“Thanks. I’m happy you all enjoyed the class,” she replied, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.
You win some. You lose some.
And sometimes you losea lot. But she wasn’t ready to give up. Shenevergave up.
She pulled the elastic ponytail holder from her hair and gathered the flyaway strands. She’d sweated it out again, which meant at least an hour of blow-drying and flat-ironing tonight. She needed her hair braided in the worst way, but the thought of spending two hundred dollars at the salon was laughable. Braids were a luxury she couldn’t afford at the moment.
As she watched the class disperse, she noticed Mr. Hot and Fit had finally managed to fend off his new crush. He was now off to the side, performing calf stretches.
Oh, c’mon.Could he be more transparent? He was clearly waiting for the others to leave sohecould shoothisshot.
Taylor rolled her eyes and prepared for the inevitable corny pickup line. She only hoped he was smoother than the Craighole who’d joined her Muay Thai class last week. He’d approached after their workout, stretched the hem of his sweaty shirt toward her, and said, “Feel this. I wore it for you. It’s made of boyfriend material.”
Okay, so the old Taylor would havetotallyfallen for that line. But she’d changed in the last three months. It would take more than a cute, but still corny, pickup line to get her number these days.
Mr. Hot and Fit was about to learn that lesson.
He did a couple of side bends while the last two members of the class gathered their belongings. As soon as the women walked off, he made his way toward her.
“Thanks for coming out today,” Taylor said before he could speak.
“I knew when I signed up that I would get a good workout, but this was incredible. Even better than I anticipated,” he replied.
Oooh, he went with flattery. Nice move. It wouldn’t work, but she appreciated the tactic.
“I’m Jamar, by the way,” he continued.
“I’m happy you enjoyed the class, Jamar. Thanks again for participating.” Taylor slung the strap of her backpack over her shoulder and started for the parking lot where she’d parked Nessie.
He followed.
To his credit, he didn’t crowd her personal space, but she still didn’t want to deal with some kind of awful pickup attempt.
“Hey, umm . . . you give one-on-one instruction, right?” he asked.
Ah, here we go. The oldLet’s have some one-on-one fun togetherline. Gah. Shesowas not up for this today.
This was the downside of having to advertise her business on social media. It was all but impossible to avoid the creeps who signed up for her classes with something other than getting in shape in mind. The problem had only gotten worse since that stupid video with Craig.
Taylor stopped and turned. “Look, I appreciate you taking the class and everything, but this is a really shitty way to hit on women. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a smoothie with my name on it.”
“Hey, wait.” He put his hands up. “That’s not what this is about. I want to hire you as my personal trainer.”
Of course he did. So did every other Craighole.
She fought not to roll her eyes. “Look, if you want to schedule a consultation, you should email me or send a message through—”
He pulled at the waistband of his shorts.
Taylor took a step back and braced her legs apart, preparing to deliver a swift kick to his groin. “What in the hell are you doing?”
“Huh? What? No, I’m only getting my phone.” He tugged it out of a pocket sewn into the waistband of the tights he wore underneath his shorts.
He swiped his fingers across the screen and then turned the phone toward her.
“I messaged you a couple of days ago through the Taylor’d Conditioning Facebook page, asking about a consultation meeting. See the message from YourFavorite23?” He tapped his chest. “That’s me.”
She had at least one hundred unread Facebook messages. Including his if he’d only sent it this week. She really needed to get better at checking her inbox.
