3. Brooke
3
brOOKE
“S o, why are you really getting a roommate?”
Nova holds the door for me as we step inside the donut shop. The place is decorated in pink and white and has a long line. The glass cases lining the front are packed full of beautiful pastries.
“I meant what I said in the group chat. I miss having someone in my space. I should have thought of it sooner.”
“It’s not because your mom cut you off?” Nova always says what she’s thinking.
Missing out on the deal with Elise threw me, but it exposed the bigger problem beyond making enough influencer money to pay my rent month to month: I want a career that makes me unshakeable so that even when life sends me on a rollercoaster, I don’t have to run to my mom or brother.
Losing to Caroline didn’t send me spinning out—it lit a fire under my ass. I need to figure out my way forward.
But it’s a lot easier to do that with a roof over my head, and splitting the bill is the only practical way to do that if I’m not willing to go into debt.
We reach the front of the line and order a fluffy donut for each of us. Mine has white icing and raspberries, and hers has caramel drizzle and brownies.
We take our treats to an available table.
“I put an ad online and have a bunch of interested people, even after weeding out the weirdest ones. The first person is coming over tonight.”
I slide into my seat, brushing my ponytail behind me.
“Are you sure about this?” She shifts forward, her big eyes widening. “Because our new house?—”
“I’m not moving in with you and your husband! I love you for offering, but that’s final.”
Nova sighs so I continue.
“I said I wanted a roommate, and Clayton Wade does not fit the bill. He’s too broody. He’d bring down the entire vibe.” I tilt my head. “Besides, you guys are in the honeymoon bliss phase. Enjoy it.”
“It has been pretty great,” she admits. “I thought things would calm down after we got married, especially with the season. I miss him when he’s gone, but when he gets home…” Her eyes drift closed.
“Not envious at all that you’re having an orgasm just thinking about it.” I take a bite of the donut and the sticky sweetness melts in my mouth. “Mmmm. Speaking of, this is amazing.”
She mumbles her agreement as I look around. Usually, I’m the one who’s up to date on the new places.
“I’m so proud you discovered this.”
“I’ve been doing more on social media. Which has upsides and downsides.”
Now I’m curious. My friend sounds stressed, but building a brand and managing an image feel more like a game to me.
She pulls up her phone. “I started doing these AMAs, and mostly I get great things, but once in a while someone will say something shitty.”
“What kind of shitty?”
I look at her screen at the messages.
You haven’t made anything new in forever. Are you retired?
How can you call yourself a real artist?
I can’t believe you took Clayton Wade off the market.
I hate that trolls are dragging her down. I might not have superpowers, but I can fix this.
“For the first question, you can address it with a picture of you working.” I grab one from her file and post it, along with the caption “WIP. Top secret.”
“But I haven’t made anything new this week.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re working on your own schedule and cycle, and that’s good enough.”
The relief on her expression is evident.
“These other questions don’t need to be dealt with. More than that, you don’t need to look at these. You should have someone to deal with them for you. If it was me, I’d post a picture of you and Clay with a peace emoji and say the man is yours, and he’s the lucky one and it’s the last you’re speaking on it.”
She laughs. “I like that. You’re really good at this. Have you thought about doing PR?”
“Trust me, I’m busy enough trying to keep my own account from turning into a dumpster fire.”
Still, it was more fun to help her than figure out next steps with my own brand.
“At the risk of overstepping, I asked Clay about Miles,” she says.
“Tell me you did not ask your husband for inside information on his teammate.” I take an increased interest in the sprinkles dotting my donut, picking off a single colorful stick and popping it in my mouth.
“I absolutely did and I’d do it again. Especially the way Miles was looking at you at the club.” Nova’s smile fades a little. “Clay said Miles has been skipping out on team stuff to visit his grandmother. Apparently she just got out of the hospital.”
My stomach plummets.
