The Dating Playbook

by Farrah Rochon

  Jamar sighed as he took the scroll from her hand.

  “Read it!” she urged.

  He stretched out the scroll. “Congratulations on solving this riddle. Your next mission is to find the one thing that has hands but cannot clap. Fail to locate it and your subject dies.”

  She gasped, horrified. “Oh my God!”

  “Taylor, you do realize this isn’t real, don’t you? No one is dying.”

  She smacked him with the cylinder. “Get in the spirit of the game. We have to find the thing with hands.” She turned to one of the many cluttered shelves in the small room. “Do you see one of those creepy dolls? This seems like a place that would have a creepy doll in it. They have hands.”

  “It’s not a doll,” he said.

  “Are you looking for clues?”

  He would have laughed at the panic in her voice if he wasn’t still wiping the sweat from his hands after that last riddle. But his heart rate was beginning to return to a safe level. He could think with a clearer head.

  “What are we looking for again?” Jamar asked.

  “It says to find the one thing that has hands but cannot clap. Oh, I know! It’s the clock,” Taylor said. She pointed to the loud, annoying clock above the door.

  Jamar reached up and grabbed it, then flipped it over. There was an envelope taped to the back of it.

  She took it from him and did a little dance as she removed the envelope and lifted the flap.

  “‘Congratulations. You have saved your subject and earned your escape. Punch this code into the keypad to enjoy your freedom and a twenty percent discount on your next adventure to the Escape Room.’” She winced. “That’s a bit tacky, but whatever.”

  She entered the code into the electronic keypad and stood back as the door opened to the lobby they’d first entered.

  “Congratulations on escaping,” the attendant who’d checked them in called from the desk in a bored voice. “Do you want to schedule your next visit?”

  “No thanks. We’re good,” Jamar replied before Taylor could say anything.

  “Not even cool,” Taylor said, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. But she didn’t object, which told Jamar all he needed to know about her desire to return to the Escape Room.

  They exited the automatic doors and walked out onto Blanco Street.

  “You have to admit that was fun,” Taylor said as she buried her chin inside the collar on her jean jacket.

  The night had been chilly when they left Jamar’s house, but not cold enough for a heavy coat. The temperature had dropped considerably while they were rescuing their subject. Jamar shrugged out of his brushed suede sport coat.

  “I will admit that we have different ideas when it comes to fun. Take that trip to Whole Foods, for example.” He draped his coat over her shoulders. “But if you enjoyed yourself, that’s all that matters.”

  She glanced down at the coat, and then up at him, regarding him with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Thank you,” she said.

  Jamar acknowledged her response with a nod and fought against playing the fool who read a thousand things into a simple thank you. This was fiction. Fiction being carried out with the sole purpose of convincing the public that he and Taylor Powell were a couple.

  “So,” she continued. “Did I hear you say tonight is all about my enjoyment?”

  “That’s how dates usually work.”

  “Actually, there’s a better chance of a second date happening if both parties enjoy themselves.”

  He peered down at her, an easy grin spreading across his lips. “I’m pretty sure I’m getting a second date.”

  “Cocky bastard.” She laughed.

  “Confident, not cocky. And only with things I know are a sure bet.”

  “I’ve noticed that,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “I figured all professional football players had to be conceited—how could they not be, right? You can’t reach such an elite level and not be full of yourself. But you’re not as arrogant as I first pegged you.”

  “You may want to hold off on your decision. You’ve only known me a week,” he reminded her.

  Her sharp laugh melded into the boisterous sounds of the city.

  Clasping his jacket over her chest with one hand, she captured his fingers with the other and swung their hands back and forth between them as they turned onto Sixth Street. The picture of the perfect couple.

  Jamar reminded himself again that this wasn’t real.

  But it sure as hell felt real. Especially when she smiled at him.

  “Since you didn’t enjoy the Escape Room, what would you have rather we do tonight?” Taylor asked.

  “The Escape Room was fine.”

  “You’re lying.” She bumped him with her shoulder. “Come on. I want to know what your idea of the perfect date is.”

  He quirked a brow. “The PG version?”

  “G-rated.”

  Jamar snorted. “We really have different ideas when it comes to fun.”

  She bumped him again. “Perfect G-rated date. Go.”

  “Um, let’s see,” he said, giving the impression that he was really thinking hard on this. “The tacos we had were good, even though you gave me that look when I asked for extra cotija cheese.”

  “I did not give you a look.”

  “You gave me a look.”

  “Well, you weren’t supposed to notice the look. You were supposed to wonder why I tacked on an extra half hour to tomorrow’s workout.”

  “Ah!” He chuckled. “Make a note. I will always work a half hour more for extra cheese.”

  “Noted,” she said with a nod. “So that’s your perfect date scenario? Street tacos with extra cotija?”

  “I’d include a walk like this one.” He nudged his chin at the nondescript gray building about ten yards away. “And two scoops of Belgian chocolate.”

  “Oh, Twenty-Three, you will get no argument from me this time.” Taylor tugged his arm. “I never say no to Amy’s Ice Cream, even when it’s cold out.”

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “How much extra time will this add to my workout?”

