Page 10 of Hard to Take

I hate that trolls are dragging her down. I might not have superpowers, but I can fix this.

“For the first question, you can address it with a picture of you working.” I grab one from her file and post it, along with the caption “WIP. Top secret.”

“But I haven’t made anything new this week.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re working on your own schedule and cycle, and that’s good enough.”

The relief on her expression is evident.

“These other questions don’t need to be dealt with. More than that, you don’t need to look at these. You should have someone to deal with them for you. If it was me, I’d post a picture of you and Clay with a peace emoji and say the man is yours, and he’s the lucky one and it’s the last you’re speaking on it.”

She laughs. “I like that. You’re really good at this. Have you thought about doing PR?”

“Trust me, I’m busy enough trying to keep my own account from turning into a dumpster fire.”

Still, it was more fun to help her than figure out next steps with my own brand.

“At the risk of overstepping, I asked Clay about Miles,” she says.

“Tell me you did not ask your husband for inside information on his teammate.” I take an increased interest in the sprinkles dotting my donut, picking off a single colorful stick and popping it in my mouth.

“I absolutely did and I’d do it again. Especially the way Miles was looking at you at the club.” Nova’s smile fades a little. “Clay said Miles has been skipping out on team stuff to visit his grandmother. Apparently she just got out of the hospital.”

My stomach plummets.

He tried to talk to me, on the phone and at the club, but I was too busy being cool and unaffected by his hotness and oblivious to the Kodashians drooling on his shoes to ask him.

I check the time on phone. “I need to go meet this potential roommate. Wish me luck.”

But as I head for the door, I type out a text three times before I hit Send.

* * *

Brooke: Nova told me about your Grams. Is she okay?

Inviting a stranger to become my roommate might not have been my plan at the start of the year, but I’m starting to see the value of it. First and foremost, it will give me a break on my “How the hell did I not realize it was that much?!” rent while I figure out my new career.

When the knock comes on my door, I’m not ready, but I told the concierge I was expecting company and to send them up.

The apartment looks great. I added a couple of new plants whose names I’ve forgotten to make the place more vibrant. I’m still wearing leggings and a tank top from meeting Nova, but I put on makeup and pulled my favorite slouchy camel sweater over my head.

I figured it would feel more welcoming if I moved my stuff out of the closet in the second room—it’s Realtor 101. I want my new roomie can picture themselves in the space, so I put my stuff in boxes but haven’t had time to move them to my room.

My sweater slips off one shoulder as I cross to the foyer. I square my shoulders, ready to be welcoming and approachable.

Showtime.

I pull the door wide and fix on a smile.

“Hey! I’m Brooke…” I open the door and my smile fades with shock.

It’s not the engineering grad student I expected.

Instead, the Kodiaks’ shooting guard stares down at me from that layer of stratosphere he occupies seemingly without any effort.

Miles’s hair is a mess, his blue eyes electric. He takes up the entire hallway. In sweatpants and a hoodie, he could’ve come from the gym, except he’s clearly had a shower.

He flashes a smile.

---