Page 61 of Floored

"All right?" I asked cautiously. Normally, I might have slid a hand up her back to rub in soothing circles, something I'd learned that she liked. Any physical affection made Lia purr like a bloody cat, actually. But as this was my first experience seeing her watch American football, I felt a bit skittish. Mainly because she swatted my hand away the last time I tried to calm her down.

"No, I'm not all right." She tossed her hands in the air at the next play. "What is he doing? Why would you do another pass play? They're killing us on the line." She pulled her phone out, frantically tapping out a text. "Idiot. What an idiot."

"Texting the coach your suggestions?" I teased.

"Yes."

My eyebrows popped up. "I was joking, love."

She glanced over at me. "So was I. It's my sister Isabel.

"Ahh. Does she concur with your game analysis?"

"Yeah, the head coach is an idiot. He should've been fired last year. I don't know why Allie hasn't stepped in."

My head tilted. "Who's Allie?"

"Paige—Logan's wife—it's her best friend. Allie owns the Wolves."

"Goodness," I murmured, "I had no idea I'd impregnated sports royalty."

Lia smacked me in the stomach, and I grinned.

"And Isabel is the one visiting in a couple of weeks."

Before she answered, she watched with a frown as the Wolves offense failed to get a first down. "Yeah. You'll love Isabel, mainly because you won't be intimidated by her."

"Are most people?"

"Oh, yeah." Lia laughed. "She manages a boxing studio back in Seattle, and I swear, you take one look at her, and you just know ... this chick could kick my ass without breaking a sweat. She's tough, and smart, and funny. She's the best big sister because I always knew no one would mess with us when Isabel was around."

Her family was so different than mine. Listening to her talk about them, I felt a bit like I was a voyeur trying to understand what normal family dynamics were through the very extraordinary group she'd been born into.

"And she's also watching at home, screaming at the screen like a maniac?"

"Yes," she answered immediately. "Paige and Claire are at the game, but they're also probably screaming like maniacs. It's a family trait."

"Sounds like it."

"But"—she held up a finger—"I actually have messaged Logan during the game with ideas."

"You have not."

"He ignores me." She narrowed her eyes as she thought. "Usually. There was one time he said he saw my message during a commercial break and ran the defensive scheme I suggested."

"You are joking."

Her eyes got big. "I would never joke about that. The running back was kicking their ass. Logan needed the inside linebacker to blitz the gap."

I threw my head back with a good belly laugh. I couldn't help myself.

It was enough to have Lia's tense shoulders relaxing for the first time since the game started. Shepperton had the day off, we'd played midweek, and she begged for control of the telly on Sunday night so we could watch her beloved Wolves--—the team her brother played for and now coached. The camera panned to him as the defense took the field for a new series.

"Defensive coordinator Logan Ward has made quite an impact on this team's defense since he took over the clipboard," the announcer said.

His counterpart hummed. "Indeed. They've consistently ranked in the top three for sacks and takeaways, and this season so far, they're the top scoring defense in the league. That's largely in part to the addition of Noah Griffin to the roster last year, and how he's stepped up under Ward's coaching."

Lia smiled.

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