5. Brooke
5
brOOKE
Going to a Kodiaks event. Text if you need me. Breakfast is in the fridge.
—M
D eciding not to fuck your roommate and actually following through are two different things.
Particularly when he has the audacity to not only bust into a girl’s life, but her dreams.
Waffles was happy to see me this morning, escorting me to the kitchen with his furry little body and excited snuffs.
When I open the stainless-steel door, I spot French toast, which I used to order when Miles took me out and none of the sorority sisters were looking, and fruit.
I pull out the food and heat up the French toast.
My first and only priority is figuring out my new job so I can get on with my future life. But in the two days since I arrived, it’s been killing me how sweet Miles Garrett is being about me moving in with him.
The concierge called me “Miss Ellis” before I had a chance to introduce myself.
“Mr. Garrett asked us to do everything possible to make you comfortable,” he went on after taking me on a walk-through of the parking facilities, where I was given a spot next to Miles’s Range Rover.
Later, dinner was waiting for me when I got back from my storage locker.
“Added you to my meal plan,” Miles said when I asked him. “Didn’t know exactly what you liked, so I got more of everything.”
He even offered to show me around the gym downstairs. I told him I’d figure it out, if only for the self-preservation of not watching him sweat.
When he returned and hopped into the shower ninety minutes later, I cranked Chappell Roan to drown out the sound so I wouldn’t picture him under the spray.
I’ve learned that even with the Kodiaks in Denver, Miles is gone for much of the day. But when he’s here, he’s a sexy, six-four distraction—bumping into him in the kitchen, being the target of one of those cocky grins, or sitting next to him on the couch to watch TV sends my pulse scrambling.
Today while Miles is at practice, I’m planning to spend my day going through social media.
I try the espresso machine but end up backing away when it spits steam at me. Apparently it only responds to my roommate, who coaxed the most delicious latte from it the afternoon I moved in, complete with happy face art in the steamed almond milk.
Yesterday morning he made me another, this one with the shape of Waffles’s face in it after I commented on how adorable he was.
Elite is right.
Already in a deficit this morning thanks to the lack of caffeine, I pull open my computer. I still have my too-old phone, and I’m dreading the day it decides not to start.
My following is solid. Because I don’t post bullshit I don’t believe in, I might grow more slowly than someone like Caroline, but my followers are loyal and I appreciate that I can have a genuine exchange with them about where I’m going, what I’m wearing, what I love and hate.
Elise’s brand would have been a slam dunk, but there are others out there. I go through my saved posts of companies and products I love and use and start to make a list of prospects. Next, I create a spreadsheet of everyone I’ve done brand collaboration posts with in the past. Then, I pick the top five and reach out to all of them to see if we can work together again.
When I look up from my computer, it’s nearly noon.
I put on Lululemons and head down to the beautiful gym for a run on the treadmill.
After, I shower in my own bathroom, which may not have a soaker tub but is otherwise perfect.
I rub my eyes and stifle a yawn as I step out.
I’m going to need a coffee this afternoon. It’s not only the espresso machine’s fault but also my body’s for prioritizing high def imagery of me and Miles in his massive bed over quality sleep.
I pick out clothes, finishing my outfit with gold earrings that belonged to my grandmother, then head to Miles’s closet for shoes.
It smells like him in here.
Not sweat or dirt, but clean and male.
My gaze drifts toward the bedroom, landing on his big bed, with the midnight-blue cover darker than his eyes.
I catch my lip between my teeth.
Deciding I have no interest in Miles Garrett is hard when I’m horny. I’ve been amped since our night together in Vail. Every moment keeps replaying in my mind without permission.
Not only how it looked to see every inch of muscle, his sparkling blue eyes blown with hunger, and the strained grin. But also the feel his arm hair rubbing against my smooth skin. The scent of him, clean and male and a little wicked.
I cross to the bed and lie down on the duvet. I press his pillow to my nose and inhale.
The scent of him lights me up.
Maybe relieving the ache is a sensible first step. A side quest, even, before the main event of forgetting him completely.
My fingers brush my stomach where my shirt has risen up.
Then tip-toe down my waistband.
The first touch is torturous bliss.
Pleasure spirals through me, twining with a sharp need that has my calves flexing and my toes curling.
I haven’t gotten myself off since I moved in out of some stubborn sense of pride. Or worse, the idea that he’d hear me and think he was the inspiration.
