“You know you can call on me whenever you need me,” Jamar told him. “This is Taylor. I hope you don’t mind me bringing her along. She’s a huge fan of the game, especially the Longhorns.”
“Hook ’em, Horns,” Coach said, extending his index and pinky fingers to resemble the horns of a steer.
Taylor’s eyes widened. “Umm…go team?” she replied, holding her fingers in a gesture that looked more like the Hawaiian shaka sign than the UT hand signal.
Coach Green’s forehead creased in a puzzled frown.
“Why don’t you bring us over to the running backs?” Jamar quickly suggested.
The moment Coach turned, Taylor caught Jamar by the hem of his shirt and pinched the shit out of his bicep.
“I’m a big Longhorns fan?” she hissed.
“Ouch,” he whispered, rubbing his arm. “It was a joke.”
“What did I tell you about your jokes?”
He chanced another pinch on the arm by leaning over and whispering, “You have to admit it was a little funny.”
She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was trying hard to contain her grin. She was cute even when she was pissed off.
Coach called for his players to huddle up and then introduced Jamar, even though many already knew him. Some of the seniors on the team had been redshirt freshmen back when he was still playing for the Longhorns.
When had this happened? When had he become the sage, older player young running backs turned to for advice?
Silas was somewhere up in heaven laughing his ass off right now.
Jamar stood before the players and quietly prayed that he could give them the pep talk he knew Coach was hoping for.
“I know how you guys are feeling right now,” he started. “I know what it’s like to eat, sleep, and breathe football, to put in so much time and effort on the practice field, only to walk away with another game in the L column.”
He walked over to Carson Wallace, the backup running back who’d fumbled twice in last Saturday’s game.
“My freshman year as a Longhorn, I had four games with back-to-back fumbles. I thought my season was done. But that guy”—he pointed to Coach Green—“he refused to give up on me, and he wouldn’t let me give up on myself either. Put those fumbles out of your head. They’re in the past. Your focus is on the next game, and then the next, and then the next.”
He returned his attention to the entire group again.
“Losing is an unfortunate part of the game, guys. It doesn’t matter if it’s high school, college, or the pros, you’re going to lose and it’s going to suck. I know how that feels,” he reiterated. “But I also know how it feels to fight your way out of a losing stretch. And that’s all this is. You know how to win. And you’re going to win. You just have to believe in your ability to do it.”
Their expressions changed in real time, their heads lifting higher, their chests sticking out just a bit more. It gave him the confidence to keep going.
As he digested the look on each player’s face, Jamar saw so much of himself. He’d experienced how an inspiring talk, delivered at just the right moment, could give him the boost he needed to make it through the next game.
He tried not to scrutinize the current starting running back, but it was hard not to pay particular attention to the guy who was only two hundred yards away from passing him up in the team’s record books. The irony wasn’t lost on Jamar that he’d been asked to speak words of encouragement to someone he would likely have to battle for a job in the not-so-distant future.
He ended his speech with an invitation for any of the guys to call him if they ever needed help, then accepted the handshake and pat on the shoulder from his old coach.
“I can’t thank you enough for doing this, Jamar. Those kids needed to hear from someone like you, someone who’s been on the field recently and not twenty years ago like me.” Coach Green squeezed his shoulder. “Not everybody can reach players the way you just did. You’ve got something special there.”
“Um…thanks,” Jamar said, the words striking a chord he had been unprepared for. He’d come here to help out his former coach, with no expectation of getting anything in return. But he couldn’t deny how incredible it felt to look into those players’ faces and realize that he was making a difference.
Coach Green gave him another firm pat on the shoulder. “Shoot me a text if you can make it to next Saturday’s game. I’ll have sideline passes for both of you at will call.”
As they walked away from the group of players, Taylor leaned over and whispered, “I was ready to pick up a helmet and run out on the field myself after listening to you.”
Jamar chuckled. “I can see that. Powerhouse Powell, kicking ass and taking names across the Big Twelve Conference.”
“Powerhouse. I like it.” She tipped her head in the direction of Coach Green. “He was right, you know. You’re pretty good at giving pep talks.”
“I’ve listened to my share,” Jamar said.
“So I guess I’ll have to learn to like football if I want to build a clientele of football players,” she said.
“I’ll bet by the end of these two months you’re going to wonder how you ever lived without football,” Jamar said.
“You care to place money on that?”
He laughed at her flat tone, but his amusement swiftly dissipated at the sight of Alec Mooney approaching. His blog and podcast were lauded as the gold standard in college football. Jamar appreciated him because he was fair and didn’t rely on sensationalism to get his point across. He also liked that Alec always carried around a slim notebook, as if he were single-handedly trying to bring back old-school reporting.
Still, Jamar’s relationship with the media had been a bumpy one. They’d treated him as the darling of Texas football since high school, a kid who had it all: brains, brawn, and the type of easygoing personality that made reporters gravitate toward him. As a straitlaced kid from a two-parent, middle-income suburban household, he defied the stereotype that the NFL was comprised of young black men who used football as their only way out of inner-city poverty.
