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 old Let’s have some one-on-one fun together line. Gah. She so was 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.

“I’m sorry, but I’m behind on reading my Facebook messages.”

“I was impressed after watching your videos on YouTube, but after this”—he hitched a thumb back toward the soccer fields—“I have no doubt that you’re exactly the personal trainer I need.”

Taylor couldn’t deny that he’d seemed really into their workout. He didn’t behave like those jerks who only signed up for her classes because they wanted to hang out with an Internet celebrity.

Okay, so maybe celebrity was pushing it, but whatever.

She hefted her backpack higher on her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest.

“At the risk of stroking your ego, you don’t look like someone who needs a personal trainer. Based on how well you kept up in today’s class, I’d guess that you know your way around the gym pretty well.”