Chapter 10
Cal
The second I saw Nia standing at the curb across the street, everything around me blurred for a second.
Which was crazy, considering I had a beautiful woman sitting directly across from me talking about some marketing campaign she was leading next quarter.
But the moment my eyes landed on Nia… that was it.
Low-rise jeans hugging her hips perfectly.
Brown skin glowing underneath the afternoon sun.
Curls everywhere from the humidity. And those damn Prada sandals showing off her toes I’d spent entirely too much time kissing over the years.
Yeah. I was cooked.
And what irritated me most was the fact I noticed immediately how relaxed she looked with Mars.
Laughing. Smiling. Happy. Meanwhile, I’d spent half this lunch mentally checking out every five minutes thinking about her anyway.
Veronica was cool. Really cool, actually.
Beautiful. Smart. Easy to talk to. But suddenly sitting there with another woman while watching Nia across the street made me feel guilty for reasons I couldn’t explain.
Which made no damn sense. Nia and I weren’t together.
We never had been. That was the entire point of us keeping things casual all these years.
Still, the second Mars and Nia noticed me, something instinctive kicked in. Especially when I caught the look on Nia’s face. Subtle. Small. But definitely there. And I hated how much I wanted to know what she was thinking.
My feet were already moving before my brain fully caught up. I barely even realized I’d rushed to explain who Veronica was to me.
“She’s just a coworker.”
The words came out too fast. Too defensive.
And the crazy part? I wasn’t even talking to Mars.
My eyes stayed on Nia the whole time because, for some reason, it mattered that she knew there was nothing going on there.
That realization sat weird in my chest immediately afterward.
Because since when did I need Nia’s approval?
But then Mars opened her mouth.
“Shopping for Nia’s date Friday.”
Date. Not drinks. Not one of those casual little situationships Nia entertained for a week before getting bored. An actual date.
That threw me more than I wanted it to. Because in all the years I’d known Nia, she never really let men court her seriously.
She flirted. Had fun. Moved freely. But actual dates?
Real interest? That wasn’t her. At least not usually.
And the fact some mystery man somehow got her excited enough for shopping trips and butterflies irritated me way more than it should’ve.
I joked through it naturally because that’s what I always did.
“Nia's giving somebody a chance? Wow.”
But internally? That shit stung a little. Not enough to ruin my mood. Just enough to make me uncomfortable. I I hated that feeling.
Then Mars started talking about shopping again and Nia laughed softly, looking away from me.
And for some reason, I suddenly didn’t want to go back to work anymore.
I wanted to follow them. Which sounded insane even inside my own head.
But I wanted to know where she was going.
What she planned on wearing. Who this man was that suddenly had her smiling at her phone all week. I wanted details.
That bothered me, too. Because I’d never been possessive over Nia before. Curious? Sure. Protective? Definitely. But this weird jealousy sitting underneath my skin lately felt unfamiliar.
Eventually, I forced myself to leave because I actually did have work waiting on me downtown, but the entire drive back to the office, my thoughts stayed stuck on one thing: Nia Kingsley was genuinely excited about another man. And I didn’t know what the hell to do.
As I drove back downtown, I had no choice but to force my focus elsewhere because there was too much work that needed to be done before Friday night.
J5’s return game was going to be huge for the league and everybody knew it.
After nearly a year off the court, the media coverage alone had become insane, and somehow my team had managed to secure me a courtside broadcasting spot for the opener.
Not just podcast coverage, either. Actual live broadcasting alongside some of the biggest names in sports media, with responsibilities that included pregame analysis, halftime commentary, and postgame coverage.
The opportunity itself was massive and, although I’d never admit it out loud, the pressure sitting on my shoulders felt just as big.
If I was being honest with myself, this was probably the biggest opportunity I’d had since I stopped playing ball in college.
People loved my podcast because I was unfiltered.
Real. Players trusted me because I’d lived this life before.
But broadcasting was different. Cleaner.
Sharper. Faster. This was where people decided whether you were actually talented or just another former athlete with a microphone.
Which meant I should’ve been fully locked in. Instead, my mind kept drifting back to Nia standing outside Fitz in those damn low-rise jeans, talking about some date. I hated how much that bothered me.
By the time I got back to the office, my production team was already running around preparing graphics, reviewing stat sheets, and finalizing rundown segments for Friday.
“You good?” Aaron asked while handing me updated notes.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
I looked up. He put his hands up and backed away slightly, already knowing when to leave something alone.
I shook my head before looking back down at the production rundown sitting across my desk.
The network had already sent over the finalized segment structure for Friday night’s coverage along with the names of the analysts I’d be working beside.
Marcus Vaughn. Terrence Cole. James Bishop.
Hall of Famers and legends. Men I grew up watching before I ever touched a microphone myself.
The segment breakdown detailed everything from opening introductions and injury-recovery discussion points to live halftime adjustments and postgame reactions depending on how J5 performed.
The producers even highlighted certain questions they specifically wanted me to lead since I’d been covering Houston basketball closer than most national analysts.
Aaron walked back over holding another tablet while glancing down at the names on my screen.
“Oh, yeah,” he laughed softly. “They throwing you in the deep end now.”
I leaned back slightly in my chair, pretending the pressure didn’t bother me nearly as much as it actually did.
“This is what I wanted, though.”
“And you ready for it,” Aaron replied seriously. “You know this game better than half these dudes already sitting on TV.”
I nodded slowly while flipping through more notes, but internally I knew this opportunity was different.
Podcasting let me be loose. Unfiltered. Myself.
But national broadcasting? That was a different level of pressure entirely.
Timing mattered. Delivery mattered. Presence mattered.
One awkward segment and social media would eat you alive before halftime even started.
A part of me was excited as hell for the challenge.
Because deep down, I knew I belonged there.
With a bachelor’s degree in broadcasting, I never imagined I’d actually get the chance to use it in the ways I had been blessed with today.
Sitting in rooms like this alongside respected analysts and former legends of the game still felt surreal sometimes.
And for once that day, I finally managed to lose myself in the work.
I’d even stopped saying Nia’s name in my head at some point, like maybe if I quit saying it altogether, I’d eventually stop thinking about her too.
So far?
That strategy wasn’t working worth a damn.