“What other thing?”
“Going back to school. Have you looked into any yet?” Samiah asked.
For a moment, Taylor’s confusion rendered her speechless. She’d been so busy with her new client this week that she hadn’t given school a passing thought.
“I think I can scrap those plans now that I’m working with Jamar,” she said. She wouldn’t think about why those words left a sour taste on their way out of her mouth.
“What does one have to do with the other?” Samiah asked.
“The whole point of going back to school was to—”
“To get your degree so that you can take your fitness consulting business to the next level.”
“Which will happen once Jamar gets back into the NFL,” Taylor pointed out.
“But what if he doesn’t?”
The earnestness in Samiah’s voice caused Taylor’s stomach to churn with acid and that sour taste to return to her mouth.
“No…no negative thinking,” she stammered. She cleared her throat and tried to inject some enthusiasm into her voice. “I don’t allow myself to think that way when it comes to my clients.”
Samiah didn’t look convinced, and why should she? Even Taylor had to admit it sounded like bullshit.
“Trust me on this,” Taylor said. “Jamar is getting back into the NFL.”
“Fine,” Samiah said. “So let’s say he does make it onto a team; there’s still no guarantee that it will impact Taylor’d Conditioning in the way that you think it will. Anything can happen.” She took a sip from her wine. “Look, I don’t subscribe to the notion that everyone has to go to college. I just think, in your case, earning your degree would provide security that you don’t have right now.”
She knew Samiah was right, and at this moment, Taylor hated her for it. She’d had this debate with herself. She’d made the pros and cons list. And she’d discovered that it was possible for her to recognize the transformative power of a degree yet still be reluctant about obtaining one.
London returned with her wineglass and a small saucer.
“There is cheese dip,” she sang, doing a little shimmy as she reclaimed her seat. “And it’s good cheese, not the processed kind. I have to admit, this place is growing on me.” She looked from Taylor to Samiah. “Okay, why does it suddenly feel like Thanksgiving dinner back before my parents were divorced? This kind of tension gives me hives.”
“Well, someone is backing out on her plans to get her degree,” Samiah provided.
“Damn. Already? You just decided to go back to school like a minute ago. Why are you giving up so soon?”
“I’m not giving up! I’m just…Shit,” Taylor muttered. “I won’t take it completely off the table, but I can’t handle both school and training Jamar.”
“You’ll always have clients that you’re training,” Samiah said. “We already established that you’ll have to simultaneously work and go to school.”
“I know!” She grimaced, hating the whiny quality in her voice. “Look, I know that I’ll have to work while earning my degree, but this particular client requires more attention than most. Just the thought of having to do homework after a full day of training makes my stomach knot.”
“Wait a minute,” London said, her eyes suddenly alight with excitement. “I just thought of something. I actually like school. What if my new hobby is helping you with your schoolwork?”
Taylor started to nod, until Samiah declared, “That is not a hobby. Why don’t you go back to painting?”
“Forget the painting. I can’t do this shit. We just got started and I’m already bored out of my mind.”
“Then we’ll find something else. Homework isn’t a hobby.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Samiah rolled her eyes, then turned her attention back to Taylor. “What do you need from us? Other than us doing your homework?”
That would have been ideal, but Taylor knew if she was going to go through with school, she would have to do it. She didn’t want an invisible asterisk stamped on her degree.
And as much as she hated to admit it, Samiah was right about the security that degree would provide.
“What I need is…time,” Taylor said. “I need time to get through this project with Jamar.” She looked to her two friends and decided to be honest. “And then I will really need you both to hold me accountable.”
Samiah lifted her wineglass in a toast. “That we can do. Don’t worry, hon. We got you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Taylor grabbed a plastic storage container from the cabinet—the one that was stained from heating red sauce in the microwave—and filled it halfway with water. She placed four of the five credit cards she owned in the container and set a rock on top of them. Snapping the lid on, she walked over to the freezer and placed it next to a bag of frozen broccoli.
“There,” she said, dusting her hands for good measure.
She’d used the initial payment from Jamar to cover this month’s rent and to pay off one of the credit cards, with a vow that she would pay off the rest over these next two months and never get into this kind of financial trouble again. Putting the credit cards on ice was symbolic. She could still access them through apps on her phone, but she wasn’t going to. She would keep one card in her wallet for emergency purposes only.
And when she said emergency, this time she meant a real emergency. No more “emergency” sales on tennis shoes or “emergency” sushi because she deserved to treat herself after a long day. She was going to start living by an actual budget, and she would not allow any stupid you only live once nonsense to entice her into making irresponsible choices.
Ugh. She was starting to sound like a grown-up.
“About damn time,” Taylor muttered.
She took a pint of store-brand strawberry frozen yogurt from the freezer—part of her new adulting was forgoing the expensive one she usually bought—and grabbed a spoon. She perched against the kitchen counter and started eating straight from the carton.
