Page 19 of Hard to Take

“Pizza’s here!” the guys holler from the other room.

Miles rises and glances at the team photo on top of a box. He sets it on my desk before gesturing to the hallway, his face unreadable. “After you.”

5

BROOKE

Going to a Kodiaks event. Text if you need me. Breakfast is in the fridge.

—M

Deciding 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.

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