He tried to talk to me, on the phone and at the club, but I was too busy being cool and unaffected by his hotness and oblivious to the Kodashians drooling on his shoes to ask him.
I check the time on phone. “I need to go meet this potential roommate. Wish me luck.”
But as I head for the door, I type out a text three times before I hit Send.
* * *
Brooke: Nova told me about your Grams. Is she okay?
Inviting a stranger to become my roommate might not have been my plan at the start of the year, but I’m starting to see the value of it. First and foremost, it will give me a break on my “How the hell did I not realize it was that much?!” rent while I figure out my new career.
When the knock comes on my door, I’m not ready, but I told the concierge I was expecting company and to send them up.
The apartment looks great. I added a couple of new plants whose names I’ve forgotten to make the place more vibrant. I’m still wearing leggings and a tank top from meeting Nova, but I put on makeup and pulled my favorite slouchy camel sweater over my head.
I figured it would feel more welcoming if I moved my stuff out of the closet in the second room—it’s Realtor 101. I want my new roomie can picture themselves in the space, so I put my stuff in boxes but haven’t had time to move them to my room.
My sweater slips off one shoulder as I cross to the foyer. I square my shoulders, ready to be welcoming and approachable.
Showtime.
I pull the door wide and fix on a smile.
“Hey! I’m Brooke…” I open the door and my smile fades with shock.
It’s not the engineering grad student I expected.
Instead, the Kodiaks’ shooting guard stares down at me from that layer of stratosphere he occupies seemingly without any effort.
Miles’s hair is a mess, his blue eyes electric. He takes up the entire hallway. In sweatpants and a hoodie, he could’ve come from the gym, except he’s clearly had a shower.
He flashes a smile.
“Hey. I’m Miles.”
Three words. They affect me more than they should.
It’s his voice, the smoothness of it. It feels as if he’s stroking my skin.
Heat curls low in my stomach even before I can shove the thought down.
I resist the temptation to play with the cuffs of my sweater. I’m not a self-conscious teen. I’m a composed twenty-something woman in her own home.
And the last time we were alone, both of us were naked .
Waffles barks up at me from Miles’s side. I crouch and scratch him behind the ears. His soft fur calms my emotions as he leans into my hand with a little grunt.
“Smart,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“Bringing the dog.” Waffles snuffles up at me as if he knows we’re talking about him. “What are you doing here?”
Miles is already walking past me into the apartment. “You texted me.”
“Oh, honey. That’s the beauty of texts. You don’t need to respond face to face. You can do it right in the app.”
“Same with phone calls, Princess.” He beams, giving Midwestern-fucking-farmboy as he reminds me of the three voicemails I didn’t return.
It should be annoying. It’s oddly endearing.
I glance down the hall. No sign of my future roommate, so for now I let the door swing shut.
“I have a potential roommate coming any minute.”
“That’s what we need to talk about.” His eyes darken, and for a moment, I have the crazy feeling I’m not the only one who’s been replaying our night together.
“You’re not getting a roommate,” he says. “There are all kinds of crazy people that could show up at your door.”
“I see that. And you’re here to explain that to me in your capacity as…?” I look him up and down.
A beat passes. Two. “A friend.”
I remember his fingers digging into my legs. Those smoky blue eyes staring up at me from between my thighs, daring me not to melt under him.
“Well, the roommate thing is not up for negotiation, but I could use a hand.”
I bend down to gather Waffles up into my arms, the dog sighing happily as I turn and head farther into my apartment.
Miles trails me into the second bedroom and grabs a box.
“Nova told me about your grandmother,” I say, stroking the Frenchie behind the ears. “Is she all right?”
He shifts the heavy box without flinching. “She fell again. They called me Saturday night in Vail after you were already asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. When they said she was in the hospital, it was like I went numb. I came straight back.”
I stare at him for a minute before realizing he’s still holding the massive load.
The box must weigh fifty pounds, but he’s not winded at all.
