Page 43 of Hard to Take

“It’s a thank you for the room. And the elite coffee. And generally being so nice to me,” she corrects.

“So…the thank you for the sex is still coming?”

It’s throwing me that she hasn’t acknowledged what went down, especially since we’ve been dancing around our chemistry since the second she moved in.

Brooke serves me side-eye as she sets her phone down on the kitchen table. “You can’t seriously expect a woman to thank you for sex.”

“I never expect a thank you. But I do appreciate one, especially if she comes as many times as I made you come last night.”

“Maybe I made myself come and you were just an attractive accessory.”

It knocks the wind out of me a little. I recover.

“Your new favorite.”

“Excuse me?”

“Judging by how much you screamed, my tongue is your new favorite accessory.”

She rolls her eyes.

“You were gone when I woke up,” I point out.

She doesn’t react until she’s done her bite. “We were scratching an itch, not pledging our undying love.”

She’s trying to draw boundaries. If I had my head on straight, I’d do the same.

“How was practice?” she asks.

Hello, hard left turn.

Apparently, I’m the only one ready to admit our connection is legendary.

I can play that game with her. It’s not so different from basketball. You get in close with someone, there’s finesse involved.

“I’m up for this shoe contract. It’s a huge deal that would help cover Grams’s care for years.”

“What’s the brand?”

I tell her, and she looks it up. Her brows pull together in concentration as she bends over the phone.

“It would be a great fit.” Brooke’s gaze lifts to mine, delight taking over her expression.

“I don’t know. I’m Miss Congeniality. Most likeable. Best prankster. Best smile. The last one was from Cosmopolitan,” I add helpfully.

Her eyes narrow. “There’s more to you than that. You care about people. I don’t even know if you realize how much because you cover it up with jokes. But you’re a good person. A good player, but more than that, a good man.”

Well, fuck.

My plans for keeping this thing between us locked down didn’t account for her backhanded compliments.

She tugs away to cross to a whiteboard I didn’t notice in the corner of the living room.

That’s new.

She makes notes with a marker in a scribble I can barely read, checking her phone for details in between.

“Looks like you’re drawing up a play,” I say, chuckling.

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