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—”
“Nah-uh.” She cut him off. “Smoothie first, then we talk.” She walked up to the window and tapped on it before the person inside had a chance to slide it open. “Hi, can I get the super fruit blend with extra acai berries and two scoops of whey? And add a banana to it.” She turned to Jamar. “You want something?”
Jamar shook his head and gestured for the guy to go ahead with her smoothie.
She turned to him and crossed her arms over her chest, giving him another of those head-to-toe looks that made Jamar want to flex his abs and puff out his chest.
“So how exactly did I get on your radar?” she asked.
Before he could answer, the window on the food truck opened and the guy called out, “Super fruit smoothie with extra acai, whey, and a banana.”
As Jamar handed the smoothie truck operator a twenty, he saw the guy’s eyes light up. He braced himself for what he knew would follow.
“Hey, you’re Diesel Dixon, right?” The guy angled his lanky frame out the window, extending his hand to Jamar’s. “How’s it going, man? Damn, I miss seeing you in burnt orange and white.”
“Yeah, I miss those days too,” Jamar said, because that’s what he was expected to say in situations like this. He waved the guy off when he tried to hand him change from the twenty.
“Thanks, Diesel,” the guy said before sliding the window closed.
Taylor looked from him to the truck and then back again. She pointed at the truck. “Okay, what was that all about? Who’s Diesel?”
“I’ll explain everything after you agree to work with me,” Jamar said.
She held up a hand. “Pump the brakes, Twenty-Three. If I decide to work with you.”
Jamar lowered his voice, even though the food truck park was relatively empty. “Look, Taylor, it’s obvious you don’t know who I am.”
“Am I supposed to know who you are, Twenty-Three? Or is it Diesel?”
“It’s Jamar.”
“Ah, so we’re still going with Jamar?”
He hitched his chin toward her phone. “Why don’t you Google Jamar Dixon?”
With her bullshit meter obviously on full blast, Taylor started typing with one thumb. Jamar leaned forward to get a better look at her screen. He noticed the way her forehead scrunched when the search results popped up.
“ ‘Starting running back for the Texas Longhorns for three years,’ ” she read. “ ‘First-round draft pick of the Chicago Bears.’ ”
“You forgot the most important one—the Katy High School Tigers.”
She rolled her eyes. “I will never understand this weird relationship Texas has with high school football.”
“It’s a religion,” he said with a laugh, feeling even better about his chances. She was joking with him. That had to be a good thing.
“Here’s what I don’t get.” She tipped her head to the side, her brow creasing with a perplexed frown. “If you’re Mr. Hot Shot Football Star, why do you need me? The NFL has some of the top trainers in the world. I didn’t even grow up in the States and I know being a player for the Chicago Bears is a huge deal.”
“Former player. And that’s where you come in,” Jamar said. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were still relatively alone. In a lowered voice, he said, “I want to work with someone who isn’t attached to the League, and the training I need requires someone who knows what they’re doing. It’s one thing to be in shape, but it’s entirely different to be in the kind of shape it takes to play professional football.”
“Is that your goal?”
He peered over his shoulder again before giving her a quick nod.
“And you think I can get you ready for the football field?” Taylor asked. “I mean, not that I can’t. I know that I can, but what makes you so sure?”
“Because your teaching style is exactly what I need, someone who will push me and won’t be afraid to call me out when I start to complain.”
“A drill sergeant,” she said.
Jamar nodded. “A drill sergeant.”
A hint of amusement drew up one corner of her mouth and Jamar was struck again by how damn lovely she was. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing she wasn’t so good at her job.
But she was. She’d proven that the moment she added one-armed push-ups to those burpees. His physical attraction to Taylor Powell would have to take a back seat.
Lizzo’s “Good As Hell” blasted from her phone.
She looked at the screen. “Oh, shit. Can you hold this?” She shoved her smoothie at him and used both hands to peck at the phone. “Sorry, one of my regulars needs to move up our training session.” She slipped her phone into a side pocket on her camouflage-print workout leggings and lifted her smoothie from his fingers. “I need to go.”
“What about what we just discussed? Are you willing to take me on as a client?”
“Are you for real?” she asked. “I mean, for real for real?”
“Do you know how many gyms I passed on my way down here, just to take your class?” he said. “I promise, I’m for real.”
“All the way down from where?”
“Georgetown.”
She grimaced. “Okay, yeah, I wouldn’t drive all the way out from Georgetown just to hit on someone.” She gave him another of those quick perusals. “You don’t look that desperate.”
“For a date? No. For a trainer I believe in? Yes, I’m desperate.”
“Be careful there, Twenty-Three. My rate is based on a sliding scale. The more desperate you are, the more that price slides upward,” she said in a teasing voice. She pulled her phone from her pocket and looked down at it again. “I really have to go. Can we talk about this another day?”
“Tomorrow?” he asked. “I need to start training as soon as possible. Should we meet here? I can buy you another smoothie.”
“You said you’re up in Georgetown, right?” she asked. Jamar nodded. “I’ve been meaning to make an IKEA run. How about I meet you halfway? There’s a Starbucks at the outlet mall in Round Rock that’s near IKEA. Does that work for you?”
If he wrote up a list of places where he would run into the most Texas Longhorns fans, Texas Memorial Stadium would be at the top. A Starbucks near an outlet mall would be second.
“Would you mind if we met someplace else? There’s a little café not too far from the outlet mall.” He held up the business card she’d handed him back at Zilker Park. “Is this a good number to text you with the name and directions to the café?”
She nodded, but then her eyes narrowed once more. “You’d better be legit, Twenty-Three. I don’t want you wasting my time.”
“I won’t,” he said. “I don’t have any time to waste, yours or mine.”
He walked back to the smoothie truck and rapped on the window. He handed the guy a ten this time. “She’ll take another smoothie to go.” He turned back to Taylor. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”