Page 15 of Hard to Break

“You’re getting good at this,” I comment as she finally turns back to the espresso machine. It’s sexy as hell to watch her make coffee.

Now, I’m picturing her hands on me instead, capable, insistent.

Fuck it.We have time.

I can make her come at least twice, which is the minimum, even for a quickie.

Got to keep my standards up.

“Don’t get used to it.”

I pounce on her words. “Aha! So, itisa special occasion. You’re going to have to tell me before I leave for practice.”

“I’ll come with you.”

I do a double take, my suspicion dialing up another ten notches.

She turns away, but I grab her by the waist, my hands finding the soft skin under her sweater.

“Brooke Ellis, you know something.”

She ducks out of my grip and grabs a mug out of the cupboard, doing a little shimmy on the way.

“Thought you were meeting Chloe about the job.”

“I did. I told her I needed to think it over.”

I was trying my best to be a supportive boyfriend; as much as I’d love for her to take it so I’d get to see her at the office, it might mean she’d have a more demanding schedule that would eat into our time together.

Plus, there was the issue of her wanting to be independent. She had wanted distance from her brother’s basketball life, and now she was dating one of his teammates. Setting up an office at the Kodiaks could make it even harder for her.

“That’s all you talked about?” I grab her legs and lift her in the air. She screeches and drops the mug, eliciting a little yip from Waffles, who’s watching from the dining room.

“You broke a mug.” Her legs go around my hips.

“No way. You knew?!” I’m not talking about the mug.

“You’re going to step on it and hurt yourself.” She still is.

I don’t know whether her mouth finds mine first or the other way around. It doesn’t matter because I can’t do anything that’s not kissing her.

I’ve been to the all-star weekend, but only for the three-point competition.

Getting named to the actual team means you’re legit. Out of the hundreds of guys in the league, you’re one of a couple dozen that coaches and reporters and fans agree is the best of the best.

I’ve always settled for good enough. Being part of a group, not standing out.

I’m laughing when I pull my mouth from hers. “The data crunchers fucked up and picked my number by accident.”

She arches a brow. “Oh, wait, you’re not the Miles Garrett who’s been putting up twenty-five points a night on his shorthanded team? The one who’s been logging extra hours in the gym and watching tape, who stepped up the past few months in a way no one saw coming but they all should have?”

Damn. Her words touch a part of me that I didn’t know needed to be touched. The way she sees me makes me want to be even better—for her, my team, myself.

Brooke cups my face as her dark eyes go serious. “Well, then, just tell them they’ve got the wrong guy and you’re not interested.”

“Let’s not rush into anything. I am pretty great, actually.”

“Really?”

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