“You sure?” he asked. “I don’t mind.”
She shook her head. “Jealousy has never been a good look on me, and I will not be able to hide it if I see any more of this house.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I bought it as more of an investment than anything else,” he explained, a hint of embarrassment tinging his voice. “I only use about a third of it.”
“Well, damn. Now I feel bad,” Taylor said. “I didn’t mean to wealth-shame.”
“Is wealth-shaming a real thing?”
“You’re the one trying to justify your house to someone you just met.”
“Point taken.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she really did mean it. She’d heard stories of athletes who blew through the millions they earned and had to get jobs selling insurance or bagging groceries once their sports careers were over. Hell, she was only three years older than he was, but if she’d had access to the kind of money he did when she was twenty-five, investing in real estate would have been the last thing on her mind. She would have probably spent it all on Disney Vinylmation figurines.
“You have every right to be proud of this gorgeous house,” Taylor added. “And I reserve the right to that tour at a later date. For now, let’s talk strategy.”
Jamar pulled out a high-back stool and motioned for her to take a seat at the kitchen island. “What am I getting myself into over these next two months?” he asked, taking the seat next to hers.
She unzipped her duffel and pulled out a poly folder with the Taylor’d Conditioning logo imprinted on the front. From the folder, she slid the chart she’d created and set it between them so they could both look over it.
“I usually call this the plan of attack, but you can think of it as your playbook or game plan, or whatever they call it in football.”
“I likeplan of attackbetter,” he said. “It makes it feel as if I’m about to do battle, which I am.”
“I like that attitude, Twenty-Three.”
“Are you planning to call me Twenty-Three for the next two months?”
“It’s that or Chicago Bears. Pick one.”
“Why would I choose either of those when Jamar is so much easier?”
“I never take the easy way. Let that be a warning,” she said with a wink.
He grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Apparently the flutter that swept through her belly had not gotten the memo that this was a no belly-fluttering situation. She cleared her throat. “Let’s go over what I came up with.”
After a few minutes of reviewing the various cardio drills she’d designed, he got up and asked, “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Orange juice?”
“Water is fine.”
He pulled two bottles of water out of the refrigerator; then he went into a walk-in pantry and came out with a bag of potato chips.
Potato chips? Was he serious?
He reclaimed his seat and unfurled the top of the bag. Taylor took it out of his hand before he could reach for a chip.
“If you’re going to get back in tip-top form, you’ll have to say goodbye to these,” she said. She slid off the barstool and looked around for a garbage can. There was none. “You’re ruining my dramatic effect here. I wanted to toss the chips in the trash and slam the lid closed for emphasis.”
“Don’t throw away my chips.” He rounded the kitchen island and plucked the bag from her hands. “They’re organic and they’re baked.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She tried to snatch the bag back, but he held it out of her reach. “You need to limit your complex carbs. If you’re craving a crunchy snack, go for those made from lentils or white beans instead.”
“I don’t like lentils,” he said as he retrieved a chip.
Taylor plopped her hands on her hips. “Are you seriously going to eat those in front of me? Okay, you need to decide if you’re going to take this seriously. If not, I can leave. I won’t have you saying in two months that I didn’t do my job becauseyoucan’t say no to a potato chip.”
