The Right Move (Windy City, #2)

by Liz Tomforde

“To be honest, Ind, I don’t know who I’m more jealous of. If this were any other guy, I’d hate them, but this is Ryan Shay we’re talking about. I wish I were you.”

I turn back to Zanders. “To answer your question, he made me cry.” “I’ll k...

“Ryan Shay was the number one draft pick out of North Carolina—a team who won back-to-back national championships under him. He’s…what do you think?” Rio

“Top five, maybe top three players in the league? And he doesn’t even have a ring or an MVP yet. It’s impossible for him to leave his house without being recognized, I’m sure. These guys are big in the NHL, and they’re known throughout the city”—he

but it’s nothing in comparison to what Ryan Sh...

“You remember my little media debacle with Stevie last spring when everyone found out I had a girlfriend?” Zanders asks me. “Well, when Ryan makes headlines, we’re not talking national news. It goes worldwide. He keeps h...

“Eleven and a half.” “Twelve,” Maddison smugly cuts in, sharing his own salary. Zanders flips him off as he tries to hold back his smile.

“See.” Rio turns to me. “Two of the biggest names in the NHL make almost twenty-four million dollars a year combined. Ryan Shay makes double that. Hell, he’s got shoe deals and endorsements that are probably worth more than that.”

It’s decided. I’m going to bring some color into Ryan Shay’s life if it’s the last thing I do.

There was a big group of us kids who were glued to each other from a young age. The numbers never dwindled, and we formed what I thought was an unbreakable bond and a lifelong friendship. Maggie and Kevin started dated shortly after Alex and me, and the other couples formed years later. I thought these were my people. I thought I was going to raise my future children with these women, and now it feels as if I’m the one left out. As if I was the one who was unfaithful to my partner of six years.

“Where are you living anyway?” Angie asks. With my friend’s brother who happens to make more money than God, is hotter than sin, and plays basketball for a team my ex-boyfriend idolizes.

“What?” I force out a laugh. “Maggie, he slept with someone else in our bed.” And he’s never once asked for forgiveness, let alone apologized. “He made a mistake.”

Sharp pricks of unwanted tears sting my eyes because I want to try on bridesmaid dresses, I want to go to trivia on Wednesday night, and I want my friends to have my back over Alex’s in this situation. Does that make me a terrible person? I don’t think so. That feels like the bare minimum.

Ryan turns to face me, looking ridiculously fuckable without trying. He’s dressed casually wearing a backwards cap as he pulls his own suitcase out into the hallway.

“Blue,” Ryan calls out from down the hall. I’m not sure why I acknowledge the nickname, but I find myself turning to face him as he pops his head out of the elevator. “Thanks for the coffee.”

I have. Multiple times. She was an intern at Alex’s financial firm. I saw her at the office Christmas party last year and I complimented her sage-green chiffon dress. I don’t regret it. It really was a stunning dress. Were they sleeping together then?

Maggie looks beautiful in her save the date photo. Kevin and she are so happy, and I’m happy for them. I am. But there’s an envious part that wishes it were me. We were supposed to plan our big days together, but instead I wasn’t even invited to try on bridesmaid dresses. And it’s not the wedding I’m jealous of. It’s the future—what comes after that day. I want the rest of my life more than anything.

Did you buy me a bed? A few moments pass before three gray dots dance along my screen. Roomie You needed one. Practical answer.

Ryan Shay doesn’t totally hate having me here.

Ethan and I are the two homebodies on the team. Ethan because he has a wife and three children and me because leaving my house and risking negative headlines is almost never worth it. The last time was almost a disaster. I punched an old teammate for treating Stevie poorly, and thankfully, my sister’s boyfriend took the blame to keep the heat off me. But I didn’t realize I had declined my teammates so much already I was no longer getting invited.

Sure, he didn’t realize that I was wide awake most of the night wondering why my new roommate wasn’t home yet, but I was.

“Holy mama,” Dom says loudly enough to pull my attention, his eyes glued behind me. The rest of the team follows suit, turning back towards the practice gym’s entrance. “Hot damn.” “Good God,” they echo. Turning around, I’m not so pleasantly surprised to find Indy strutting into the building like she owns the place, wearing a soft purple sundress on this unseasonably warm October day. Her high-top white Converse are embroidered with colorful shapes, and her hair and makeup are re-done, looking like a completely different woman than I left at the apartment a few hours ago.

“Shay, you are the luckiest man alive. Please tell me you’re hitting that.” My head whips around to my teammate. “Watch your fucking mouth.” “Well, if you don’t try, I will.”

“Stop looking at her,”

“Go hit the showers or get to the airport or just about anything other than look at her. She’s not available.”

