The Dating Playbook

by Farrah Rochon

  Yet…

  If her friends were willing to play the part of sounding board, why not go ahead and let them? She was tired of shouldering all of this on her own.

  “Taylor?” Samiah said.

  “I’m broke,” she admitted. “That’s it in a nutshell. I made a bunch of dumb moves while trying to find new clients, and now I can’t pay my rent.”

  “What kind of dumb moves?” Samiah asked.

  “And exactly how broke are you?” London added.

  After weighing each question, she determined Samiah’s was the least demoralizing of the two. Addressing that one first, Taylor told them about the discount coupon site she’d signed up for in an attempt to drum up business for Taylor’d Conditioning.

  “I use those websites all the time,” London said. “It’s how I discovered my favorite bakery.”

  “Yeah, well, those deals work just fine for bakeries because people like cupcakes and scones. They’re more likely to become repeat customers. Most of the people who bought my coupon were the same people who join a gym on New Year’s Day and stop going by the second week of January.”

  “Guilty,” Samiah said with a shrug.

  “I’d hoped to keep at least a few on as clients.” She shook her head. “Instead, I’ve been working my ass off for seventy-five percent less than my normal fee, and I haven’t been able to make a dent in the mountain of debt I’ve been sitting on.”

  “I’ll ask again, how broke are you?” London said.

  “If I say it out loud, I’m going to throw up.”

  “Come on, Taylor,” Samiah said. “I have some money put away. I can make you a loan.”

  “No. No way.” She shook her head. “I knew you would say that. I am not borrowing money from you. From either of you.”

  “I didn’t offer any,” London said. She put both hands up. “Not that I wouldn’t. I just have to make my student loan payment first.”

  “It doesn’t matter, because there will be no loans,” Taylor said. “Seriously, who goes around offering to loan someone they met just a few months ago twenty thousand dollars?”

  She clamped a hand over her mouth. Shit.

  “Um, wow,” London said. “Twenty thousand, huh?”

  “I’m not sure I can send that much through Apple Pay,” Samiah said, not missing a beat. “But maybe I can send half through Apple and the other half through Cash App? I’ll do that once we end the call.”

  “Stop it! I’m not taking any more money from you!” She still owed Samiah the eighty-dollar booking fee from her stint in the city jail. Taylor dropped her head back and sighed up at her apartment’s water-stained ceiling. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I got myself into this mess. I’ll figure a way out of it.”

  “Will you figure it out before or after you get a crick in your neck from sleeping in your car?”

  “If you angle your head just right, you won’t get a crick in your neck,” she retorted.

  “This isn’t funny, Taylor,” Samiah warned.

  Who was she telling?

  “I know,” Taylor said. “But I think I’ve found a solution. Maybe.” She paused for a moment before asking, “Have either of you ever heard of Jamar Dixon?”

  “The football player?” Samiah asked.

  Taylor sat up straight. “Wait, you know about him? How? You don’t even watch football.”

  “Actually, I do watch when Daniel is here on a Sunday afternoon, but being from Houston means I can’t escape high school football even if I tried. Jamar Dixon went to Katy High. He was one of the top recruits in the country his senior year. He went pro, but I can’t remember which team.”

  “The Bears,” Taylor provided. “He was injured during his rookie season. Apparently he did a lot of rehab after surgery, but I guess the Bears thought he was still too much of a liability to keep him.”

  “How do you know all of this about him?” Samiah asked.

  “He signed up for the boot camp workout I held in Zilker Park earlier today. He wants to hire me to be his personal trainer.”

  “Wow,” Samiah said. “Fancy.”

  “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.”

  “What kind of tests?”

  “Things like the forty-yard dash, bench press, vertical jump. There’s a long list of evaluations and each will require me to be in top form. I can run the forty in seven-point-four-nine seconds, but I need to shave at least one-point-five seconds off that number if I want to have a chance.”

  “That’s insane,” Taylor said.

  He shrugged. “Welcome to the NFL.”

  Taylor sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. She studied him, taking in the determined set to his strong jaw. He was serious about this.

  “I’ll be honest,” she said. “I don’t get why you would hire someone you saw in a YouTube video. There are trainers out there who would kill for the opportunity to work with you.”

  “Are you saying you’re not one of those trainers?”

  “I’m not saying that at all. I’m just trying to understand your motives here. Why me?”

  “I already told you. I like your training style. That hardcore, in-your-face approach is what I need to kick me into high gear.”

  The more he explained, the more she was convinced that he really was legit.

