Page 17

Chapter 16

Lia

“What’s the deal with this pasta?” I ask after swallowing another bite. This is on par with some of the best food I’ve ever eaten. The nervousness sits low in my stomach, but the noodles help. “Is this, like, special pasta given to you by the NBA or something? Are you sharing trade secrets?”

Brooks holds back a laugh. “Would you believe me if I said Zack invited me to a cooking class? Well, he hired the chef, and we all learned at his place.”

“Who is all?”

“My dad, his wife, my mom, Riley, Zack, and Emilie... his fiancé.”

“Okay, that’s adorable.”

“Yeah, it’s very Zack, if that makes sense.” Brooks takes another bite of his pasta. “Tell me about your parents.”

A soft hole flutters in my chest. It’s more of an ache than a type of hurt. That may change day to day, based on what’s going on, if the subject of my parents comes up.

“They were lovely people. My dad is the reason I’ve been obsessed with the Jags since I can remember, and probably why Wes plays basketball. My mom was the kind of person who was so thankful for what she had.” Brooks’ brows furrow with the way I talk about them in past tense and then his face drops. “It’s okay,” I assure him. “They died when I was twelve. It’s been a long time. ”

“I’m sorry. No matter how long it’s been.” Brooks rubs my forearm as he sits next to me at the bar. “I came from a single parent household and that was hard enough, so I can’t imagine.”

“Thanks. There were some stretches where it felt impossible, but we made it.” I let the feeling of pride run through me, even if it’s only a moment. I take my final bite of pasta and then push the dish in front of me.

“Well, didn’t mean to make dinner convo this heavy, but here we are.” Brooks sarcastically laughs, shrugging his shoulders and lifting his eyebrows.

I shake my head and say, “You didn’t know. Plus, I like to talk about them, but my friend circle has always been kind of small. I was always trying to find a job, make some money, and that didn’t leave much room for being social.” I take a drink of the white wine, which might be the smoothest I’ve ever had.

Brooks gathers our dishes, puts them in the sink, and starts to wash them. I offer to help but he shakes his head no.

A man who willingly does the dishes is so hot. Not that Brooks needs any help in that department. He’s leisurely gorgeous, like he was about to have dinner by himself, and I’m trying not to stare. He’s wearing joggers that are tight around his thick and muscular thighs, the same ones I straddled the other night. Some could argue he may need to size up, but they would be ridiculously incorrect.

We sit in a minute of silence, which almost feels warm and perfectly heavy, the kind I hope for when I put my weighted blanket over me. When he’s done with the dishes, he reaches for my hand and leads me to the living room. His hand surrounds mine and my heart races. It doesn’t stop when he grabs a blanket from a basket, sits on the deep couch, and motions for me to sit next to him .

I set my wine down on the side table and sink into the couch. He opens his arm, like I could lean into him if I wanted, and I do. Brooks watches me as I’m getting situated, kicking my legs to the side and letting his arm rest on my shoulder. I can feel the way his eyes follow my movements, like velvet on my skin. It’s nice being the tall girl and still fitting on the couch—I’d consider this an NBA player boyfriend perk.

Boyfriend? Oof. I stare at the wine and internally scold myself. Slow down, killer.

A fireplace boasts a fire across from us and there’s a few Halloween decorations on the mantle—a ceramic ghost, a few skeletons with their legs dangling, and velvet pumpkins. Honestly, they’re all pieces I’d love to have in my apartment.

“Now, did you wear that shirt specifically for me or no?” He offers a smirk as his eyes land on my tried and true Jags shirt.

“Here’s the thing: a lot of my wardrobe is Jags stuff and was even before I got the job.”

“I can’t wait for you to experience a merch drop,” Brooks muses while looking at me, and when he sees my confusion, he keeps going. “It’s when we get a full run of the new line from whatever company is contracted. Everyone at the organization gets one of everything, if they want it, and then it’s how they decide what to keep for retail, or toss, or save for later.”

My eyes are probably bugging out of my head like a fucking Pixar character, but I literally do not care.

“Yeah, you’re going to love it,” Brooks says while he’s drawing his fingers along my arm.

Needing to pivot the attention, I ask, “How do you like the house?” He gave me a quick tour of the downstairs when I came in. During our Jags work, he mentioned he’d recently moved .

“I like it. It’s a bit much compared to what I probably need but that’s okay. The built-in gate in a neighborhood that doesn’t get much press is always nice.”

And just like that, there’s a perfect opening to one of the questions stuck on the tip of my tongue. “You know what, I’ve been meaning to ask. How do you get the press to leave you alone? Make a deal with the devil?” I joke.

“Honestly, when I’m out in public, I chat with them and try to give them exactly what they’re after. I think that makes me feel available and not like they need to follow me back to my house, but that’s also why the gate is nice. In case anything like that were to happen.” Brooks takes a drink of his wine and sets it back down.

I did find it a bit odd that he freely gave me the code to get into his house. And that there was no one on the road or posted up, trying to see who was coming and going.

“Plus, I don’t have many visitors.”

The jealous part of me, who wants to ask about previous girlfriends and partners, is quieted by the comment. I’m trying to play it cool and grilling someone about their exes is not the move.

“So if you’re worried about being caught coming in, I really doubt it,” Brooks explains, “but there is a back entrance. I bought a bunch of land behind the house, and I don’t think anyone knows it’s there.”

“Well, if it didn’t have a secret entrance, would any of this even be worth it?” I gesture around the massive house before resting my hand on his chest. “Okay, what other hidden gems do you have? Hidden wine cellars? An ivory tower?”

“I do have a library—or, I will have one. The shelves are being custom built next week. Obviously, there’s a gym with a sauna in the basement. Oh, and the pool outside? It’s heated. ”

My heart damn near breaks open when he mentions the library, but when he gets to the heated pool, the library simply becomes an open tab in my brain as my mind sprints in a much different direction.

“A heated pool? What a dream.” My muscles start to relax thinking about the warmth of the water. “You use it a lot?”

“Not really. It’s not that fun to swim alone.” Brooks is looking down at me and I can feel the flames starting to lick at my skin.

I lift myself, stretching my arms and saying, “You’re not alone now.” I sound much more confident than I feel. I’m ridiculously aware that I don’t have a swimsuit, which means I’m inviting myself to swim with a professional athlete in my bra and panties. I feel a little better as I realize I at least put on a matching set today, which is certainly not the norm.

Brooks leans forward, capturing my mouth with his, and it feels like every bit of breath leaves my body. His lips are warm, soft, and enveloping.

He pulls away and I display great restraint by not reaching to grab a fistful of his shirt and not let him move an inch further. By not pulling his hard muscles into me. But then he says, “You’re right. I’m not.”