Chapter 8
Cal
The entire drive home, all I could think about was Nia.
The way her body felt pressed against mine on the court.
The sweat glistening against her skin underneath those damn lights.
The way she looked at me right before I kissed her.
Feeling her melt into me for those few seconds had me fighting demons the entire ride back to the house.
By the time I walked through my front door, I was still hard.
Actually irritated about it, too.
“Yeah, this is ridiculous,” I muttered to myself, tossing my keys onto the marble counter.
Brookie lifted her head from the couch, watching me with quiet judgment before stretching lazily.
I headed upstairs immediately, stripping off my gear, and turned the shower handle as cold as it would go before stepping underneath the stream with a curse.
The freezing water slammed against my skin, shocking my system while I leaned both hands flat against the shower wall.
I stood there, eyes closed, trying to force my mind under control and freeze out the phantom taste of her lips.
It didn’t help much.
Because somehow, the second I closed my eyes, all I saw was Nia again.
Her body.
Her laugh.
That little smart mouth.
I finished the shower and eventually climbed into bed sometime after midnight, but even then, sleep didn’t come easy.
There was this weird tug sitting in my chest lately anytime it came to her.
Something heavier than attraction.
Heavier than habit.
I didn’t know what to do with that yet.
The next morning started early.
By seven, bright sunlight was already pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows while Brookie pawed at the side of my bed, demanding attention.
“Aight, damn,” I groaned, sitting up slowly and rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
I dragged myself toward the bathroom before splashing cold water against my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror for a second.
My eyes looked tired from the restless night, but thankfully, my lineup was still fresh and sharp.
Still thinking about Nia, though.
Great.
About forty minutes later, I was ready.
I dressed in black tailored joggers, a fitted premium white T-shirt, and a lightweight jacket, with my chain sitting clean against my chest.
Simple.
Clean.
I headed downstairs, grabbed one of the fresh cold-pressed juices from the fridge, and took a long sip while scrolling through sports headlines on my phone.
J5 was everywhere.
Every major sports platform was covering the comeback game now.
Projected minutes.
Injury concerns.
Predictions.
And underneath every video clip or report…
There was Nia somewhere in the background, helping bring him back.
I stared at one picture a second too long, taking in the sharp focus in her expression, before locking my phone and heading out the door.
The city was already alive by the time I pulled downtown toward the studio offices.
My podcast network occupied three floors inside one of the newer media buildings near Midtown, and by now, people recognized me before I even reached the elevators.
“Morning, Mr. Sinclair.”
“What’s up, Cal?”
“Big game next week!”
I nodded casually, greeting people with an easy smile while stepping through the bustling lobby.
Right before I reached the elevators, somebody stepped into my path and stopped directly in front of me.
“Well, damn,” a woman laughed softly, letting her eyes trail over my outfit.
“You look even better in person.”
I looked over and immediately smiled politely, slipping effortlessly into my public persona.
She was undeniably beautiful.
Tall.
Dark hair.
A cloud of expensive perfume following her.
Confident.
“My ego appreciates that,” I replied smoothly, leaning into the harmless banter.
She laughed, the sound light and polished.
“I’m Veronica.”
“Cal.”
“Oh, trust me,” she smirked slightly, her gaze lingering a second too long.
“I know.”
I leaned casually against the elevator wall while we talked for another minute or two.
Turns out she worked in marketing on one of the floors above ours and had apparently been a listener of the show for years.
She was funny, too.
Easy to talk to.
And definitely interested.
Before the elevator doors opened again, she pulled her phone out confidently.
“You know… I feel like famous podcasters probably don’t ask women for their numbers anymore.”
I laughed softly.
“You’d be surprised.”
“Well, lucky for you,” she replied, handing me her phone, “I’m making this easy.”
A few seconds later, I handed it back.
“Guess I’ll call you then.”
“I hope so.”
She walked off down the hallway afterward, and I watched her for a second.
She looked damn good.
Exactly the type of woman I should probably be entertaining right now.
Normal.
Easy.
Available.
Maybe getting back outside and actually dating again would help get Nia out of my head.
Because lately, she’d been sitting there constantly.
Everywhere.
And that wasn’t good for me.
I finally made my way upstairs where the familiar noise of the studio greeted me immediately.
Cameras moving.
Editors yelling.
Sports clips blasting from monitors.
“Hey, man,” Aaron called out the second he spotted me.
Outside of Mars, Aaron had been with me since the very beginning.
Part producer, part co-host, part creative director, he was the engine behind the scenes.
Though he’d recently ventured off into his own private creative agency that was excelling at a high rate, he was still the main person responsible for making sure the chaos around our network stayed organized enough to actually function.
“What’s going on, man?” I replied while dapping him up.
Aaron looked at me closely for a second, his sharp eyes taking in my face before a smirk slowly broke across his features.
“You look tired.”
I walked past him and grabbed another juice from the studio’s mini-fridge nearby.
“You talk too much.”
“Nah,” he laughed, leaning against the edge of a soundproof partition.
“That look right there means either you got no sleep… or somebody is stressing you out.”
Immediately, Nia flashed through my mind again.
The heat of her body on the court.
The taste of her mouth.
The glowing name on her phone screen.
I hated that.
Aaron’s smirk widened slowly, his director and producing instincts locking onto my sudden silence.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, pointing a finger at me.
“It’s definitely a woman.”
“Come on, man,” I laughed, shaking my head while adjusting the wireless mic pack clipped to my waistband.
“When have you ever known me to trip over a woman?”
