“Thank you,” Taylor said. She walked past him on the way to the refrigerator and caught a familiar whiff of spicy orange and sandalwood. She didn’t know if it was his cologne or body wash, but it made her nipples pebble into sharp, painful points. She’d smelled that scent all night, it invaded her sleep, seeping into her dreams.
“You don’t have your crutches,” Jamar remarked with a hint of surprise.
“My ankle is doing much better,” she said as she grabbed a bottle of her favorite lemon and ginger kombucha. The fact that he’d stocked the fridge for her made her heart skip twice.
“Are you sure you’re not pushing yourself to do more than you should?”
“I won’t be running marathons anytime soon, but I think I can manage to get around on my own. I promise I’ll grab the crutches if I feel the slightest twinge. I’m not a complete fool.”
Taylor was almost certain she saw him flinch at her words. Before she could question it, he said, “I told Micah about what we’ve been doing.”
Her mouth dropped open. “About what we did in the pool house?”
“About you training me,” he clarified.
“Oh,” Taylor said. “Oh, of course.” The meaning of his words sank in. “Oh,” she said again. “So does this mean you’re ready to make your intentions to return to the NFL public?”
He vigorously shook his head. “Not yet.” He took a sip of coffee, then set the mug on the counter beside him. Shoving his other free hand into his pocket, he hunched his shoulders and continued. “I just thought it was time to bring Micah into the fold. It will be his job to set up the workout for teams when I’m ready to showcase my skills.”
“Okay. That sounds good.” She wrapped her hand around the bottle cap, but didn’t twist it open. She just continued to stand there like Bambi caught in headlights.
After several uncomfortable moments ticked by, Jamar asked, “So, about what we did in the pool house. Are we just not going to talk about it?”
She uncapped the kombucha and took a much too generous sip. The spicy, fermented drink hit her throat like liquid fire. Jamar came over and patted her back.
She put a hand up. “I’m okay.” She coughed again, then finally said, “Um, not talking about it was kinda my plan.”
He dropped his head back and groaned up at the ceiling.
“Taylor, come on. We can’t just pretend nothing happened.”
“Why not? We’re great at pretending. It’s sorta our thing.”
“I’m not pretending,” he said. “Not this time. Not anymore.” His intense stare burned a hole straight through her. “How am I supposed to act like nothing happened when all I can think about is how it felt to be inside of you yesterday?”
Goodness. Why didn’t he just light a match directly to her Fruit of the Looms?
“Don’t say things like that,” Taylor pleaded.
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Because sex wasn’t part of the playbook.”
“Forget the playbook!” He ran both hands down his face, then up and around his head. “Are you going to stand there and tell me you’ve been faking this the entire time? Has it all been just an act?”
A simple yes would put an end to his interrogation. She could put this subject to bed right here, right now. But despite this ruse they’d been engaged in for the past month, lying never came easy to her.
“It doesn’t matter one way or the other,” Taylor insisted. “We’ve gone over all of the reasons why this can’t be anything more than what it is.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Don’t do this,” she all but begged.
“No.” He closed the distance between them. “I’m not letting you off the hook this time. I want you to be honest with me. Am I the only one who’s feeling this?”
She closed her eyes. “Jamar.”
“Tell me, Taylor. Tell me.”
It was the fierce plea in his voice that wouldn’t allow her to deny him a second longer.
“No,” Taylor said. Her throat ached as she pushed out the word, a hoarse whisper heavy with implication.
She caught him by the forearms and gently but firmly pushed him back a few inches.
“I need to explain why this is so hard for me.” She opened her eyes and stared into his. “And don’t you judge me when I do.”
“When have I ever judged you? Other than for the vegetables you try to feed me.”
She managed to chuckle despite the tightness pulling at her throat.
“I know we’re technically not trainer and client anymore. And, honestly, the status of our working relationship shouldn’t even matter after weeks of the public believing we’re a couple. But the truth does still matter to me.”
She released another fortifying breath before continuing.
“Back when I was still in North Carolina, I moved from Fayetteville to Charlotte because I figured being in a larger city would help me to grow my business. It did. I picked up several regular clients very soon after I started Taylor’d Conditioning.” She cleared her throat. “One of those clients was pretty damn fine. Like, Michael B. Jordan fine.”
“That doesn’t impress me,” he deadpanned.
“Well, it impressed the hell out of me.” She laughed. But then she sobered. “He soon became more than just the hot guy I was training. I hadn’t considered the implications of sleeping with a client. It didn’t seem like a big deal. But it changed everything. The moment we slept together, it was as if something switched, and I went from being his paid fitness coach to the chick he called when he needed a workout, either in bed or at the gym.
“When he hadn’t paid me after a couple of weeks, I sent him an invoice. He actually called me up and laughed over the phone. He had the nerve to say he didn’t think I would want him to pay me because it might make me feel like a prostitute.”
“Motherfucker.” His harsh whisper sliced through the air like a blade.
“That’s not all,” Taylor said with a humorless snort. “The worst part is that several of his friends tried to hire me as their trainer, because that asshole told them that I would probably sleep with them too.”
