Page 97 of Hard to Fake

Miles’s thumb brushes my cheek once, then again, as if he’s wrestling with the same demons or his own version of them. “Not for twelve hours.”

He rolls me on top.

25

MILES

The bed is too small.

I want one exactly the same size so I can sleep this close to her tomorrow, and the night after that.

The LED clock on the bedside table says it’s after three. Brooke fell asleep in my arms.

I didn’t come to this weekend expecting we’d land in bed.

Did I fantasize about it? Hell, yes.

But the reality blew away anything I’d imagined. How fun she was, how generous. The ways she let me touch her, the way she touched me back, how she shattered under me, with me.

The first time was a race to the bottom fueled by outright desperation. The second time and the third… it was as if I’d discovered fucking Candyland and wanted to taste every inch of it, of her, properly.

I’m not used to being around a girl I can’t have for weeks, slowly driving myself crazy. Maybe there’s something to be said for delayed gratification.

Finding out she had a crush on me in college should’ve been cute, but it meant more.

Way more.

Especially if she knew how I…

No. That’s not going to help anything.

My most memorable moments in life have always been with friends. I feel the most myself surrounded by a bunch of guys on the court or in the gym or after.

But this feeling is new.

I’m nowhere near ready to go back to Denver, where I have basketball and the guys, and Brooke…

She’s not mine.

My team is what matters, the basketball family I’ve built because my own family was light.

But she’s under my skin, in my head, and until this weekend, I was searching for a way to get her out.

Now, I’m not sure I want to.

My head is buzzing.

Wait. That’s my phone.

I swipe along the bedside table for it and squint to take in the number. My body’s instantly on alert. Instead of hitting Decline, I get out of bed. “Hello?”

“Miles, this is the retirement home calling.”

Every muscle in me goes tight.

I’m already yanking on sweatpants and heading for the door. I find shoes and slip out into the hall.

“What’s wrong?” I demand once I’m outside.

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