She used the remote to turn the volume up on The Princess and the Frog. It had become her Saturday morning ritual to pop in the DVD and listen to it as background noise while cleaning her apartment. Until Tiana started singing “Almost There.” Then it was time to belt it out like a contestant on The Voice. Well, whatever was the equivalent to The Voice for people who couldn’t sing a single note in tune.
Lack of musical skills aside, when Tiana sang about how she worked real hard each and every day and now things for sure were going her way, Taylor felt that in her spirit.
“Preach, girl!” she said, waving her hand like a deaconess in church. Her hustle would pay off in the end, just like Tiana’s. Except she wasn’t kissing a frog.
Her phone dinged with an incoming text message. She glanced at it over on the counter and couldn’t stop the ridiculous smile that instantly stretched across her face.
Hey, Drill Sergeant. Do you have a minute?
Taylor put the yogurt back in the freezer and lowered the volume on the TV before picking up the phone.
Taylor: U get 1 minute. Do u always txt in complete sentences???
Jamar: Yes. And proper punctuation. Commas are our friends.
Taylor: Nerd :)
Taylor: What’s up, 23? U like my comma usage?
Jamar: Very much appreciate the comma usage.…
Jamar: I know you had a bad experience going viral a few months ago, but something tells me you’re about to go viral again.
A chill that had nothing to do with the frozen yogurt she just ate raced down Taylor’s spine.
Taylor: Y? What happened?
Jamar: We’ve been outed.
A moment later, the link to a TikTok video appeared. Taylor clicked on it and waited for the video to open in the app. It started with an image of Jamar handing her a pineapple in Whole Foods. Whoever posted the video had added thought bubbles just above their heads. Taylor’s said “best couple ever” and Jamar’s had “couple envy”�
�as if either of them would ever think those words.
Taylor had to admit she was impressed by the editing, but as the nineteen-second clip played, she realized their covert videographer had followed them around the store, snapping pictures of them in the produce section, the deli, and at the checkout counter. It freaked her out a bit.
Taylor: Oh well. It was only a matter of time. At least I look cute in all the pics. :)
Jamar: Very cute.
Her stomach executed a perfect somersault. Before she could spend a single minute overanalyzing the meaning behind those two words, he followed up with another text she longed to overanalyze.
Jamar: Maybe we need to go on a date that isn’t at the grocery store. Give the public something to really talk about.
It wasn’t as if this was coming out of left field. She was the one who’d written “several pretend dates” in the playbook sitting right there on her countertop. So why did this suddenly feel too much like the real thing?
Taylor: I guess we should.
Jamar: What are you doing today?
Taylor: U mean besides kicking ur ass in the gym?
Jamar:
Jamar: What are you doing after you’re finished with my ass?
She was smiling so much that her cheeks ached, but she couldn’t stop.
She wrote: this is starting to get dirty. But then she erased it. Maybe it was just her own dirty mind’s interpretation. Instead, she typed: Is this how u talk to all ur girlfriends? Then she erased that too. She meant it as a joke, but what if he didn’t read it that way?
Jamar: What?
Taylor: What?
Jamar: Those dots keep appearing like you’re trying to text, but then they disappear.
Shit. Technology could be a real son of a bitch at times.
Taylor: Yes. Time to take our fake relationship to the next level. Wine and dine me, 23.
Jamar:
Taylor burst out laughing. Just then, the video hub on her kitchen counter lit up with an incoming call, undoubtedly from her mother. Her parents had sent her the device for her birthday, and they were the only ones who used it to call her. Well, her mother used it. The Colonel was satisfied with a quick Just checking on you text once every other week.
She pressed the green answer button. “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”
Her mother stood at the granite countertop in their newly remodeled kitchen, unloading groceries from a cloth grocery bag. Her sensible bob cut didn’t have a strand of hair out of place.
“What are you smiling about?” her mother asked.
Taylor looked up from her phone. “Nothing,” she answered.
Taylor: I need to go. TTYL.
She added a heart emoji without thinking, and hit send.
“Fuck!”
“Taylor Renee!” Gail Powell screeched.
“I’m sorry!” Taylor said. “Give me a sec, Ma.”
Taylor: Ignore that emoji. My finger slipped.
Jamar: You sure about that?
Taylor: YES!!!
She slumped against the counter and tried to get her accelerated heart rate back to a normal level.
“Excuse my language,” she apologized again to her mother.
“I can’t talk for long,” her mother said in that I’ve-got-places-to-go-and-people-to-see tone of voice she used when in the middle of a hectic day. “What are your plans for Thanksgiving? Are you coming in the Tuesday before like you did last year?”
“Ma, I told you that I can’t do both Thanksgiving and Daddy’s party— Wait, is he around?”
“He isn’t, but it doesn’t matter. I’m convinced he knows about the party.”
“How? I thought you were being careful?”
“That man knows everything,” her mother said. She folded the cloth bag and directed her full attention at the screen. “If you can’t afford the plane ticket home for Thanksgiving, your father and I will pay for it.”
“It’s not about the money.” Biggest lie ever. Even with the money she was making with Jamar, she still couldn’t afford those airline prices at Thanksgiving.