Except there’s no pretending I’m imagining someone other than Miles right now—not when I’m in his bed, when he’s the only one I’ve been able to think of since before the retreat.
A sound from the doorway makes me jump. But it’s only Waffles, his little head tilted in curiosity.
“Stand guard, okay? And whatever you do, don’t tell him.”
Can dogs feel pity? I swear it’s either that or compassion on the dog’s scrunched little face before he turns and trots away.
I close my eyes and instantly I’m picturing Miles’s huge hands pinning my wrists over my head. His firm mouth on my throat, my breasts, my stomach. His fingers sliding up the insides of my slick thighs while he groans in my ear.
I touch my breasts with my other hand. They’ve always been sensitive but he was so damn good with them.
Pleasure wraps around me like a silk thread, tightening with every stroke.
The pillow rubs against my face. My earring presses into my skin, the friction with the fabric making it tug deliciously at my lobe.
The climax sneaks up on me and steals my breath.
When I’m finished, I’m alone.
Oblivious Miles 2, Sexually Frustrated Brooke 0.
The phone rings on the bed next to me.
Does this man have a sixth sense for when I’m thinking filthy thoughts about him?
It’s not Miles, though.
“Jay said he can’t come to my speech. Can you?” my mom says by way of a hello.
“When is it?” I straighten my clothes, hurrying as if my mother can see me getting myself off in the bed of a basketball player.
Which she’d hate.
Not that she begrudges my brother his career, but her standards for me are different. She’d want me to end up with some guy who wears a suit to work and has a Roman numeral after his last name.
“An hour. It’s a campaign year, and I have some big contributions pending,” she reminds me.
I don’t want to go, but I agree. It’s easier to go along with Mom, plus meeting people is always worthwhile. If I want to step up my influencer career, I need to network my butt off.
I go change. Pretending I’m not into my roommate is over for the day. I’m off to play a different part.
* * *
The speech is at a beautiful library across town. My mom’s aide shows me to a seat in the second row.
The idea of meeting some new contacts in a low-pressure environment slips out the window when I spot Caroline and Kevin a couple of empty seats down.
“This isn’t my seat,” I tell Mom’s aide, the knot already starting between my shoulders.
She double-checks her iPad. “It is. She specifically requested you sit here.”
Of course she did.
“It’s so nice to see you.” Caroline’s smile is fake syrupy sweetness.
We swap cheek kisses. “Kevin,” I say, trying not to sound as if each syllable is poisoned.
“Brooke.” He says my name in a way that has the hairs on my neck lifting. If Caroline notices, she doesn’t let on.
I settle into my seat, crossing my legs at the ankles to better resist the temptation to kick the chair in front of me. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I moved from Connecticut to be with my fiancé .” There’s no missing the emphasis on the word, especially as she lowers her gaze to her huge diamond ring. “Since we’re engaged, it seemed like time to make the change.” She turns to smile at Kevin, but he’s already talking to someone else.
There’s no reason to feel bad for her. She got the gig I planned on. I wanted to be Elise’s new spokesperson, but Caroline lied and twisted the truth in order to win.
The speech starts, a lecture from a local academic about investments in libraries.
“That photo you showed me of Kevin,” I whisper to Caroline. “The one where Miles…” I wave to my face and her expression darkens.
“When did that happen?” I lower my voice further.
She sniffs. “Forget I mentioned it. When Kevin came to me back then, it was in confidence.”
Someone in the front row turns to censure us. We sit in silence the rest of the speech, and I replay her words in my mind as I sneak covert looks at Kevin and Caroline together, how distracted she looks and how possessive she seems.
Were they together behind my back in college?
The idea occurred to me before, but I always brushed it off.
Maybe Miles knew. Not only about the drugs, but about the cheating.
He was looking out for me as a favor for my brother, but it seemed like an overreach that he hit Kevin.
I think again of the breakfast in the fridge, the effort Miles has gone to in order to help me.
Surely that’s beyond the call of duty for a friend or teammate.
It’s making my head pound.
“Are you missing an earring?”
The first thing my mom says to me after the speech isn’t thank you, or even hello.
I feel my lobe and realize I’m one short. “Damn it.”
“You know how important jewelry is,” my mom is saying. “You would have been better not to wear any, but this makes you look careless.”
I smile and take her arms in my hands, making her inhale with surprise.
