Page 75 of Hard to Fake

"It's fine. Great." I smile and pluck the old-school key from her hand.

When I pictured all the things we’d be doing together to bolster my confidence and chances of winning this deal, I didn’t imagine spending two nights lying next to him.

The man I’ve gotten off to.

The same one who might be better at kissing than at basketball.

But I can’t afford to get distracted.

My rent is due soon, and my bank account is next-level empty.

Maybe there will be a couch.

The rooms are situated in a bunch of small, cabin-like structures dotting the resort property and linked by gravel paths.

As we take our stuff to the room, I tell Miles, "You look good carrying bags. You do this for all your girlfriends?”

“It’s been a minute since I called someone my girl. And I haven’t introduced a woman to my Grams before.”

I let his words sink in as he adjusts the duffel on his back.

“I meant what I said. I care and it’s not an act.”

Gravel crunches under our feet. I focus on that as he goes on.

“I didn’t say anything about your financial situation and the only reason I told Jay I agreed to come was that he was worried about you and Kevin. I told him I was going to look out for you.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?” I risk a glance over at him.

The beat before he answers is only slightly longer than necessary.

“Yeah.”

We get to the cabin designated on our paperwork and find the room. Ours is one of six sharing a building.

I reach for my key and swipe it next to the handle.

The door of the room swings wide. The planks in the floor creak as I walk inside.

The room is big with a fireplace and a fur—probably faux fur—rug.

There’s no couch.

And the bed…

I feel Miles’s eyes on me as I set my bag on the stand and glance around the room.

“It’s not two queens.” I state the obvious.

“That’s not even one.”

He’s not wrong. The lone double bed stares up at us, the cozy navy duvet doing nothing to mask the postage stamp of mattress.

"We can share the bed.” I take my weekender bag from him and drop it on the bed.

Better than me being responsible for an NBA player messing up his back.

“Which side do you sleep on?” I ask.

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