  “You don’t even want to know. Just enjoy the ice cream tonight and don’t think about tomorrow’s ass kicking.”

  The direct stares and low rumbling were apparent the moment they joined the line outside of the Austin ice-cream staple. Jamar made a mental bet with himself over how long it would take before someone approached.

  “Excuse me, but didn’t you play for the Longhorns a couple of years ago? Jamar Dixon?”

  He lost. He thought it would take at least twenty seconds.

  “Yes, I am,” he answered, then stood for a picture with the woman and her two kids. That opened the floodgates. Pretty soon, he was posing for selfies and accepting praise for his time in the burnt orange and white with everyone in line. A few people mentioned his banged-up knee, offering sympathy for the raw deal he’d been dealt.

  Jamar had prepared to bypass the two teenage girls, but even they asked for his picture. And, in a surprise to both him and Taylor, they asked if Taylor would join in. Turned out she was the star in their eyes. Their admiration for the way she, London, and Samiah had handed that Craig guy his ass—their words—in that viral video was all they could talk about.

  “Well, that was fun, if a bit unexpected,” Taylor said once the girls walked up to the counter. She quirked a brow, a smug, sassy look on her face. “Guess you’re not the only celebrity here tonight.”

  Why hadn’t he considered how the kind of sexy, flirtatious teasing that comes with a relationship—even a fake one—would affect him? It was too damn easy to get taken in by that mischievous gleam in her eyes and the impish smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  She was his trainer.

  This wasn’t a real date.

  He needed to concentrate on his end goal: getting his job back.

  They ordered their ice cream—two scoops in a waffle cone for him and one in a cup for her—and continued along S
ixth Street.

  “Were you okay with what happened back there?” Jamar asked, motioning his head toward the ice-cream shop. “I’m used to the selfies and autographs, but if it makes you uncomfortable when we’re together, I know how to gently decline fan requests.”

  “You’d better not,” she said. “I’m finally getting a taste of the fame I’ve always longed for.”

  “Have you really?”

  “Nah,” she said with a laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know how you put up with that all the time. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled that I’m up to ten thousand followers thanks to TayJar taking over Fitnessgram, but I still value my privacy.”

  “Are we really known as TayJar on Instagram?”

  “Why don’t you open your own IG account and find out for yourself?”

  “Not gonna happen,” he said. She’d been pestering him to join the social media platform for days.

  Jamar studied her as she scooped ice cream into her mouth. Her eyes closed briefly, a look of pure contentment washing over her.

  “What made you choose fitness consulting?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Your profession? Of all the things you could have been, why did you decide to torture poor, innocent people who are only trying to get in shape?”

  “That is so not fair. You make me sound like some obnoxious taskmaster.”

  “Have you listened to yourself when we’re in that gym?”

  She pinched his arm. “That’s enthusiasm. And to answer your question, my dad is the reason I became a fitness consultant.” The light in her eyes dimmed. “Although he would probably have a heart attack if I told him that.”

  They moved to the side to avoid a group of teenagers who were all looking down at their phones.

  “Why would knowing he’s the inspiration behind your career give your dad a heart attack?”

  “Because the Colonel thinks I should go to college, earn my degree, and get a real job.”

  “So being a trainer isn’t a real job?”

  She shook her head. “Not to my family.”

  “I’ve got about a dozen trainers I’ve worked with in the past who would beg to differ.”

  “You totally freak me out when you talk that way. My mom is the only other person I know who uses that phrase. She ‘begs to differ’ all the time.”

  And that was the last time she would hear him say it. He sure as hell didn’t want her thinking about her mom when she was with him.

  “Anyway,” Taylor continued. “Maybe if I owned my own gym, my family would take my career seriously. As it now stands, I’m wasting my time with this ‘little fitness thing.’”

  “Ouch.” Jamar winced.

  “I know, right? Holidays are a blast in the Powell household.” She scooped up more ice cream, but the spoon didn’t find its way to her mouth. “The funny thing is, I only became interested in fitness because I was so fascinated by all the soldiers doing PT every morning. I used to love watching them, the way they all moved in unison as they performed jumping jacks and push-ups and doing that two-mile run around the base.”

  There were cones blocking the sidewalk at Sixth and Guadalupe, so they changed direction, walking down toward Lady Bird Lake. When they came upon Republic Square, Jamar suggested they grab a seat on a bench so they could finish their ice cream.

  He wanted to ask more about her family but didn’t know how without it seeming as if he was prying. Fact is, he was prying. He was intrigued by that hint of vulnerability he’d heard in her voice as she talked about her dad. He wanted to know what was behind it, and why someone who exuded so much confidence would allow her family to reduce her business to a “little” fitness thing. It didn’t gel with the fierce, self-assured woman who barked out orders like a drill sergeant.

  “Hey.” He waited for her to look up from her ice cream. “Don’t let them get to you,” Jamar said. “Your family,” he clarified. “You’re good at what you do. Don’t let anyone make you feel as if you’re wasting your time.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her eyes softening with a look of genuine gratitude. “I won’t.”

  His eyes dropped to her lips.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t look at me like you want to kiss me.”

