“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.”
CHAPTER 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’swhy 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.”
“I’m not most people, Taylor. You can work out with your other clients at a local gym and no one would bat an eye. If people seemeworking out with you—especially with the type of intense workout my training will require—that’s when the speculation starts.”
He fidgeted with the buckle on his watchband as he grappled with how much he should divulge. She hadn’t agreed to work with him yet, but he couldn’t make this kind of demand without giving her at least some explanation.
Other than Taylor, he wasn’t planning to tell anybody about his plans. Even the people he trusted most.Especiallythe people he trusted most. Because those were the people he was most afraid of disappointing if this attempt to reenter the League didn’t work out.
No!He wouldn’t let his mind go there. He refused to even entertain thoughts that his plan wouldn’t work. Itwouldwork. Ithadto.
He owed it to Silas.
Jamar’s football career had ceased being solely his own the moment his best friend’s motorcycle collided with a pickup truck on a rain-slicked stretch of Highway 99 their senior year of high school. From the moment they’d put Silas in the ground, fulfilling the dream he and Silas had held since elementary school—to one day make it into the NFL—had become Jamar’s singular goal.
“When I got hurt last year, there was endless chatter over whether I’d play football again. Every blogger had an opinion, and not a single one gave me a chance. I want to prove them all wrong.”
“Which is why you should want them to see that you’re working with a trainer.”
