Page 19 of Hard to Break

He looks fantastic in the all-star uniform as he steps onto the court, his dark hair falling over his face. I told him it was getting long and to cut it before the game, but he said he needed the luck.

Nova hollers as loudly for Miles as she does for her husband.

Miles’s gaze finds mine, and his grin widens.

Damn, he’s hot.

I’ve never been that affected by basketball players, but this one is the exception. Turns out all the banter and teasing for the past few years made for wicked foreplay.

I think back to our conversation before the game.

“What do I get if I win?” Miles asked.

“A massage.”

“With what?” Dark eyebrows wiggled.

I laughed, but before I could relax too much, he came right back at me.

“Tell you what, Princess. We win tonight, I want you on my cock the second we get back to the hotel room. Until you can’t feel anything but me, everywhere. Until you can’t rememberwhat it’s like without me inside you. Until the only name you know is mine.”

“What about my name?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be saying it enough for both of us.”

“That statement he issued is causing a lot of ripples.” Jay’s voice brings me back.

The words issued by Miles’s agent replay in my mind. They’re burned behind my eyes. Since the moment I read them, I’ve been holding my breath.

“I told him to apologize.”

“We both know that was hardly an apology.”

Nova leans over. “You’re supposed to cheer equally for both your teammates,” she says to Jay.

“I’m here, aren’t I? Besides, can’t cheer too loud. Hawkins is on the same team.” Jay straightens in his seat, frowning.

The energy is off the wall for tip-off.

Clay’s starting on one end, Miles on the other.

The atmosphere on the court should be lighter than a real game because they’re playing for charity. But it’s an exhibition of the best basketball talent on the planet and the players who eat, sleep, and breathe competition. The guys on the floor are the gods of basketball, and the crowd has come to worship.

The first couple of plays are each team feeling out themselves and the other side.

Each time the ball goes in and the other team jogs back, there are some jokes and light trash talking on the floor. We can’t hear what’s said from here, but we can witness the exchanges.

Miles gets his first shot attempt and misses. I groan.

A few plays later, the ball finds him in the corner. Another miss.

The coach for the evening sits him on the bench.

It’s not just Miles. The West team is a step slow out of the gate, already behind by six.

“Miles and Hawkins are going down,” Jay observes. “The East is locked in.”

“Care to make a little wager?” I turn toward him, folding my arms.

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