you know about college football?” Jamar asked.
“About as much as I know about dairy farms. And I ain’t from Wisconsin.”
His lips tipped up in a half grin. “Actually, California has the most dairy farms.”
“Are we trying out for Jeopardy! or coming up with a workout regimen?”
“The second one,” he said. He brought his elbows up on the table as well and folded his hands. “There’s this weeklong scouting event in college football called the Combine. College players who hope to make it onto an NFL team are given a battery of tests, both mental and physical. It’s their chance to show NFL scouts what they’re made of. My goal is to be within the top five best times in each test that’s used at the Combine.”