She held up a hand. “Pump the brakes, Twenty-Three. If I decide to work with you.”

Jamar lowered his voice, even though the food truck park was relatively empty. “Look, Taylor, it’s obvious you don’t know who I am.”

“Am I supposed to know who you are, Twenty-Three? Or is it Diesel?”

“It’s Jamar.”

“Ah, so we’re still going with Jamar?”

He hitched his chin toward her phone. “Why don’t you Google Jamar Dixon?”

With her bullshit meter obviously on full blast, Taylor started typing with one thumb. Jamar leaned forward to get a better look at her screen. He noticed the way her forehead scrunched when the search results popped up.

“‘Starting running back for the Texas Longhorns for three years,’” she read. “‘First-round draft pick of the Chicago Bears.’”

“You forgot the most important one—the Katy High School Tigers.”

She rolled her eyes. “I will never understand this weird relationship Texas has with high school football.”

“It’s a religion,” he said with a laugh, feeling even better about his chances. She was joking with him. That had to be a good thing.

“Here’s what I don’t get.” She tipped her head to the side, her brow creasing with a perplexed frown. “If you’re Mr. Hot Shot Football Star, why do you need me? The NFL has some of the top trainers in the world. I didn’t even grow up in the States and I know being a player for the Chicago Bears is a huge deal.”

“Former player. And that’s where you come in,” Jamar said. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were still relatively alone. In a lowered voice, he said, “I want to work with someone who isn’t attached to the League, and the training I need requires someone who knows what they’re doing. It’s one thing to be in shape, but it’s entirely different to be in the kind of shape it takes to play professional football.”

“Is that your goal?”

He peered over his shoulder again before giving her a quick nod.

“And you think I can get you ready for the football field?” Taylor asked. “I mean, not that I can’t. I know that I can, but what makes you so sure?”

“Because your teaching style is exactly what I need, someone who will push me and won’t be afraid to call me out when I start to complain.”

“A drill sergeant,” she said.

Jamar nodded. “A drill sergeant.”

A hint of amusement drew up one corner of her mouth and Jamar was struck again by how damn lovely she was. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing she wasn’t so good at her job.

But she was. She’d proven that the moment she added one-armed push-ups to those burpees. His physical attraction to Taylor Powell would have to take a back seat.