She peered at him over her shoulder as she unloaded plastic meal-prep containers from one of the bags. “Seriously, how did you get a body like that without eating vegetables?”

Jamar arched a brow. “You’ve been checking out my body?”

“Uh, give your ego a Xanax. I’m your trainer; it’s my job to check out your body.”

And just like that, his ego was now the size of the speck of dust he found on the marble countertop. He swiped at it with his thumb.

“I’m serious about those burgers and quesadillas,” Jamar said. “You can take those back with you because they’ll just go to waste here.”

She plopped a hand on her hip, that sassy-ass attitude on full blast. “Okay, both of these are freaking delicious. They are, by far, my most popular dishes. But do you want to know what tastes even better than those amazing quesadillas? Revenge.” She dragged out the word. “Now, how bad do you want it?”

Jamar cursed under his breath. “Fine, I’ll eat the chickpeas.”

“You will also eat crow when you’re forced to admit how much you like them,” she said. If she were anyone else, he would have found her triumphant grin irritating. On Taylor, it was charming.

She picked up four of the eight containers and carried them to the refrigerator. Jamar snatched up the remaining ones and brought them to her.

“Thanks,” she said, taking them from him and storing them along with the others. “By the way, I’m going to need you to change out of those clothes.”

He looked down at his compression leggings/shorts combo and muscle tank, his typical workout gear. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“We’re not working out today. At least not yet.”

“What? Why not?”

They’d skipped yesterday’s workout. He didn’t want to bring up money with her, but he was paying her some damn good money to train him.

She closed the refrigerator and leaned back against it. Folding her arms over her chest, she said, “We need to address your nutrition.”

“I said I’ll eat the chickpeas, Taylor. And I threw out all the potato chips.”

“Good. But if your nutrition isn’t on point, all the bicep curls in the world won’t make a difference. I’ll bet you were taught to carbo load because carbs are fuel, right?”

Jamar shrugged. “They used to serve us spaghetti dinners before the game on Friday nights.”

“I’m not surprised.” She snorted. “I’m not anti-carbs or anything, but you have to be smart about how you consume them.”

“So Twix and cheese puffs are out of the question?”

She rolled her eyes. “Your sense of humor is trash,” she said, but then a reluctant smile drew across her lips.