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Chapter 14

Lia

“Yoga is bullshit,” Shelbie groans as she takes a long drink of her coffee.

I roll my eyes, laughing, because this isn’t new.

“Why do you come if you hate it this much?” I blow on the mug of hot coffee, wondering how Shelbie didn’t burn her mouth.

Now I’m thinking about my lips and how they still feel perfectly swollen from last night.

She yawns as she takes her black hair down from the messy bun she wore in class. It reaches past her shoulders and looks much better than it should for just falling out of a scrunchie. That’s the kind of luck Shelbie has, though.

Shelbie rolls her eyes. “Because someone went and got a dream job or something and has been impossible to get a hold of.”

Ouch. I know she’s giving me a hard time, but she isn’t wrong.

“When do you sleep?” She slouches back into the booth of our favorite coffee shop, which happens to be only a block from where I teach yoga.

“I’ve learned how to survive on four hours. What can I say?”

“You’re ridiculous. Now dish on the basketball player.”

Heat creeps up my neck until it lands on my cheeks. Whatever is between us is supposed to be a secret, but there’s no way I can keep this to myself. Shelbie is the human version of a vault .

“Let’s see. We’re spending a ton of time together for work, it’s going really well, and, oh yeah, I made out with him on my couch last night. Like a teenager.”

Shelbie clicks her tongue and hisses, “Next time, lead with the make out session. Why do you look so guilty? He’s not married, right?”

“Like I’d consider anything if he were married,” I scoff, taking a sip of my still-scorching coffee. If anything’s remained consistent for most of my life, it’s the importance of following the rules. Good girl syndrome runs deep in these bones; it’s part of my marrow at this point. “It feels like I’m breaking the rules or I’m being reckless or irresponsible.”

“Knock it off, Lia. No one would ever use the word irresponsible to describe you. You’re constantly two steps ahead and go to great lengths to get what you want… except when it comes to hot as fuck athletes, I guess.” She pauses and looks around the room.

I sit back with my hands in my lap and take Shelbie in. We’ve known each other since college, and we stayed in the same area. I’ve never been one to have a bunch of friends, mostly because I feel like I had way more responsibility than other people my age. But then I met Shelbie, being forced to do an icebreaker for a college class where she eloquently looked at me and said, “Can you believe we’re paying for this bullshit?” From then on, we’ve been close. No matter how much is going on, we can easily pick up right where we left off. When she got the job at The Foundry, she immediately told the manager she knew someone who would be interested in picking up shifts.

We’re quite the contrast. My hair is blonde, hers black, and my somewhat energetic sunny energy perfectly balances her deliciously dark and snarky self. If you get Shelbie to smile, you’ve done something right.

It’s kind of like romance books, when the main character is rough around the edges but is only soft for her. Shelbie is the grumpy main character who loves me no matter how much I differ from her .

“You need to let loose. Has anyone ever told you that?” she asks.

“You. About a thousand times. This year.”

“And yet, you never listen. You’ve got this job, you’ll make real money, and I know that’s one of your main stressors.”

The honesty is a lump in my throat I swallow past. It’s not a secret I’m always scrounging for money, a habit I had to learn when my parents died. Now I’m in a slightly better spot, but I’m always waiting for something to go wrong that will undo any of the progress I’ve made.

“I googled Brooks,” Shelbie admits with her eyes looking at me over her coffee mug. This doesn’t surprise me because, out of all things, Shelbie is a sucker for reality TV and celebrity gossip. “I’m happy to report there’s not a single Reddit thread about him being a slime ball. Now, his ex-girlfriend, that’s a different story. She doesn’t get a passing grade from me.”

Brooks and I haven’t talked about it, but I’ll never forget the press conference after he had a horrible game. It was a few games before he tore his ACL, and it was hard to watch. He couldn’t get it going. He ended with one point from a free throw, a bunch of turnovers, and one of the worst stat lines in Jags history. Someone from the press asked about his rumored ex-girlfriend. He cleared his throat, went to say something, but then stood and left instead.

I’ll never understand why people think that, because someone is an athlete, it somehow gives us full insight into their entire life. We’re not privy to that information. Athletes are allowed to be people.

“Yeah, I remember hearing about that. But I don’t want to know any specifics. If he wants to tell me about it, he can.”

“Here’s my advice. Dating someone you work with? Not always a good idea. But this is the gray area. You’re not his coach, a trainer, or a manager. If you think something is there, why run from it? ”

The other thing about Shelbie is how solid she is at asking questions. She’s got a knack for helping you figure out exactly what the issue is, or what you’re worried about.

“I’m afraid it’s too big of a risk. I don’t want anyone to look at me differently.”

“First, fuck that. Are you concerned about Brooks’ reputation, or yours because it comes with double standards and expectations?” The question must be rhetorical because she doesn’t lose speed. “Well, I’m not saying hook up under the basketball hoop during practice, but hear me out… I think you know how to be discreet, and I know for a fact he does, based on how little of him I can find online. Really, when I Google his name there’s a lot about some football player who is apparently his half-brother.”

“Zack Andersen.”

Shelbie loudly sets down her cup and rolls her eyes. “I know this guy’s name, isn’t that enough? I know Brooks Pittman is number seven and plays for the Jersey Jaguars. He wears purple. If that isn’t worth something, I don’t know what is,” she playfully laments.

I can’t help but belly laugh. She’s right. “You get all the credit. I’m proud of you. Sports knowledge and yoga in the same day? You’re on fire.”

She offers me a half-smile and I know I’ve cracked her hard exterior which is always a little soft for me. “All jokes aside, I think you should do it. But if you don’t, quit torturing yourself and don’t play the what if game. No one’s a winner when we do that.”

Damn it. She’s so right.

“Hey, I have some promo tickets to give away for the Jags. Do you want to go to a game?” I ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to see it for myself .

Shelbie stands from the table and takes a couple steps like she’s going to leave. I grab her arm, laughing. “I’m totally kidding. I’ll never make you come to a game.”

“Yoga is bad enough, Lia.”

It’s amazing how the light of my life is someone like Shelbie. She sits back down and launches into a story about someone who left her a $200 tip the other night.

Joy radiates through my chest from being able to spend time with Shelbie this way. I’ve not realized it until this moment, but I’m excited to slow down on some of the freelance work. I’m keeping a yoga class each week but no shifts at the bar, coffee shop, or bakery until I let them know I’m ready to come back.

I’ve been moving so fast for so long. I can’t remember the last time I had a free night—or better yet, a whole day off. It’s been years of picking up shifts, home improvement DIY projects, and trying to get ahead.

Maybe it’s time to rest. A little.

And maybe I won’t have to spend all my potential free time by myself?