Page 88 of Hard to Fake

“I’ve always liked that about her.”

“Me too.” Ruby tilts her head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “She needs someone in her corner. You up for the challenge, Mr. NBA Champion?”

The answer hits me without hesitation.

Yeah, I am.

An idea comes together. How I can be there for Brooke today, show her how amazing she is.

Ruby’s phone jumps in her lap. “Shit.”

“You need another hand. Can I get you a coffee?”

“With cream. Thanks.” She smiles and hits Answer. “Dr. Robinson.”

After getting Ruby’s coffee, I’m packing up breakfast to go, plus coffees for Brooke and me, when I run into a familiar face.

"What are you doing here?" Kevin demands.

I straighten as I finish pouring the first coffee. “Thought we went over this last night. I’m here with Brooke." I reach for the second cup.

He shakes his head.“You were always too close. Why were you hanging around a college campus when you got drafted?”

“New team didn’t have the Doritos flavors they did in the dining hall on campus.”

“Right. That’s what kept you coming back.”

My molars grind softly. There are at least a dozen people around. Be smart, a voice says in my head. Jay’s voice.

I finish getting our coffees from the drip machine. Been gone a day and I miss the hell out of my espresso.

“My face healed better than ever, thanks for asking.”

I turn to find Kevin goading me from the other side of the breakfast area. A few people look over and I ignore them.

I stack the coffees in one hand and cross to him.

“Kevin. My dude.” I flash teeth as I clap a friendly-looking hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to stay far away from Brooke. Here. Back in Denver.” The way we’re standing, it probably looks as if I’m confiding the latest basketball gossip, or reminding him of an inside joke. “You don’t get a second of her time and attention. If I’d been around back when she decided to let you be her sorry ass excuse for a boyfriend, you wouldn’t have gotten it then, either. You understand?”

I have the satisfaction of watching his eyes widen before he can control his reaction.

"It's not college anymore, and you can't touch me,” he calls after me as I head for the door, careful not to crush the coffee cup in my fist.

22

BROOKE

There’s a reason I don’t cry.

It’s not fun or sexy. It’s not a good time before, during, or after.

I roll to my back, stretching out with long, languid movements. My eyes feel as if I rubbed them with sandpaper. My chest aches hollowly.

Except…

Maybe I was wrong because I also feel as if a huge weight has been lifted away and I can breathe.

I fell asleep in Miles’s arms.

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