Page 30 of Hard to Take

MILES

“What do you want for Christmas?” one of our bench guys asks Rookie.

“Get him a clue,” Atlas says, laughing. “You see the way he missed that pass? Hit you clean in the head. It’s the meme that keeps on giving.”

Rookie slaps Atlas’s shoulder with a towel on the way past. “Least I’m on the court.”

“Hey, everyone get your heads in the game,” Jay hollers across the visitors’ changeroom, and the guys settle down.

Miami made it deep into the playoffs last year. Next to Boston, they’re our biggest rival in the East.

On the way over from the hotel with Jay, I glanced up at a screen to see that the oddsmakers have us picked to lose.

“We need this,” he said to me.

“We’ll get it.” I said it with more confidence than I felt.

Road games are a physical and mental grind. We’re also a week out from Christmas, and focusing on basketball is a struggle.

Brooke: Here’s some luck for your road trip.

The text comes through when I’m headed to the arena.

The first thing I see in the photo is Waffles, his familiar face and cute ears.

That’s when I realize he’s perched on the edge of my bathtub, which is full of bubbles.

Brooke’s painted toenails are sticking out. I trace it up her curved calves to her thighs.

She makes it sound as though the text is a peace offering. It doesn’t feel peaceful. It feels like a fucking Trojan horse taking me apart from the inside out.

I’m about to shove the picture away when something new catches my attention and I do a double take.

In the mirror over the vanity in the corner of the photo, I can see Brooke’s reflection.

Her lowered lashes and parted lips.

Her hair pinned up around her head.

Her round breasts halfway out of the bubbles as she poses to take the picture.

Heat shoots straight down my spine toward my dick.

She wanted me to see this. The realization makes me swallow.

I would’ve sworn there was nothing worse than watching her walk out the door with some other guy when I knew he couldn’t be what she needed.

Now, I’m picturing her walking in on my shower to join me, or asking me to be her personal photographer for a private clothing-optional shoot—thoughts that take up at least half my focus when I’m joking with Rookie on the plane, or lifting with Clay, or running drills with Jay.

Since she moved in, we’ve both been dancing around what happened. I’ve tried to be a good guy, but in my mind, being the best roommate she’s ever had should have less to do with keeping dishes out of the sink and more to do with giving her multiple orgasms every night.

Miles: Leave any more clothing in my bed?

I shouldn’t say it but can’t resist.

Not when she’s the one who upped the ante.

Brooke: Earrings aren’t clothing. They’re jewelry.

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