  “It’s hard not to look at you like I want to kiss you,” he admitted. “Especially if we’re supposed to convince people that we’re really a couple. In fact,” he said, brushing back two of her braids, “kissing you should be part of the playbook, shouldn’t it? Is the public really supposed to believe I would spend an evening like this with you and not kiss you?”

  “I guess you’re right,” she said. The low, raspy tone of her voice resonated like a tuning fork through his body. She leaned toward him, then pulled back. “Don’t lose your head here, Twenty-Three. This is all for show. Remember that.”

  He caught her chin in his hand and pulled her closer. “Just because it’s pretend doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it.”

  The first brush of her lips against his felt exactly how Jamar expected it would feel. Like heaven.

  it’s pretend it’s pretend it’s pretend

  The mantra scrolled across his brain, but with each subtle give of her pliant mouth, his ability to decipher fact from fiction dissipated. He grazed her bottom lip, a faint testing of his tongue, challenging how far she would let him go.

  He needed more from her. One clue. The barest indication. He silently pleaded for a sign that she was into this. That this wasn’t just an act. That the sensation of their lips coming together, the restrained yet hungry caress, affected her too.

  Just as her mouth finally opened for him, a flurry of nearby giggles broke the spell that had woven around them.

  Taylor’s head snapped back and they both looked toward the snickers. A half-dozen teens held their phones pointed toward Taylor and Jamar.

  “Well,” Taylor said with a breathy laugh. “I guess we know what we’ll see on TikTok tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Despite the whirl of the professional-grade blender, the light rock streaming from the speakers, and the cacophony of voices buzzing throughout the bookstore, Taylor slurped her iced coffee as silently as possible as she perused the glossy magazine covers. Her visits to the library as a shy sixth grader on base at Hohenfels Middle School had conditioned her to be quiet when surrounded by books.

  She picked up a copy of Fitness magazine and brought it to a nearby table in the bookstore’s café. But as she flipped past the full-page ads for erectile dysfunction and toe fungus medications, her thoughts meandered back to Jamar’s kiss. A fake kiss, she reminded herself. Although, if that was fake, Taylor was ready to sell her vintage Snow White cookie jar for the chance to experience the real thing.

  And that’s the kind of thinking that will get your ass in trouble.

  Determined not to let her mind tumble headfirst into the gutter, she retuned her attention to the magazine. As she thumbed through the pages, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the headline of one of the articles: GET THE PERFECT BOOTY WITH THIS BOOT CAMP WORKOUT. Taylor recognized the flash of resentment that rushed through her for what it was: jealousy.

  Her mood had a tendency to turn salty whenever she came across a piece written in that fun, hip vein. She would have been writing these features if she’d landed that job with Modish and Melanated, one of the hottest lifestyle sites for young black women on the web.

  She pressed her hand to her stomach, warding off the sickening feeling that attacked her whenever she thought back on that day a few weeks ago.

  At first, Taylor thought the email from Ashanti West, Modish and Melanated’s editor at large, regarding an opening for a health and wellness contributor was the universe’s idea of a cruel joke. She’d just lost the homeschooling job the week before and—because life could be a real bastard at times—had overdrawn her bank account that very morning.

  Ms. West had reached out after run
ning across the Taylor’d Conditioning Instagram account. But when Taylor forwarded her résumé, the editor at large had replied that readers came to Modish and Melanated with the expectation of receiving vetted expertise and that she could not in good conscience hire someone for the position who didn’t hold a degree in a field of study relevant to fitness and wellness.

  That’s when Taylor knew that if she really wanted to make a career out of her love of fitness, she would have to do whatever it took to make it happen, even if it meant facing her biggest fear.

  She just had to find the courage to do it.

  That’s why you’re here. Get off your ass and get that practice manual!

  Taylor slapped the magazine closed and took it back to the rack. But instead of going over to the study aids section, she moved to the comics, hoping there were still copies of her favorite graphic novel series.

  She used to refer to her comics as her guilty pleasure, but fuck that shit. Anything that brought her pleasure these days was welcomed and she refused to feel guilty about it.

  Of course, the entire Nisekoi: False Love series was sold out, because Austin comic geeks knew what was up. She picked out a couple of other contemporary romance manga that looked promising, then tossed her empty coffee cup into the trash and took a deep breath.

  It was time for her to embrace the grown-up version of herself and face her demons. She straightened her spine and marched over to the aisle marked STUDY AIDS AND TEST PREP, approaching the ACT prep guide as if it were a snake.

  “Stop being ridiculous,” she chided herself.

  But she still didn’t reach for the thick book. Instead, she retreated until her shoulders met the opposite shelf.

  Closing her eyes, she dropped her head back and blew out a deep, weary breath. She needed a moment to work through the painful memories that enveloped her whenever she was reminded about what happened the last time she’d made a failed attempt at being a student. The hurt and anger, the paralyzing sense of worthlessness; it was demoralizing.

  Taylor had been so sure that she’d finally gathered the courage to face the college entrance exam when she’d sat down to take it last spring. She’d spent weeks studying—well, conducting her own brand of studying, which admittedly, left a lot to be desired. Still, she’d been so sure of herself.