Aaron stared at me for a second like he was genuinely running through years of history in his head.
“Actually?” he said slowly.
“Never.”
“Exactly.”
“But…” he added, his smirk returning with a vengeance, “I also ain’t never seen you this distracted, either.”
I rolled my eyes immediately, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, and pushed past him toward the main studio doors.
The studio was already fully set up by the time we walked in.
Lighting positioned perfectly.
Cameras rolling through final checks.
Graphics running across the massive screens behind the desk with J5’s face plastered across the headline:
THE RETURN.
Houston basketball had basically turned into a religion lately, and next week’s game was shaping up to be one of the biggest moments of the season.
Especially after how ugly J5’s injury looked months ago.
Today’s guest sat relaxed in the chair across from mine, scrolling through his phone while makeup did final touch-ups.
Nicky Brown.
Starting shooting guard for the Houston Phantoms and one of J5’s closest teammates.
Nicky looked up the second he saw me.
“There goes the loudest man in sports media.”
I laughed while dapping him up.
“And there goes the second loudest.”
“Cap.”
“Big cap.”
Everybody laughed while we settled into position around the high-end studio table.
A few minutes later, the producer counted us down silently from behind the lens of the main camera.
Three.
Two.
One.
The red light flashed live.
The red light flashed live.
“Welcome back to The Sinclair Report,” I started smoothly, leaning forward slightly to lock eye contact with the camera.
“Houston, we got a good one today because one of the biggest stories in basketball right now is happening right here in our city. J5 officially returns next week, and sitting with me today is the man who’s been watching the process up close all season long—Houston Phantoms star shooting guard, Nicky Brown. ”
Nicky nodded casually toward the lens, flashing a quick, practiced smile.
“What’s happening.”
I leaned back slightly while the production team rolled the opening clips on the digital screens behind us, displaying explosive highlights from last season before J5’s devastating injury.
“Now, let’s get right into it because everybody wants to know the same thing,” I said, shifting my tone into full analyst mode. “How’s he looking?”
Nicky smiled immediately, a mix of excitement and genuine respect crossing his face.
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“He's looking scary...but in a good way.”
That made me laugh, the easy chemistry between us carrying perfectly over the broadcast.
“Scary for the other team, I hope.”
“Oh, yeah!” Nicky continued, leaning his forearms on the table to emphasize the point. “People forgot who he was because he has been gone for a minute. But bro is moving differently already in practice.”
“You think he's ready?”
“I know he's ready."
Nicky leaned forward slightly now, his tone turning reflective.
“And I have to give credit where it’s due too, because whoever has been handling his rehab…” He shook his head, thoroughly impressed. “They worked miracles.”
I already knew where this was going before he even said it.
“Nia Kingsley?” I asked, trying to sound completely casual.
“Yeah,” Nicky nodded immediately. “That’s her name. Man, listen… J5 trusts her completely. And for athletes, that’s everything.”
Something shifted quietly in my chest hearing another man praise her like that.
It wasn't jealousy, exactly. It was more like pride.
Because they were finally seeing what I had always seen in her. How brilliant she was. How hard she worked. How naturally gifted she was at connecting with people, both physically and mentally.
“She got him right?” I asked.
“More than right,” Nicky replied seriously. “You can tell she really cares about the details. Movement. Confidence. Recovery. She isn't just rehabbing his knee. She's rebuilding his trust in himself, too.”
For half a second, I forgot I was supposed to keep talking.
Aaron’s eyes widened immediately from behind the camera while he made a subtle, sharp snapping motion with his fingers, a silent wake up, dummy.
I blinked quickly and recovered smoothly, steering the show right back on track.
“That mental side definitely matters after injuries like that,” I added, adjusting slightly in my chair.
“Exactly,” Nicky agreed. "The world is going to see it next
week.”
The rest of the segment flowed naturally after that. We talked playoff predictions, chemistry within the Phantoms locker room, trade rumors around the league, and what Houston basketball looked like moving forward with J5 healthy again.
By the time the cameras finally cut, everybody in the studio relaxed instantly.
Nicky stood up first, stretching his arms out.
“That was solid.”
“You carried me,” I joked.
“I know.”
We laughed and dapped each other up before he headed out with his management team.
The second he disappeared through the studio doors, Aaron looked directly at me.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Mhm.”
I grabbed my phone, already knowing exactly what expression he was making without even looking up at him.
“You zoned out hard when he mentioned Nia.””
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
I ignored him completely while opening my messages instead.
Veronica’s number still sat near the top from earlier that morning.
Maybe Aaron was right.
Maybe I needed a distraction.
Something normal.
Something uncomplicated.
Before I could think too hard about it, I texted her:
You free for lunch?
Her response came almost instantly.
Thought you’d never ask.
An hour later, we were seated outside at a lowkey upscale lunch spot near Midtown called Park & Pearl.
Good food.
Quiet atmosphere.
The kind of place rich people went when they didn’t feel like being seen too much.
Veronica looked beautiful in daylight too.
Long legs crossed underneath the table while she laughed at something I’d just said.
She was okay.
But something was missing.
Or maybe someone.
Because every few minutes my mind kept drifting somewhere else entirely.
Back to Lincoln Park.
Back to Nia underneath those court lights.
Veronica sat across the table touching my arm lightly.
“You okay?”
I blinked quickly.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You just disappeared for a second.”
I smiled smoothly trying to recover.
“My bad. Long week.”
She nodded understandingly before continuing her story, but even while she
talked, I caught myself wondering what Nia was doing right now.
And that realization irritated me more than anything.