Page 15 of Your Secret to Keep

“Months. You’ll be able to be involved with other projects too, giving you a break from this guy. We have an opportunity to showcase thedoctor and medical team who completed the new procedure, and this guy always is good for the team image.” Megan gestures to me. “He’s easy to work with.”

Chapter 10

Lia

Brooks

did you decide on Chicago?

Me

why are you so curious?

professional reasons

also pizza reasons

listen, it’d be a travesty not to eat the best pizza in chicago

if you’re going that is

are you even home yet?

plane landed when I texted you

Butterfliesflutterandhitthe edges of my ribs when I think about Brooks turning his phone off airplane mode and immediately texting me. I don’t know much about him, outside of basketball stats, and only managed to fall into a rabbit hole of his past girlfriends once since our dinner, but I want toknow more.

It’s my second week with the Jags and the team has had three away games, which kept them on the road for the entire week. I wasn’t expected to go to any of these so I could meet the rest of the media team and get used to the Jags processes. Plus, I was able to grab a few bartending shifts and make some extra cash—never a bad thing.

I also spent some time researching the ethics for someone in my position who dates a player from the franchise they work for. I was hoping someone would point out a law, or a court case, where it would paint my decision in black and white. No such luck as I sit here in a world of gray, thinking about the series of events.

Here’s the thing: I want to go out with Brooks Pittman. Again. I want his mouth on me. His hands. I want to press into his body like I did outside my apartment. Put my hands on his broad chest, his wide shoulders.

let me know what you decide

sleep good

I want to tell him to drive over. Or to drop his address. But I don’t. Instead, I go with the most vanilla and safest of responses.

you too

Don’t mind me, I’m just over here being the most boring person on the planet. I scoff and put my phone somewhere I can’t see it. My fingers touch a patch of skin on my forearm until they find the roughest part behind my elbow. I rub lotion into the spots—the sanitizer water at the bar is probably the culprit. I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror and notice a few red spots in the corner of my eyes. Leaning forward, I see some of the same dry skin on my lash line.

I wash my face twice, once with a balm cleanser and then with a gel, before reaching for my go-to moisturizer. My skin has always beensensitive, and this helps keep it hydrated without any agitation. I even put a few dabs on the dry spots on my arms.

Before climbing into bed, I roll out my yoga mat to do a few flows before bed. My hands and wrists have been sore, most likely from bartending, and I feel my best when I keep moving my body.

Once my muscles are happily fatigued and my lids are heavy, I roll the mat and crawl into bed. I try to hold on to the tired feeling, to fall asleep quick, but my heart races thinking about Brooks.

The way he looks at me.

The way I seem to be on his mind.

The way I want him even when it’d be better not to.

Today, my job is to film content at shoot around. Using a handheld Nikon, I get stills and video of Brooks doing the typical drills before he splits from the team to work with a specialist.

It’s like an obstacle course—different levels of short boxes, mats and circles. The coach demonstrates, without breaking a sweat or needing to stop talking, how Brooks should be able to get through it all on one leg and then the other.

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