  Taylor decided to be up front about her lack of a degree. The one thing she did not need right now was to get excited about this job and then have him back out of the deal because she hadn’t graduated from some fancy university.

  “Before we go any further, you need to know that I’m not a certified dietician,” she said. “Actually, I don’t even have a degree.”

  He regarded her with a quizzical frown. “So you are trying to talk me out of hiring you?”

  “No! No, I just don’t want there to be any confusion here.” She picked up a potato chip and tossed it back into the basket. “Not too long ago, I was promised a position—one that I am one hundred percent qualified for, I might add. But when the people who wanted to hire me learned that I didn’t go to college, they backed out of it.”

  His perfectly shaped lips pressed into a thin line as he studied her.

  Taylor braced herself for the blow she knew was coming. She was pissed she hadn’t gotten a second brownie out of him before the inevitable end of their nonexistent partnership.

  “Is that you in those videos on YouTube?” Jamar finally asked.

  “Yes,” she answered slowly.

  “And are you the trainer all those Yelp reviewers were raving about?”

  She nodded.

  He shrugged. “Then why do I care if you have a college degree? Bill Gates didn’t have a college degree when he started Microsoft.”

  She’d been so busy mentally preparing herself for disappointment that it took a moment for his words to register. He still wanted to hire her?

  Taylor tried to contain the squeal threatening to explode from her mouth. Jamar Dixon would never understand the gift he’d given her with those words. Growing up surrounded by people who collected degrees the way some people collected baseball cards, her refusal to go to college had only added to her odd-duck status in the Powell household.

  Having Jamar as a client could turn her entire business around. His endorsement could lead to legions of his fans clamoring to work with the fitness consultant who put their beloved favorite football player back in the game.

  “I realize that what I’m asking you to do is pretty intense,” he continued. “I’ll pay you fifteen thousand dollars if you’ll work exclusively with me for the next two months.”

  Thank God she hadn’t chosen that moment to take a sip of her carrot juice, because it would be all over the table right now.

  “I looked up the average charge for personal trainers,” Jamar continued, as if he hadn’t just blown her freaking mind. “According to most of the websites I researched, trainers charge between forty and seventy dollars per hour session. I figure you average around five clients a day, so that would be three hundred fifty dollars per day. Am I right?”

  “Umm…” was all she managed. Her brain was still stuck on fifteen thousand dollars.

  “Do you see more than five clients a day?”

  “I…” She shook her head. This was banana pants.

  “I should mention my one caveat,” he said. “And, before you ask, it’s something I’m not willing to compromise on.”

  Unease trickled down her spine as she took in his intent, resolute stare.

  “What is it?” Taylor asked.

  “No one can know we’re working together.”

  CH
APTER SIX

  As he sat across from her, Jamar tried to come up with the most accurate word to describe the look on Taylor Powell’s face. Horrified? Maybe some confusion. Possibly a bit of indignation.

  “What do you mean no one can know I’m working with you?” she blurted.

  Definitely indignation.

  “If we’re going to work together, we have to keep it under wraps.”

  “But…but why?”

  As if on cue, an older woman in a Texas Longhorns sweatshirt walked up to their table and asked, “Excuse me, but aren’t you Diesel Dixon?”

  Jamar nodded and pasted on a good-natured smile. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “I knew it! I told Barry, ‘That’s Diesel.’” She pointed to the man sitting a couple of tables over, and then she went on for a solid five minutes, regaling them with stories of legendary home games she’d witnessed and a list of Longhorns greats she’d watched play over her thirty years as a season ticket holder.

  “I would put you in the same category as Ricky Williams and Cedric Benson,” she said. “Some of the best running backs to ever wear the burnt orange and white.”

  “That’s fine company to be in,” Jamar said. “Thank you for stopping by—”

  “You should think about coaching for them now that you have that busted knee,” she said. “The Longhorns would be lucky to have you.”

  “I’ll tell that to Coach Green when I visit the team in a couple of days,” he said.

  Jamar prayed she’d walk away. If he had to maintain this smile a second longer, his face would break.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to your meal,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “I just had to come over when I saw it was you.”

  “Thanks for stopping by,” he said again, his shoulders slumping in relief when she finally returned to her table. He looked at Taylor and said, “That’s why I don’t want anyone to know we’re working together.”

  Her brows scrunched in genuine incredulity. “So you have fans who recognize you. It still doesn’t explain why no one can know we’re working together. People work with personal trainers all the time.”