“Oh, Twenty-Three, you will get no argument from me this time.” Taylor tugged his arm. “I never say no to Amy’s Ice Cream, even when it’s cold out.”

“Wait a minute,” he said. “How much extra time will this add to my workout?”

“You don’t even want to know. Just enjoy the ice cream tonight and don’t think about tomorrow’s ass kicking.”

The direct stares and low rumbling were apparent the moment they joined the line outside of the Austin ice-cream staple. Jamar made a mental bet with himself over how long it would take before someone approached.

“Excuse me, but didn’t you play for the Longhorns a couple of years ago? Jamar Dixon?”

He lost. He thought it would take at least twenty seconds.

“Yes, I am,” he answered, then stood for a picture with the woman and her two kids. That opened the floodgates. Pretty soon, he was posing for selfies and accepting praise for his time in the burnt orange and white with everyone in line. A few people mentioned his banged-up knee, offering sympathy for the raw deal he’d been dealt.

Jamar had prepared to bypass the two teenage girls, but even they asked for his picture. And, in a surprise to both him and Taylor, they asked if Taylor would join in. Turned out she was the star in their eyes. Their admiration for the way she, London, and Samiah had handed that Craig guy his ass—their words—in that viral video was all they could talk about.

“Well, that was fun, if a bit unexpected,” Taylor said once the girls walked up to the counter. She quirked a brow, a smug, sassy look on her face. “Guess you’re not the only celebrity here tonight.”

Why hadn’t he considered how the kind of sexy, flirtatious teasing that comes with a relationship—even a fake one—would affect him? It was too damn easy to get taken in by that mischievous gleam in her eyes and the impish smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

She was his trainer.

This wasn’t a real date.

He needed to concentrate on his end goal: getting his job back.

They ordered their ice cream—two scoops in a waffle cone for him and one in a cup for her—and continued along Sixth Street.

“Were you okay with what happened back there?” Jamar asked, motioning his head toward the ice-cream shop. “I’m used to the selfies and autographs, but if it makes you uncomfortable when we’re together, I know how to gently decline fan requests.”

“You’d better not,” she said. “I’m finally getting a taste of the fame I’ve always longed for.”

“Have you really?”