4. Miles
4
MILES
“E veryone wants Park Place, but real players know the value of a railroad.” I bump a set of houses with a finger and send them sprawling across the coffee table.
The Parker Brothers did not have basketball-player-sized hands.
“That means they’re all mine,” Grams decides.
“Nice try.” I reach for the nearest pieces and set them back on the Monopoly board as she glares at her cast.
The doctors suggested a cast instead of surgery for the break and since I’ve gotten back to Denver, I’m doing everything I can to keep her distracted from her new hindrance.
“It itches! Lord. Never had so much itching except this one time your grandfather and I?—”
“With all due respect Grams, we’re verging on too much information territory.” She smiles. “But for real, you haven’t taken any of those pain meds, and there’s no shame in it. In fact, an anti-inflammatory would help with?—”
“If I want your opinion on my inflammation, I will ask you for it,” she says tartly. “How’s basketball this week?”
“It’s a grind with Atlas still injured, but we’re hanging in.”
She leans in. “Atlas, like the statue that held up the world on his shoulders?”
“Yeah. I’m trying to step up. Not sure my shoulders are as wide.”
“It’s more about heart than shoulders,” she decides.
My mouth curves. “Not sure that’s true when it comes to outright feats of strength, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
Spectators think playing pro ball is like a TV movie where a bunch of underdogs can come together with heart and a little luck to beat out the competition.
We did have some magic last year in our first championship run.
Thing is, it’s only an upset when no one sees you coming.
This season when we roll into a city, they’ve got a fifty-page scouting report on every Kodiak on the roster.
The opposing teams know all my stats. Hell, they probably know what I eat for breakfast and where I get my hair cut.
“How’s Brooke?” Grams asks.
“Fantastic.”
She laughs. “That’s what you said when I used to ask how your homework was in middle school, which means she’s a problem you haven’t started solving yet.”
Brooke’s not a problem—she’s my main preoccupation every second I’m not playing ball or with my grams.
“She’s moving in with me.”
Grams’s eyes light up brighter than I’ve seen them since before I got back to find her in the hospital, pale and disoriented in a gown and with some gnarly-looking X-rays.
“She needs someone,” I hear myself say. “She gets into trouble, and I like watching her do it, but…” I spot a lone hotel under the edge of the sofa and bend to grab it. “Only if I’m there to pick up the pieces.”
I tried to be the good guy, helping Brooke interview prospective roommates. When the first one showed at her door with stubble and a firm handshake, the plan changed.
There’s no way a dude like that was sharing an apartment with her.
The only person she’s sharing a wall with is me.
Not so I can picture what she’s doing in bed on the other side, or offer to join in, but so that her impulsivity doesn’t dig her holes she can’t get out of.
On my way out after my visit, the retirement home passes me a folder with copies of the hospital bills.
There’re a lot of zeroes for her care.
It’s easy to think that girl problems are the only thing on my plate, but they’re not.
Not by a long shot.
* * *
brOOKE
“We could have hired movers,” I call after my brother as he and Rookie carry my dresser down the hall.
“No way. This is what family’s for,” he grits out.
“This is what subcontracting is for. You’re too stubborn.” I smile sweetly.
He sets down the furniture, wiping his brow as he grins back. “Runs in the family.”
Most of my stuff is in a storage locker. I’m bringing only what I need, which is still several loads of clothes and shoes, boxes of makeup, a huge dresser and a blue chaise longue.
In the two days since Miles asked me to move in, I realized his place is actually perfect.
Though I’ll never admit it, he was right about Hunter. The guy hit on me when he followed up. That wasn’t going to work out.
Bottom line: rent is going up and I need a place. If being able to call my own shots in life and not have to pretend to be someone else means crashing with my brother’s too-sexy-for-his-own-good teammate for a little while?
It’ll be worth it.
Plus, it’s only for a few weeks.
I’ve decided that by January 1st, I’ll have my future mapped out and be out of here. As much as I appreciate the save, I’m not about to go from depending on my mom for income to depending on a guy.
I’ll have the side benefit of accomplishing another top-secret project: getting over the crush I’ve been harboring for Miles Garrett.
It started innocently enough in college but reared its horny, inconvenient head in Vail.
At least this problem is one I have a plan for.
Having slept in the Kappa house with a ton of roommates, I know firsthand there’s nothing sexy about sharing kitchens, bathrooms, and bedrooms.
Living with him will be my version of exposure therapy. A few weeks of sharing the same space and any attraction will evaporate completely.
We knock on the door and it swings wide.
Miles stands in the doorway, feet wide and arms folded. “What is this?”
His hair is a mess, presumably from bed or his fingers. The baby-blue hoodie shoved high on his muscled forearms bears the logo of a basketball camp he and Jay both attended. His dark jeans are more Wrangler than designer, but the way they hug his hips and legs is goddamned elite.
“You said I could move in. I brought a few things.”
His mouth falls open as he watches Jay and Rookie carry the dresser past him.