“I have clients to consider,” she said. She had one client, but still. “And you know Thanksgiving is the start of my busy season. I have a ton of meal prep—” Not a lie now that she was doing meal prep for Jamar. She was working on a low-carb alternative to sweet potato pie. “I just can’t take that much time off from work.”
“What I’m hearing is that this is no longer a question of you having to decide between Thanksgiving and your father’s sixtieth birthday party. You’ve already made your decision.”
Taylor hunched her shoulders. “Well, Thanksgiving comes around every year. The Colonel only turns the big Six Oh once. If given the choice, I think Dad would rather I be there for his birthday party.”
“Fine, but make sure you’re here for more than just a day. I don’t want you flying up the morning of the party and then on the red-eye back to Texas.”
Count on her mother to read her like a book.
“I won’t,” Taylor said. “I promise.”
“Good. I have to go. The work at the office never ends.”
“I wondered what you were doing home in the middle of the day,” Taylor said.
Her mother’s penciled brow spiked. “I could say the same for you, but I didn’t.”
Taylor reminded herself that her mother would see it if she rolled her eyes. “Goodbye, Mother.”
She blew an air kiss toward the digital display before ending the call; then she folded her arms on the countertop and dropped her head on them.
Taylor wasn’t sure there was a word in the English language that adequately represented the complex, oftentimes thorny space her family occupied in her world. She couldn’t imagine loving another group of people as fiercely as she loved them, but a simple conversation with her mother left her feeling drained.
She dreaded going home to North Carolina, enduring bouts of anxiety over her family’s judgmental attitudes. It usually started weeks in advance, with the apprehension steadily escalating as the date to fly home drew closer. Taylor found herself waking up in cold sweats, hardly able to catch her breath. Her skin became tight and itchy, as if something was slowly sucking the moisture from her pores.
The most ridiculous aspect of all of this was that, for the most part, she enjoyed her time at home. Last Thanksgiving she’d had the best time watching old movies with her sister, playing gin rummy with her niece, and baking pecan pies with her dad. It had been her most blissful holiday in ages, until her brother, Darwin, made a comment about one of Taylor’s old friends who’d just opened up a franchise of a regional pizza restaurant. That’s when the murmurs about wasting her time with that “fitness thing” had flitted around the dinner table, and her holiday had turned to shit.
She was done putting herself through that kind of turmoil. She’d learned that she could love her family from a distance. She would endure them for her dad’s birthday party, because she owed it to him to celebrate this milestone in person, but she wouldn’t subject herself to their thinly veiled censure any longer than she had to.
The next time she made an extended trip home, she would have some measure of success that she could shove in her brother’s face. She would no longer be the Powell Family Fuckup. She would be the one everyone talked about with pride, the one her mother bragged about to the people in her law office.
She just had to completely turn every single thing around in her life.
Piece of cake.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jamar’s stomach clenched. His pulse beat erratically with a manic tum thump, tum thump. His fingers fumbled with an antique-brass cylinder as he spun the dial, struggling to decode the cipher.
“Hurry,” Taylor hissed. “We have less than three minutes.”
“I’m trying!” He licked at the sweat that formed on his upper lip and attempted a different combination.
“Do you want me to try?”
“I’ve got it,” he said. Shit
. Maybe he had it. He was so nervous you’d think someone’s life really did depend on him solving this stupid riddle.
When Taylor had suggested an escape room for their first official “date,” he hadn’t considered he might develop permanent anxiety from it.
Prolonged side effects notwithstanding, tonight’s date was necessary. Chatter surrounding their new romance had increased throughout the day, even popping up on a few gossip sites. Screenshots of the video of him and Taylor at the grocery store had started circulating on Twitter and Instagram, accompanied by mounds of speculation about their relationship.
Unlike Alec Mooney, the general public had not automatically jumped to the conclusion that he’d hired Taylor as his personal trainer. The consensus seemed to be that Taylor had sought him out instead of the other way around.
His new girlfriend hadn’t appreciated that. She’d gone on a tirade after today’s workout, raging about how women were always labeled gold diggers, and why couldn’t he be the one who’d pursued her because she was “such a fucking catch.”
Jamar had to agree with her on that one.
After her rant, she’d settled down long enough to recognize how this could work in their favor. The more off base the public rumors, the more likely they would succeed in keeping his attempt to return to the League a secret. Taylor had suggested they become even more visible as a couple as a way to feed the gossip beast, thus their jaunt to downtown Austin tonight.
Jamar should have known she wouldn’t have settled for a simple dinner and movie for their first date. Instead, she had him sweating like a cat burglar about to get caught while they tried to save some fictional prisoner.
The clock on the wall began to tick louder. That wasn’t just his imagination; the volume on the damn thing really had increased as the seconds ticked down. He secured the last letter on the dial and felt the pin holding the lock in place give way.
“Thank God,” Taylor said. She snatched the cylinder from his hands and slid the rolled-up paper out of it. She unfurled it, then quickly handed it back to him. “Here! I’m too nervous to read it.”
The Dating Playbook Page 10