“Motherfucker. Please tell me you beat the shit out of him, Taylor. Lie to me if you have to.”
“I wish I could,” she said. “I was so embarrassed. And I was horrified at the idea that I had developed a reputation for sleeping with my clients. What happened with Chad was one of the reasons I moved to Austin. I needed a clean start.”
“Of course his name was fucking Chad,” Jamar spat. “Taylor, you have to know I would never do anything to make you feel—”
“I know,” she said, not even giving him a chance to finish. “I would never compare you to Chad, but letting go of those feelings? Opening myself up to that again? It’s not easy, Jamar.”
“Will you ever be able to do it?” he asked. “The fact is you’re not my trainer anymore. There’s nothing preventing us from turning this pretend relationship into the real thing.”
He was right. It scared her in so many ways, but she wanted this to be real just as badly as he did.
Taylor had tried so hard to ignore what she was feeling, but why deny it any longer? What was standing in their way, other than her refusal to acknowledge that she was falling for him?
Her heart thudded in her chest as the fragile control she had over her ability to resist him crumbled at her feet.
“Okay,” Taylor said. She looked up at him and nodded. “Okay.”
“What does that mean?”
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “It means that even though the couch in that pool house is pretty comfortable, I think your bed would be better.”
His forehead fell against hers as a shuddering breath escaped his lips. “We can go there now.”
“We cannot,” she said with a laugh. “You need to hit the gym.”
“You’re not my trainer. You can’t boss me around anymore.”
She quirked a brow, waiting for him to
catch up. She recognized the moment he did.
He grimaced. “You’re my girlfriend.”
“Which means I can boss you around whenever I want to.” She reached down and slapped him on his perfect ass. “Get that workout done. Then you can take me on our first real date.”
He pressed his lips to hers in a quick, fierce kiss, then left her standing in the kitchen. Taylor slumped against the marble countertop, a charged buzz thrumming through her veins.
“I guess it’s time to update that dating playbook.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Why did I agree to let you pick the place for our first real date? Remind me never to do that again.”
Jamar did his best to maintain a straight face as he asked, “You don’t like golf?”
Taylor cut her eyes at him as she picked up a driver and walked to the platform overlooking the driving range. Colorful circles of various sizes dotted the greens, each signifying a target for players to score points.
He’d specifically chosen this place with the hopes that she had never picked up a golf club in her life. Ever since that first pop-up workout at Zilker Park, he and Taylor had been engaged in a friendly competition, and he was just enough of an asshole to admit that he finally wanted to beat his girlfriend at something.
His girlfriend.
Damn, he liked the sound of that.
Sitting at the pub-style table in their private bay, Jamar draped an elbow over the back of the barstool and looked on as Taylor positioned her feet, using the yellow footprints on the artificial green turf as guides. She moved up a couple of inches, then back a couple of inches. She shifted her hands on the club’s grip, then shifted them back into the previous position.
He rubbed the spot between his eyes. They would be here forever.
Finally, she swung the driver back and smacked the golf ball. It sputtered off the tee and took a nosedive off the platform.
“All that dancing around and that’s what you give me?” Jamar asked. “I see why you don’t like golf. Your swing is pathetic. Stay right there.”
He hopped off the barstool and rounded the table, lifting a lob wedge from the collection of clubs on his way to the platform.
“First of all, you’re using the wrong club.” He pointed to the LCD screen, which displayed the targets for their current game. “You’re aiming for yellow. It’s the shortest target on the entire green, so you want to hit with a lighter club. And when you do hit, use a softer touch.”
He handed her the wedge, then stood behind her. Wrapping his arms around her front, he moved her hands into position on the grip.
She looked over her shoulder. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?”
“Teaching you to play golf?”
“Sure you are,” she said. She wiggled her hips, her ass brushing against his crotch.
“You’re trying to get us in trouble,” Jamar whispered in her ear.
“We’re supposed to play the part of the happy couple, remember?”
“We’re no longer playing a part. Remember?”
“Oh yeah.” She tilted her head to the side. “For some reason it doesn’t feel all that different. What does that say about us?”
“That neither of us are very good actors,” Jamar whispered, skimming his lips along her exposed neck. He pressed a kiss to the spot behind her ear and said, “Now get your mind out of the gutter and pay attention.”
He cocooned her with his body, enclosing his hands over hers and guiding her through the swing. The ball missed the target, but at least it made it onto the green.
“I think you purposely made me miss so that you can rack up a higher score,” she said in an accusatory tone.
Jamar gestured to the screen. He was ahead by three hundred points. “I can finish out the game for both of us and you still wouldn’t catch me,” he pointed out.
One corner of her mouth twisted upward. “Just so we’re clear, this is the last time we play golf.”
“Nah-uh.” He shook his head. “It’s golf from here on out, baby.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she said with a laugh. She jutted her chin toward the table. “Our wings just arrived.”
He followed her back to the table where the table attendant had just set down two orders of hot wings. She’d nixed his order of nachos, rebuffing the notion that she was no longer in charge of his diet now that she wasn’t his trainer.