The media adored him, but they’d typecast Silas the moment it was revealed that his birth mother was serving time in a Texas state prison. Silas had taken it in stride. Jamar wasn’t so forgiving. It didn’t matter how decent and equitable Alec Mooney appeared on the outside; the fact that he was a member of the media placed him squarely in Jamar’s Do Not Trust category.
“Hey, Diesel. Long time no see,” Alec said as he approached. “You’ve been MIA lately. I figured I’d see you on the sideline of at least a couple of Longhorn games this season.”
Jamar shrugged. “I haven’t been able to make any games yet, but when Coach Green calls, he knows I’m here for him.”
Alec nodded. “How is the knee holding up? Is Dr. Hoffman the orthopedic wizard everyone claims he is?”
“I couldn’t have asked for a better surgeon,” Jamar said, bending his knee.
“Hi there,” Alec said, offering Taylor his hand. “Alec Mooney from Central Texas Sports Talk.” Jamar was about to apologize for not making introductions when Alec added, “You were in that viral dating video a few months ago. Weren’t you one of that guy Craig’s girls?”
Jamar saw the way Taylor’s jaw tightened and knew Mooney was in trouble. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the show. It promised to be a good one.
“Taylor,” she said in an excessively sweet voice that signaled to any guy with half a brain that his ass was grass. “I much prefer being called by my name than to be called ‘one of Craig’s girls.’ It’s sexist as hell to refer to any woman as someone’s girl.”
Alec had the blank look of someone who’d been put in his place so soundly that he didn’t know how to react.
“Umm…yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “That was rude. Please, accept my apology.”
That was a half-decent recovery. Jamar was impressed.
Taylor gave him one of those regal, Quee
n of England nods. “Apology accepted,” she said, her smile more genuine this time around.
“Uh, so,” Alec continued. “Are you Jamar’s new trainer?”
A surge of shock calcified Jamar’s muscles, rendering him numb. He’d been preparing his we’re just friends story as an answer to what he thought was the most logical presumption people would make upon seeing him and Taylor out in public.
“What do you mean?” Jamar asked, mentally crossing his fingers and hoping that Alec hadn’t made the correct leap.
The reporter pointed at Taylor with his pencil. “She—Taylor—is a fitness trainer, isn’t she?” He looked to her. “I’ve watched some of your YouTube videos.”
Fuuuuuck.
Jamar tried to play off his unease with a laugh. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she’s my trainer? We’re—”
“C’mon, Jamar.” Alec shot him a sly smile. “There’s been speculation for months that you’re looking to return to the League. It would make sense that you’ve hired a personal trainer to help you get back in playing form.”
Dread raced through his veins. The one thing he’d feared the most was happening, and he had no idea how to stop it.
“I don’t…” he started, but the words caught in his throat.
“Actually, we’re dating,” Taylor said. She grabbed his hand and entwined her fingers with his. A radiant smile stretched across her lips, but when she glanced at him, her eyes were wide with a Holy shit, what did I just say? look.
“It was one of the few positive things to come out of that disastrous viral video,” she continued with a shaky laugh. “I caught Jamar’s eye and he was bold enough to ask me out.”
“I guess there’s a silver lining to every situation,” Alec said. He nodded at Jamar. “If you ever do decide to make a comeback, I’d appreciate a heads-up. You have an open invitation to break the news on Central Texas Sports Talk.”
“You’ll be the first to know.” Jamar managed to smile as he answered the reporter. The moment Mooney was out of earshot, he turned to Taylor. “What was that?”
“I don’t know!” She lifted her hands in hapless frustration. “I panicked! I just said the first thing that came to my mind.” She pressed her palms to her cheeks. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit.”
Jamar sucked in a deliberate breath. It felt as if his ribs were squeezing his chest.
How had things gone so wrong, so fast? Keeping his desire to return to the League a secret should have been an easy task, yet they’d failed it in spectacular fashion. Fucking Mooney. How had he jumped to the right conclusion? How could Alec take one look at Taylor Powell and not assume that hooking up with her would be the first thing on Jamar’s mind?
A knot the size of Texas twisted in his gut, but he knew what he needed to do.
“I’ll catch up with Mooney and tell him the truth,” he said. He started after Alec, but Taylor caught his hand.
“No. Don’t do that. Not yet.” She exhaled an impatient breath. “Look, we’ll figure it out. For now, just…go with it.”
“Taylor—”
“We’ll figure it out,” she repeated. “We just have to think this through.”
Jamar stared at her for several moments, trying to figure out what was going on inside her head.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s figure it out.”
CHAPTER TEN
If Taylor thought back on the last twenty-eight years, she could probably come up with at least a dozen awkward situations she’d gotten herself into. There was that time she was caught sneaking underwear out of the boys’ changing room at school—a dare she’d made with her friend Keva. And then there was the time she showed up to her very first job interview on the wrong day. Soooo awkward.
And, goodness, she couldn’t think about her disastrous one and only one-night stand without wincing. Not only had the sex been boring AF, but she’d also woken up the next morning to find the guy’s grandmother standing over the bed with Taylor’s bra hanging from her fingers, opining on the kind of loose women who wore brassieres with a front clasp.