“Um… Put it in the closet. Please,” I add, nodding to my room because my own hands are full.
Of course, he came back given that.
It doesn’t change the fact that Miles’s loyalty is to my brother, but it’s hard to fault him for loyalty when he’s so devoted, just like with his grandmother. The way he goes to the wall for people he loves.
“How is she?” I ask.
“Improving. Though she’s not the world’s best patient.” His slow smile is wry.
“Does she have scans? I can ask Ruby if she’d take a look for a second opinion.” Working in the ER, she sees broken bones all the time.
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Thanks.”
Waffles starts to squirm in my arms, possibly responding to the hammering of my heart as I stare at his owner. I set him down.
“Listen,” Miles says after a minute. “In the spirit of friendship, you waking up alone is not what I pictured for the morning after.”
His usually casual voice has an edge, as if he’s still not convinced of his words even after they’re out.
I arch a brow. “We hooked up, Garrett. It was the environment and the hot air balloon thing and the high of pulling one over on Caroline and Kevin. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s not,” he echoes, gaze intensifying.
“No,” I say firmly. I’m giving us both an out. “There’s another box.”
He doesn’t complain, just heads for the spare room and returns a moment later.
He drops the box in the middle of my room with a thud and surveys my room: the pale pink walls, my bed with its white Pottery Barn duvet, my desk, my art prints. He crosses to the Kodiaks photo on my dresser. It was taken after finals, with the team and all the friends and family. “You have a picture of me in your room.”
“It’s a picture of my brother,” I correct. “And me.”
He lifts it anyway, his mouth curving. “I like it.”
His thumb moves over the glass. Miles is happy everyone’s together and smiling. It’s painfully obvious how much that means to him.
“I’ll help you interview roommates,” he says. “I have a good sense about people.”
The change of directions sets me back.
He’s actually being sweet. It’s harder to argue with him when he’s sweet.
“You don’t need to do that. I’m not your problem,” I remind him, my voice softer now.
He sets down the photo and faces me. “Maybe I want you to be.”
My feet are stuck to the floor as if I’ve stepped in gum.
Except I’m wearing socks, which means it’s his words, his expression, that make it impossible for my limbs to move.
He doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but damn, it’s hard to remember that when warmth creeps up my body, starting at my toes. It has my fingers tingling, my lips parting.
Before I can respond, there’s a new knock on the door.
I grab Miles’s arm. “That’s Hunter! Lay low. Hide. Something until he’s gone.”
“Hunter?! You invited a dude to see your place. A stranger.” The sweetness is gone, replaced by incredulity. I’ve never seen his brows so close to his hairline.
I lift my hands. “I’m very inclusive.”
Miles grabs my wrist and jerks me back so that I collide with his chest. It’s so sudden I don’t have time to prepare for the feel of him, the masculine scent, the closeness of his mouth, and the feel of his fingers on my pulse.
“You’re not doing this, Princess.” His voice is firm.
My lips tip up, intentionally casual despite the hammering of my heart. “Garrett?”
His grip on me tightens. “Yeah.”
“Watch me.”
I use surprise to my advantage and slip his grip. I run to the door and open it to find a startlingly attractive guy.
“Hey,” Hunter says, grinning a blindingly white smile.
“Hey, Hunter! I’m Brooke. So nice to meet you in person. Let me give you a tour.”
I start to show him the kitchen. It’s going fine until the hairs on my neck lift. I feel Miles at my back before I hear him.
“She snores,” comes his voice from behind me.
My eyes shut briefly as Hunter laughs. When I blink them open, he’s casting a wary look between us. “I can take it. Are you the boyfriend?”
“No. He’s a friend,” I say firmly, using Miles’s word. “ Was a friend. Whether he’s still a friend will depend very much on the next few minutes,” I add under my breath.
I motion past Miles, and Hunter comes with me.
“This would be your room. I’m getting things out of the closet,” I say.
“It looks great.”