He’d attempted to order them with the sole purpose of getting her riled up. Now that he was down to the final three weeks before his tryouts, he wasn’t taking any chances. He’d ordered his chicken wings baked and naked, not wanting to put anything into his body that would undermine the work they’d done.
“Are you sure this is enough for dinner?” Taylor asked. “I’m sure there are a couple of low-carb options we can order.” She picked up the menu, but then lowered it so she could look at him. “I’m about to read the menu. And, yes, I will likely say the words out loud. Do you have a problem with that?”
She said it jokingly, but there was an edge to her voice that made Jamar wonder if her warning was really all in good fun.
“Do you have a problem with it?” he asked. He caught the way her jaw tightened. Before she could speak, he asked, “Were you ever tested for a learning disorder?”
“Your choice of topic when it comes to date night conversations leaves much to be desired,” she said. “Usually, you pick a subject that will help you get laid later on. This ain’t it.”
“I’m not worried about getting laid. That’s a lie,” he quickly interjected. “But some things are more important than getting laid. When you were in school, did anyone ever mention testing you for a learning disorder?”
After several long moments passed, she finally shook her head. “No.”
He studied her for some time, debating whether or not to press the issue. She was right, this wasn’t the best time or place for this discussion, but if he had to wait until Taylor was ready to talk about this, he would be waiting forever.
“I told you about Silas’s struggles before his diagnosis,” Jamar started. “But I didn’t mention how much it changed his life after his condition was identified. It made all the difference for him.” He rested his hand on her forearm. “There’s nothing wrong with having a learning disorder; it’s just a different way of processing material.”
“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Taylor said. She took a breath. “I’ve wondered about it,” she finally said, her voice subdued. “I’ve read up on a few, and…look, I know that having a learning disorder is nothing to be ashamed of. But you don’t understand the kind of family I come from. They’re the most ridiculous overachievers you’ll ever meet.” She looked at him and rolled her eyes. “Never mind, I forgot who I was talking to.”
“Hey, don’t lump me in with your family!”
“Excuse me? What are you trying to say about my family?”
Jamar put his hands up. “You just called them ridiculous overachievers!”
She pointed a finger at her chest. “I can talk about them because they’re my family. You can’t. Make sense?”
It didn’t, but continuing down this rabbit hole wouldn’t get to the heart of what he was most concerned about.
“You said that you’ve wondered about it. Are you saying you’ve wondered about whether or not you have a learning disorder?”
She nodded. “A few years ago, I ran across this made-for-TV movie. It was a family drama about divorce or something, but one of the kids had a learning disorder. I recognized myself in some of the things he did, and I thought about how different school may have been for me if I’d had some indication that this was my issue.”
“All I can go on is what I witnessed with Silas,” Jamar said. “It made all the difference.”
“I get that,” she said. “Take science, for example. I love science. Like, really love it—especially biology. Learning about how all the parts of the body worked together? It’s amazing when you th
ink about it.” She shrugged. “I just wonder how much more I would have enjoyed my science classes if I didn’t have to spend so much time rereading the same passages over and over again.”
“Silas would complain about having to do that,” Jamar said.
A sad smile drew across her lips. “I just thought I didn’t like school,” she said. She sucked in a deep breath, then released it. “I guess I’m ready to accept that I have more in common with that little boy in the movie than I was willing to admit. If I can get a formal diagnosis, I think it will help with my decision to enroll in college.”
Jamar’s head jerked back. “College?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I want to go back to school and earn my degree. Wait, no. I don’t want to go back—I need to go back.” She sighed. “Okay, I want to. Did they still have PE when you were in school?”
She gave him whiplash with the way she jumped from one subject to another.
“What does that have to do with you possibly having a learning disorder or wanting to go to college?”
“Because it’s one of the reasons I want to go back,” she said. “Not too long ago, I almost had a job teaching physical education to kids in this homeschool consortium in Bee Cave. Now that I think about it, it was a blessing in disguise that I didn’t get that job, because if I had, we never would have met, but I still kinda wanted the job.”
“It fell through?”
“Yeah. Because I don’t have a degree.” She laughed. “I was sooo pissed at the parents who run the consortium, but they have every right to want someone who is certified to teach their kids.
“The thing is, after I started researching homeschooling and, well, just schools in general, I discovered that many school systems throughout the country have done away with their full-time PE programs because of budget cuts. Then I asked myself, what if Taylor’d Conditioning could fill that gap?”
Jamar frowned. “I’m not following. Would you go around to different school districts teaching phys ed?”
“Not by myself. There would be freelance fitness instructors working under the Taylor’d Conditioning umbrella.” She turned to him, her eyes bright with excitement. “I have this five-year plan, which is huge for me because I tend to plan things out maybe a week in advance. I guess it’s my friend Samiah’s way of rubbing off on me. But, anyway, in this plan, I go back to school and I start building my empire. I want to create a business model that allows schools to hire instructors part-time, the same way the homeschool consortium wanted to hire me. It would provide schools the opportunity to bring physical education back into the curriculum without having to hire full-time staff.”
The Dating Playbook Page 21