Taylor could only assume that the years had lessened the sting, because none of those previous awkward moments felt as cringe-worthy as what she now experienced nestled in the passenger seat of Jamar’s SUV.
What in the world had she been thinking?
Broadcasting to a reporter, of all people, that she and Jamar Dixon were dating was the most idiotic move she’d made in months. And she’d made her share of super idiotic moves lately.
How could she possibly use Jamar as a legitimate spokesperson for Taylor’d Conditioning now? If word got out that they were dating, people would just assume he was endorsing her simply because she was his girlfriend.
Taylor clenched her fists tight enough to score the fleshy part of her palm. Even when opportunities were handed to her on a silver platter, she had to go and upend the damn thing.
Jamar cleared his throat.
“Umm, Taylor?” he said. They were the first words spoken since they’d left the University of Texas field house twenty minutes ago. “We should probably talk about what happened back there.”
“Not yet.” She shook her head. “I’m still trying to figure it all out. That Alec guy didn’t come across as the type of person who would run and tell his friends about Vin Diesel’s new girlfriend,” she said. “Besides, he writes about sports, not celebrity gossip.”
“It’s just Diesel, not Vin Diesel. And Mooney’s a reporter. When it comes to these guys, any news is worth sharing, especially on a slow news day.”
Shit. This definitely topped her Biggest Fuckups of All Time list. Who knows where this gig would have taken her? She could have become the new fitness guru of the NFL, but instead she’d relegated herself to being Jamar Dixon’s arm candy.
Nice job, genius.
Taylor refused to believe all was lost. She could not give up on this without at least trying to come up with a plan to fix it.
“I’m going to figure out a way to spin this,” she said. “I just need some time.”
She adjusted the seat belt as she twisted in her seat.
“Okay, I’m changing the subject here, Twenty-Three, so keep up. When that woman came to our table at the café the other day, she mentioned that you should consider coaching for the Longhorns. After this morning, I think maybe she’s on to something.”
He glanced at her with a sour expression.
“Seriously,” Taylor said. “I was impressed listening to you talk to those players. And remember, I know nothing about football.”
“Just because I can babble on about football for a few minutes doesn’t mean I’m fit to be anyone’s coach.”
“You did more than just babble,” she said. “You were inspiring. I could tell those players were taking your words to heart. If you don’t want to be a coach, maybe you can be a motivational speaker because you really are good at it.”
“You do realize if I did either of those things I would no longer need you as a trainer, right? Are you trying to talk your way out of this job again?”
“Oh, for the love of Jason Momoa! Would you stop reading the wrong thing into everything I say? I was paying you a compliment.” She looked up at the SUV’s ceiling and sighed. “You’re a good speaker. That’s all I was trying to say.”
His mouth tipped up in a grin. “In that case, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Taylor said with an eye roll. She pretended to look out the window so he wouldn’t see her answering grin. He was exasperating. Cute, but exasperating.
A few minutes later, they pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment complex. Jamar started to get out of the car, but Taylor stopped him.
“There’s no need for you to play the gentleman,” she said. “I can make it to my apartment by myself.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jamar said, unsnapping his seat belt. He came around the front of the SUV, and even though she’d already opened her door, he held it out for her. “When I was twelve, my mom sig
ned me up for this program on proper etiquette at our church. It’s ingrained.”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” Taylor said. “A little corny, but sweet. You’re still not walking me to my door.”
“Sorry.” He hunched his shoulders. “Those are the rules.”
“Fine,” Taylor said. She should add infuriating to his list of qualities.
It wasn’t until they started up the stairs that Taylor acknowledged the discomfort that had begun to prickle at her scalp. Who could blame her for feeling self-conscious about her little studio apartment after visiting Jamar’s massive house?
When they arrived at the landing, Taylor turned to him and said, “Thanks for walking me to my door. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Are you really not going to invite me in?”
She tipped her head to the side as if contemplating her answer. Finally, she said, “Nope, I don’t think so.”
“Taylor, come on.”
“Why do you need to come inside?”
“Because we need to decide what we’re going to do about Mooney. We can’t put this off until tomorrow.”
She knew he was right, but goodness, she did not want to think about this right now. Of course, if she had been thinking earlier, she wouldn’t have made that impulsive outburst in the first place.
She slid the key in the lock, but before opening the door, she said, “Fair warning: my apartment is the size of your foyer. No judging.”
His head reared back. He looked offended. “Have I come across as the kind of guy who would say anything about the size of your apartment?”
No, he had not. Honestly, he was the most down-to-earth multimillionaire she’d ever met. Okay, so he was the only multimillionaire she’d ever met, but still…
She opened the door and led him into the apartment.
“This isn’t so bad,” he said.
“Hey, I never said it was bad. I just said it wasn’t a mansion.”
“Mansions are overrated,” he said, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The upkeep is a bitch.”
“And you think it’s easy taking care of all this?” she asked with the haughtiest expression she could summon.
The Dating Playbook Page 7