“So, you are hitti...

“No, I’m not hitting that. And neither are any of you. Stop looking at her or she’ll be the last ...

“How’d you get in here? This is a closed practice.” She circles an index finger around her face. “Charming. Remember?” Of course, my overconfident roommate could talk her way past security and into our closed practice while the gates outside are lined with eager fans, hopeful for a photo or autograph.

“What happened?” “Nothing. Indy, you can’t be here.” I want to add especially not looking like that but she could be wearing a potato sack and all my teammates’ eyes would still be on her.

I’m fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. How was having a fake girlfriend my solution to this? Why couldn’t I have just offered to work on my leadership and that be it?

A flash of blonde hair and lavender fabric catches my attention as Indy stands where I left her, lightly swaying her hips and bobbing her head as she scrolls on her phone. My face screws up with regret. This is a terrible idea, but fuck it, I’m in it already. “Or you could meet her right now?” I motion to Indy as she entertains herself, completely oblivious to the colossal lie I’m creating about her.

I place my hand on her lower back. It’s the first time I’ve really touched her, and she instantly stiffens from the contact. “Mr. Morgan, this is Indy…my girlfriend.” My roommate’s smile instantly drops.

Ahhhhhh

Please go with it, Blue, I beg through my eyes. She stays silent in shock.

“Not so fast, honey bun.” She snaps out of her trance, stopping me as she wraps both arms around my waist. “How am I supposed to be without you for two days? We’ve never been apart, cupcake. I’m going to miss you so much.” She nuzzles her head on my un-iced shoulder, looking up at me with a wink. I’m going to kill her.

Lmaooooo

“What the hell are you doing?” I snap once we’re alone in the empty hall outside of the gym. “And what the fuck is with the food nicknames?” “What am I doing? What the hell are you doing? Your girlfriend?” “Fuck,” I exhale, pacing the small hallway. “I panicked.”

“Do you want me to get on my knees and beg or something?”

“Now that you say it.”

“I wouldn’t mind knowing what you look like on yo...

“Indy, pl...

“What an amazing guy to buy you a bed. Probably makes you want to return a favor. He seems like a wonderful person.” Indy rolls her eyes. “He’s on my shit list at the moment.”

At 6’3” I’m tall in the real world, but when it comes to the NBA, I’m one of the smaller guys in the league. My body takes a pounding anytime I drive the lane, but the aches are worth it whenever I sneak past a big man or hit a three over a 6’8” beast.

Speaking of my bookshelf, it’s a fucking rainbow. My books are completely rearranged, and the amount seems to have doubled in size since I left. Indy has taken my well-thought-out and organized bookshelf and made it look like a unicorn threw up on it as it goes from red to purple, sorted by color. What god-awful reason should Investing 101 be sandwiched between two books with shirtless men on the covers? Because they’re all orange? And why the fuck are there naked dudes on my bookshelf?

She’s a romantic. Of course, she’s a goddamn romantic. She waited six years for a proposal that never came. She likes flowers and girly clothes. I should’ve known.

I pound on her door. “Indy, I swear to God if you don’t get out here, I’m coming in your room.” “Please do! I sleep naked.” Oh.

Hands rest on either side of her doorframe as the image invades my mind. Her, naked. In my house. In the bed I bought her. Heat mixes oddly with the frustration thrumming through my body and the arousal is so sudden and so heady I’m almost lightheaded from the blood rushing south. I’m not sure how long it’s been since I’ve seen a woman’s naked flesh, but my body angrily reminds me with a jolt of my cock that it’s been far too fucking long.

Ahhhhhhhh

“There’s a fucking tree in my living room!” “Actually, it’s a Fiddle-leaf fig plant and it’s there because this window faces the east, and the perfect amount of sun comes through here. Bright but not too direct. I have a north facing window. It wouldn’t thrive. So, maybe you could take a breather thanks to the oxygen it’s providing, yeah?” What the fuck?

Lmaoooooo

My expression softens. I don’t think that at all, but she is a gorgeous human and I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t the first thing I noticed.

I get it. I can read between the lines. The asshole she lived with before didn’t offer to take care of them while she was traveling for work so she couldn’t have any. Fuck that guy. Unfaithfulness puts you in another category in my book. You’re automatically unredeemable. Which is probably why I’m doing everything I said I never would by allowing this girl to live in my home while making her life as easy as possible.

What she’s going through resonates with me, and if Indy having some flowers in my apartment will make her happy, well then, I guess I’m growing a green fucking thumb.

God, I’m pathetic. I’m so starved for human touch that I’m getting a hard-on from a fucking hug.