“Thanks for reminding me what matters. I was more worried that Grandma gave me these earrings and apparently I’ve lost one.”
I swallow down the emotion rising up my throat. Around these sharks, it would be viewed as weakness.
I need to try something different.
As my gaze lands on a familiar face that smiles in recognition, I know exactly what.
* * *
“This place is impressive,” Trev says when I let him in.
“Make yourself at home.”
I run into my room and search through my bag for the dark plum lipstick that looks amazing with my skin.
“I’m glad we ran into each other,” comes his voice from the other room. “It’s been a minute.”
“Years,” I echo.
He looks different than when we used to hang out as seniors. His glasses are more stylish, and he’s in a suit.
Trev was a fun distraction after everything that happened the summer of junior year. He didn’t care about the gossip and never took things personally.
Which is why we hooked up more than a handful of times through the fall.
It was never serious, for either of us.
He’s exactly what I need to get through this day and the fact that the only man I’ve slept with in way too long is my roommate, who I need to avoid at all costs.
Moments later, I hear voices.
Shit.
I go out into the living room to see Miles and the guy in a standoff.
It’s almost comical given Trev’s the same height as me. Still, he played rugby in college, and from the way he fills out a suit, I’d bet he kept up the workouts.
“Trev, this is my roommate, Miles.”
“Hope this isn’t weird, but I’m a huge fan,” Trev says.
Seriously?
“I’ll be right there,” I say, pasting on a smile.
I go back to my room and search through my bag of toiletries. There’s a box of condoms, which I need. The voices outside—Miles’s smooth one and Trev’s excited one—set me on edge. What are they talking about?
The box feels suspiciously light.
I work it open only to find it empty.
Perfect.
“I have a question.” Miles’s voice rumbles from the doorway.
I straighten and turn, the empty box clutched in my hand. “Okay.”
“Were you in my room earlier?”
I hope to hell I don’t look guilty. I feel guilty, looking up at him.
“Yes,” I say slowly. “To get my shoes.”
It’s not a lie. It’s an incomplete truth.
He’s got one brow raised, attention moving between the floor and my face. “That’s all.”
My heart skips. “What else would it be?”
It feels like a standoff. There’s no reason he would suspect that I got off in his bed.
Partly because it’s a little unhinged.
But more importantly, there’s no evidence.
His gaze drops to the box in my hand and stays there.
“So you’re going on a date?” he asks at last.
I’m off the hook. My shoulders relax. “Trev is an old friend I ran into at this event my Mom wanted me to go to.”
“I could’ve gone with you if you needed someone.”
Surprise has my brows shooting up. “It was a last minute thing. But thank you.”
He nods.
“You’re leaving for a road trip, right?” I hear myself say. “I can watch Waffles. Walk him and feed him and everything. It’s the least I can do.”
“Thanks.” Miles starts to turn away, but stops. “You planning to bring him back here?”
“Waffles?” I’m confused.
“No. That guy.”
“Oh. Maybe.” I lift a shoulder. “Do you have any condoms? Apparently I’m out.”
His brows knit together. He’s fighting with himself. It’s clear on every inch of his face.
“You don’t want to do that.”
I laugh. “Or what?”
“It wasn’t a threat. I meant what I said, Princess—he’s not what you want.”
Miles thinks I want him? The arrogance is getting out of control.
“What happened to ‘I’ll be the best roommate you ever had’?” I challenge.
“I want you to feel safe and secure,” he clarifies. “You don’t like the food, say the word and I’ll have it changed. If you hate your parking spot, pick one out and it’s yours. I don’t mean that I’m going to watch you fuck some guy who doesn’t know what you need.”
My heart is thudding against my ribs at his audacity, and the implication that Miles does know what I need. “So you’re going to let a woman go on a date without protection.”
His nostrils flare.
Finally, Miles disappears in the hallway, returning a moment later.
He presses something into my hand. I feel the smooth packet against my palm.
“This is yours.”
He turns for the door, knocking the calendar on my dresser.
“One condom?” I say under my breath. “Is there a global latex shortage?”
“It’ll be enough,” he tosses over a shoulder. “We both know you won’t be thinking of him anyway.”
I open my fist and see the XL condom. But it’s the glint of gold next to the packet that has the breath sticking in my chest.
It’s my missing earring.
The one I left in his bed.