Page 35 of Your Secret to Keep

how do i go about scheduling a private yoga session

i’m sure i can fit you in...

you’re fucking killing me

night brooks

Chapter 21

Lia

Centercourtiscoveredwith puppies, and I think I’m in love. One reason is the dogs running around, and the second is that this was my first pitched idea and Megan agreed to it. If there’s one thing people love, it’s dogs, and if you have a 6’3” basketball forward sitting with one on the floor and making heart eyes, they love it even more.

All jokes aside, this is a great cause. The local shelter is overrun with dogs to adopt, and while the Jags followers will swoon over their favorite player petting a drooly puppy, it brings great visibility to the dogs themselves. I’m hoping a few find their forever homes today.

My heart warms as the players walk in, not knowing what they’re getting themselves into, and immediately brighten when they see the surprise we’ve been keeping. I didn’t even tell Brooks—to be fair, he didn’t really ask. That was something we were clear about: keeping work separate from the two of us, especially because we work together closely. Also, if I don’t set a boundary, I’ll spend time at work thinking about him in ways colleagues should not. His hands. His hands on me. His hands on my—

“All of this is content gold, Lia!” Megan compliments me, immediately stopping my short trip into fantasy land.

I’m filming B-roll content, which are usually pieces to be used later and for other media channels, when I get the pull to look up.Brooks. He smirks at me, which I catch in real time—not through a phone screen—and his cheeks pinch a bit. He offers a slight shake of the headand follows his teammates to center court. Some of the dogs start to bark and jump on the makeshift fence meant to keep them contained.

I move with the team as they shake hands with volunteers, taking pictures and signing jerseys. This is just the pick-me-up I needed. I don’t know if I’ve been sleeping wrong or what, but my body has been sore on and off for the last few days. My typical yoga routine isn’t cutting it—my muscle are still stiff, especially when it comes to my hands and wrists.

Since the shelter is local, all the volunteers seem to be massive Jags fans. We gave each of them jerseys to wear, picking their favorite player, and we asked the team to sign them as they came in. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t smile extra wide whenever someone wanted a Pittman jersey.

Jalen is the first one through the line and immediately steps into the puppy den. He sits on the floor and lets them walk on top of him, lickinghis face. Since this is a team event, I get to spend more time with players other than Brooks, which is a nice change of pace. The guys are great, especially after Coach made it a point for everyone to meet me. He said, “She’s part of this thing, the least you could do is learn her name.” If other coaches or male execs in the NBA had this sentiment, we’d be closing a smaller gap when it came to women in sports.

I kneel, getting close to Jalen so I can see his face, right as a golden retriever puppy paws at him and ask, “Do you have a pet at home?”

He tries to look at the camera, but the puppy is awfully demanding of his attention. “No, I don’t.”

“Hmm, I feel like today could be the perfect day to find one. Don’t you think?” It’s a joke, but also a suggestion. I don’t expect any of the players to take dogs home, but if they did, that would make me ridiculously happy. Jalen laughs and it’s sort of the perfect reaction.

I’ve always wanted a dog. Wes and I asked for one every birthday and Christmas, and the agreement was when I turned thirteen, we’d get a family dog—I think the idea being Wes and I would be old enough to take care of it. My parents were gone before that birthday. I remember silently crying while my aunt and uncle sang to me, candles burning on a chocolate cake. Wes reached under the table and held my hand so tight, I think to keep himself from crying.

There was no birthday wish that year. The things I wanted weren’t possible, which sort of sucked all the hope out of me. I needed a time machine and even at thirteen, I knew they weren’t real.

Someone playfully bumps into my shoulder, bringing me forward about fourteen years and back to the Jags court. “You good?” Brooks asks.

I put on a smile, the one I’ve practiced for over a decade. It’s best used in public when there isn’t room for the tears or the depressing walk down memory lane. “Yes. All good. Just in a daze watching Jalen roll on the ground with the dogs,” I reply, watching as more Jags players join in.

“He does seem right at home, doesn’t he?” Brooks crosses his arms and I zoom in. Two dogs are pulling at Jalen’s sweatshirt drawstrings and another scratching at his tied shoelaces.

Once I’ve gotten enough content of Jalen, I turn to Brooks. “Tell us about your pet history.” I use my best interviewer voice, the one indicating this is content I’ll want to edit.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Actually, there’s no history. There was a stray cat who would hang outside the rundown court where I spent basically every day after school when I was a kid. I ended up using my lunch money to buy a small bag of cat food and I’d bring a little every day. When it got cold, I convinced my mom to get me a plastic tote, cut a hole in it, and make a spot for it to hide from the elements.”

The tears in my eyes are about to spill over. Is this man for real? A womanmusthave crafted him from all the things we love about a person. Fuck, I’ve got it bad if I think he’s the equivalent of aman written by a woman, one of my favorite pieces of the romance books I love to read.

“Brooks Pittman, that might be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. You used your lunch money?” I try to keep my voice from sounding too shrill. No one likes a voice like that coming through the speakers as you’re scrolling social media.

“Yes. Until my mom found out. Then she started bringing home cat food and helped me with whatever I asked. I think she was praying I didn’t ask to bring it home.” He laughs and crosses his arms. “No dogs, though.”

Brooks looks from me to the dogs hanging out. There’s a solid mix of adoptees; everything from a few puppies to senior dogs in all shapes and sizes. We walk closer and he puts his hands behind his back, leaning over the chaos.

“Get in there. Do it for the content,” I encourage him. “Do it for the dogs.” I mention the tagline I pitched to Megan—let’s try and get the other NBA teams to do something similar or make donations to local shelters. She hesitantly agreed, as long as I didn’t get my hopes up.

Brooks is hesitant but steps over the barrier like it’s nothing—perks of being an NBA player. He’s looking at me while stepping into the dark side. Immediately, he finds some older dogs who are off to the side on scattered beds and blankets. It’s almost like they’re thankful for the break from the chaos. The puppies are with Jalen and some of the other Jags players, jumping and barking; this seems to match perfectly.

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