Page 88 of Hard to Break

The kitchen at Jay’s house is bustling and packed with bodies. I’m surrounded by the familiar chaos of holiday preparations for the Labor Day BBQ.

“If you’re here, who’s on the grill?” Jay leans over the island toward his teammate.

Damon lifts the apron off his head. “Atlas.”

“Atlas can’t grill.”

“Dude, this is my first summer here. How the hell am I supposed to know that?!”

A plume of smoke drifts across the window. “Fuck.”

“On it!” Nova says, dashing toward the door in a blur of denim, her pink ponytail bouncing.

“Bet you didn’t think you’d need twenty-four champagne glasses,” I say to my brother.

“You did.”

That’s why I got them for his housewarming.

“Who are we missing?” I’m pouring the twentieth glass from the fifth bottle of Dom and scanning the open-concept area critically.

Most of the team is here, minus the guys traveling for the holiday.

My parents are here too, and Miles’s grams, plus Nova’s sister and brother-in-law, Harlan. They’re all sitting around the living room, talking eagerly. Mom’s smiling her genuine smile, not the campaigning one.

“Rookie.”

The sound of the door closing has us looking up.

“My name is Ryan,” he calls. “We went through this last year.”

“When you sign a new contract, we will stop calling your Rookie,” Jay says.

He pulls out his phone with a flourish. “It’s done, assholes!”

The guys all holler their congratulations.

The warm, comforting scents of the grill fill the air, mingling with the laughter and chatter of the Kodiaks.

My eyes are drawn to Miles, who looks extra hot in dark jeans and a dress shirt that matches his eyes.

As sexy as he is, he seems fidgety. He's standing by the counter, his hand constantly dipping into his pocket as if checking for something.

“Tell me you’re not stressing about the games again.” I arch a brow. “They’re months away.”

His new goal is to make the national team next year, and he’s devoted himself to an extra-rigorous training regimen to make it happen.

He flashes me a grin. “Nah, it’s not that.”

“Well, you’re definitely distracted. Which means you must be reliving the way we celebrated after your last game of the season.”

His eyes glint wickedly. “Now I sure as fuck am.”

I feel myself flush as he steps behind me, resting a hand lightly on my waist. I love the way he touches me, and the fact that we can do it in public without having to hide it anymore. “But that’s not it, either. You need a hand?”

“You can help by passing these out.” I wave to the champagne flutes, and he obligingly distributes them.

Once everyone has a glass, my brother gives a toast to the team.

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