Page 37 of Your Secret to Keep

She shakes her head, like she didn’t know she was doing it. “Yes. I’m trying to find a dermatologist who takes my horrible insurance, but I’ve had no luck. I went to a walk-in clinic and they gave me some cream butit’s still super dry. Not a big deal.” Lia reaches for a spoon and a container of chicken pot pie soup.

After we’ve eaten our weight in soup and salad, Lia asks, “Are you ready to do nothing?” Her words are quick and eyes big as I nod. “Come on.” I grab my tablet and earbuds before I follow her to her room.

Lia’s apartment is cozy—something I want for my own space. Since it’s a studio apartment, she’s needed to get creative on the room she has. My favorite is how she used bookshelves to create a boundary between the main living area and her bed.

She lifts the duvet cover and slips into bed, propping up the pillows before patting the side next to her. I follow suit and sink onto what feels like one of the nicest mattresses I've ever touched.

“Call me Ms. Ironic, asking you to take it slow and then inviting you to bed.” Lia laughs at herself, pressing her hands on the comforter. “Apologies for the mixed signals.”

Her voice feels like she’s on the edge of self-deprecation. Doubt crinkles the edge of words from a woman who usually seems to know what she wants.

I grab the hand closest to mine and squeeze, trying to reassure her as I say, “You know what? I’m a big fan of mixed signals. Keep me on my toes.”

Lia’s lips turn up the smallest bit at the corner as she uses her phone to turn on the smart TV. She opens YouTube and clicks a recently viewed video, but it’s only the sound of a crackling fire. I think it’s meant to feel like we’re sitting in a corner of the lodge that shows on the screen.

She immediately starts to defend herself. “Don’t make fun of me until you give it a few minutes.”

“I think I like this,” I say, letting my arms fall on the side of the duvet cover. I swear, I can feel her beam next to me.

“Okay, you brought your iPad. What’s the plan?”

“I need to watch some film for the upcoming teams on the schedule. I brought headphones, though.”

She looks offended as she protests, “I want to watch film with you! We can put it on the TV.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “What about the fireplace thing?”

“The twelve hours of fireplace aesthetic will be waiting for us whenever we need it. I’ve never gotten to watch film with a professional athlete before.” She sits up a little straighter and displays a code on her TV for me to pair my tablet.

I type in the code, seeing a mirror of what’s on my tablet screen show on the TV. Before I push play, I stop. I look over to Lia, and her eager face and wide eyes have my heart pounding in my chest. Thumping floods my ears and I take a slow breath, recognizing the heaviness I typically feel becoming slightly less and less. This woman is fun, but the kind of fun that I've been looking for—a kind I was skeptical I'd find.

“What’s wrong?” Lia asks.

I turn and reach a hand for her, placing it at the nape of her neck before pulling her lips into mine. Lia opens her mouth, giving me room to really sink into this kiss. I taste her and she puts a hand in my hair, pushing it back.

I pull away so our foreheads are touching and answer, “Absolutely nothing is wrong.” Lia quickly presses another kiss to my mouth.

I sit back, propped up on pillows, and push play on the game featuring the top team in our conference. The Jags sit at third, only three games back, but the Denver Gold Rush have a roster that’s about to make a serious run at a championship.

The starting lineup is announced as Lia says, “They finally might have all the pieces this season,” like she was reading my mind. “I called this three years ago when they created cap space with their young roster. Fanswere pissed about letting a few of the veterans sign max deals somewhere else, but they wouldn’t be set up like they are now without those moves.”

My mouth might be hanging open at her observation on their roster moves and cap space, which at a base level is the amount of money a team has for player contracts. You can go beyond cap space, but it costs the organization a ton of extra money on top of the contracts.

“You said that like you were an announcer for this game.” I shake my head and try not to stare at the gorgeous woman who is much more than the fan she claims to be.

“Want to trade secrets? I’ll go first,” Lia suggests with a hand on her chest. I nod, pause the film, and she continues. “Calling an NBA game? The dream. I practice with old games... turn off the commentary and act like I'm calling them.” She tucks a chunk of blonde hair behind her ears and looks at the paused game on the TV. “I majored in Electronic Media Broadcasting and Sports Journalism at my small local college. I love what I'm doing now, but calling games would be the ultimate goal.”

“You could do it.” The words sprint out of my mouth, a true gut reaction.

Lia scoffs and silently laughs to herself. “You do know that we’re just now seeing women in key roles in the NBA, right? Like, it’s only been a few seasons of women being referees, in the booth, or on coaching payrolls.”

“Perfect timing for Lia Stone to make waves,” I boast so matter-of-factly, she tilts her head in surprise. “Listen, there are fans and people who like sports, and then there’s you. You have a different kind of love for the game.”

“Thank you for the compliment. Very kind of you to say.” Lia rubs her hands together and stares down.

I reach over and grab her hands, squeezing, wanting her to look at me. When she does, I insist, "I really think you could do it. You’re smart and have the personality for someone in the booth. I’m not just saying it.”

She slowly smiles and it feels like I've chipped away a little bit of the apprehension and doubt. “Your turn,” she insists.

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