Miles leans an arm pleasantly and a little threateningly against the doorframe.
“How tall are you, man?” Hunter asks.
“Six-four. And a half.”
“ And a half ,” I mutter to myself.
“Your room’s on the other side of this wall?” Hunter says.
“Yeah. I’ll try to keep it down.”
“No worries. You can keep me up anytime.”
“Excuse us, Hunter.” Miles grabs my arm and drags me to my room and into the walk-in closet.
It all happens so fast I don’t have time to hit the light switch, and when he shuts the door, we’re in blackness. He crowds my space, forcing my chin up even though I can’t see him.
“He’s not moving in with you.” His breath is gentle on my face, but his tone is seething.
“Hunter is great,” I say cheerfully.
“He wants to fuck you.”
The tone sets my teeth on edge.
“Just because a pleasant, attractive guy wants to move in doesn’t mean he wants to fuck me.”
I start to reach for the light switch by the door and trip over something. Miles grabs me in the dark.
I’m momentarily grateful—until, instead of releasing me, he drags me closer—close enough my breasts brush his hard, ribbed stomach.
“You sure about that?” His voice is irritated and possessive at once.
My traitorous nipples harden at the contact.
I’m tall enough that I don’t spend a lot of time looking up at anyone, even basketball players. Usually I’m in heels, but my toes curl against the carpet.
In the dark, I can’t see him but God, can I feel him.
His fingers press into my ass. His breathing is shallow in a way I’ve only heard it a the on-court interviews at the end of the fourth quarter in a tough game.
Every moment of our night together in Vail comes rushing back.
I want to feel it all again.
“Brooke?”
Hunter’s voice sounds far away but it snaps me out of the moment.
I wrench myself out of Miles’s grip and reach for the door.
“I can’t believe you live alone,” Hunter says from my doorway when I emerge, as if it’s totally normal for a woman to emerge from a shut closet. “It’s so big. And nice.”
Miles makes a sound like a growl at my back. I toss a glare over my shoulder before turning back to Hunter, who at last looks slightly surprised to see the huge man who tumbled out of the closet with me.
“Hunter, you can start filling out the application.” I walk him to the couch, then go back to my room and shut the door. “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I inform Miles, who’s wearing holes in the carpet.
Especially since his interest in my life and well-being is attached to my brother.
I stare at the floor as Waffles circles my legs. I hoist him in my arms, scratching behind his ears.
“Now that your hands are busy, let me say this,” Miles starts. “You’re too proud. You want to look out for yourself to a fault. But I’m looking out for you, Brooke. Whether you want me to or not.”
“By scaring off prospective roommates?” I accidentally squeeze Waffles hard enough he lets out a little grunt of protest.
“There will be no roommates. No rando is finding his way into your room at night. You’re moving in with me.”
I blink as if it’s my vision and not my hearing I’m second-guessing right now.
Miles Garrett is a player. One of the biggest players around.
The idea of him taking a roommate is ludicrous.
Sure, he’s a fundamentally decent guy behind the broad smile and the cut body and the huge…
Everything.
Point is, there are a thousand reasons that spell disaster for my sanity and my life.
“There’s no way,” I scoff as I set Waffles down, stroking his soft fur because it keeps me from smacking his owner. “I need a certain setup for my work.”
I’m reaching. I remember every inch of his place, and it was pristine, spacious, and more than comfortable.
“I have an extra bedroom. My building is in a prime location. And,” he pauses for emphasis, “I make an elite latte.”
Hunter knocks on the door, looking in with a tentative smile. “Am I interrupting?”
“Yes.”
“No,” I say, and Miles frowns.
“Come to my place tomorrow and look around,” he insists.
I straighten, aware of Hunter hovering by the door. “It might not measure up.”
There’s a spark of mischief in his eyes when Miles glances at the other man, then turns back to me. “You’ve seen the goods, Princess. Seemed to measure up fine.”