“You don’t have to go through with this. This is way beyond the call of duty,” my brother informs his teammate.
Miles doesn’t respond immediately, still taking in everything I brought.
I pat his chest before heading inside to direct my brother and Rookie.
Half an hour later, my furniture is in place. The bedroom is nearly as large as my old primary.
Unpacking my clothes, I stumble upon another problem.
“Where are my shoes going?” I murmur to myself, a designer heel in each hand. The closet is nowhere near big enough for all of them.
For the first time, it’s setting in that I gave up my apartment.
Since I was a kid, I’ve always had a special place for my shoes. I loved collecting and arranging sandals, wedges and boots by color and style. Touching them and trying them on and picking the perfect pair was a comfort as much as a thrill. They were my decoration and my armor.
Emotion rises up my throat, a lump that won’t go away.
A hand finds my shoulder and I glance up. Miles gestures to me, and I follow him to his room and his closet.
“But this is your closet,” I point out.
Except compared to the last time I was here, only half a dozen pairs of basketball shoes remain on the shelves. The rest are wide open and look freshly cleaned, not a speck of dirt or dust to be seen.
He holds out his palms. “You’re more into shoes than I am. I want you to feel at home.”
I pass him the shoes, and he sets them on the shelf one at a time.
I agreed to be his roommate because I needed a place and didn’t want him to think I can’t handle being around him, but since we talked, he’s clearly spent time making space for me.
My body brushes the fabric of his Henley, which is the same blue as his eyes.
Exposure therapy , I remind myself. Miles Garrett is far from the perfect man. The more time I spend around him, the more I’ll realize it could never work—that no matter how funny and caring and attractive he is in small doses, more than that is stifling.
I clear my throat. “Rent. I want to contribute.”
He cocks his head. “It’s a condo. I own it.”
“Oh.” The soft carpet feels decadent under my toes as I shift on my feet. “Mortgage?”
“It’s paid off.”
“Then utilities.”
“Not necessary.”
“Groceries?”
“I have a delivery service when I’m home and an account with them.” He’s laughing at me now. His eyes are dancing as though he has a front-row seat at a show he’s been anticipating for ages.
“Netflix,” I say at last, triumphant. “I’ll pay for streaming.”
Miles cocks his head. “That costs money?”
“No, they just have a deal where hot people watch unlimited documentaries and trash TV.”
His slow grin is as bright as the sunlight streaming in the windows.
If I was waiting for the day Miles doesn’t affect me, I’ll have to keep waiting.
I leave my brother and Rookie to set up some stuff in my room as Miles shows me around.
“No soaker tub?” I ask when he shows me the bathroom across from my room. I’m joking, but I’m kind of bummed. There’s no reason to be. The bathroom is beautiful, white marble and a huge glass shower.
“You can borrow mine. It’s in the ensuite off my bedroom.”
His room.
Where he dresses that outrageously ripped body for an athlete’s day.
Where he climbs into bed to close those dancing blue eyes.
Where he strips down to nothing and?—
“We’re ordering pizza.” My brother’s voice cuts into the haze of attraction between Miles and me.
They go to the kitchen and argue over toppings.
I go back to my room and find Waffles on the bed. “Hey, buddy. We’re going to be hanging out more.”
The Frenchie makes a noise of protest.
“He’s a bit territorial. This is his room.”
I look up to see Miles in the doorway.
“I won’t be here long. A few weeks. A month tops.”
I pull out a Sharpie and the desk calendar I bought yesterday and return to the bed, taking a seat next to Waffles as I unwrap the paper.
“You opened that for one month?” Miles drops onto the bed at my side, reaching out absently to scratch Waffles’s neck.
“It’s all I need.” I uncap my Sharpie.
First thing tomorrow, I’ll get to work.
Miles swipes the calendar from my hands before I can write on it. “You’ve barely moved in and you’re that eager to get rid of me?” He sounds less irritated than curious. “I could be the best roommate you’ve ever had.”
My fingers brushing his as I take the calendar back. I ignore the little zing of electricity between us. “Doubtful.”
I deliberately cross off today on the calendar, two wide strokes of marker.
“Come on. I’m tidy. Objectively good looking. Make a mean almond milk latte.” He grins.
I have to focus on getting my life together and getting out of here.
“What happened between us was a one-time thing,” I say, choosing my words as carefully as I’d choose an the outfit for an important event.
I rise and set the calendar square on the top of the dresser.
“I mean, it was more than one?—”
“One night .” The distinction seems important as I spin to face him. “It’s going to stay that way.”
Miles shifts back onto his elbows. He holds my stare so long I think I’m going to catch on fire.
If there was any question in my mind about our chemistry, the heat in his eyes chases it away.
But our only real connection is his loyalty to my brother, not to me.
“Pizza’s here!” the guys holler from the other room.
Miles rises and glances at the team photo on top of a box. He sets it on my desk before gesturing to the hallway, his face unreadable. “After you.”