The Right Move (Windy City, #2)

by Liz Tomforde

“Oh, you mean is she good at getting hit on in every bar we walk into? Yeah, she’s fucking great at that too.” “Fuck you.”

“Ryan, if you’re asking if any of my guys are getting with her, the answer is no. Are they trying? I’m fairly certain a few of them have tried, but she’s not interested in the slightest. But if you’re asking if she’s good as in, is she happy? She seems happier than she has been in a long time.”

“And keep your teammates in check. If I hear that one of them tries anything with her again, I’m coming to you.” Zanders folds over his steering wheel in laughter. “Ryan, my guy, you’re so completely fucked, and you can’t even see it.”

Ahhhhh

Stevie is probably right and I’m being over-dramatic, but the idea of Indy being alone in her car with strangers in the middle of the night sends a reaction through me that I haven’t felt in quite a while—concern.

Her T-shirt is worn beyond belief, a soft pink cotton from an old-school Brittney Spears concert. God, she’s fucking adorable and that pisses me off.

Because this version of her, the real one where she’s not putting on a show for my GM or her ex-boyfriend and his friends. The version where she’s not toning it down to be appropriate or appeasing. This is my version of her. The one where she’s comfortable and casual at home and I don’t want to share her.

MY VERSION?!?!

Her brown eyes are soft with patience, not that I deserve it. I’m acting like a possessive caveman right now, but I don’t know how to fake it.

“I’m…worried about you, Ind. I was worrying about you the whole game.” Her lips lift mischievously, her tone teasing. “Ryan Shay, do you care about me?” “No.”

She moves her shoulders, dancing around the island. “Ryan Shay cares about me!” “You’re annoying.” Her hands go to her knees, and she sticks her ass out, twerking in my kitchen. “Yeah, but you still care about me.”

I lean back on my bedroom door, not quite going inside yet. “Knowing you’re not out there alone driving drunk dudes home at two AM is worth far more to me than five hundred dollars a month. Besides, you should probably start coming to my games when you’re in town. You are the point guard’s girlfriend after all.”

“Congratulations.” I motion to Britney Spears on my twenty-seven-year-old roommate’s chest. “Cute shirt by the way.”

Indy’s hand glides down my bare bicep and forearm until it slides into mine. She begins pulling me to the couch. “Take a seat on the floor. Let me rub this out.” Let me rub this out. Jesus. Inhaling a deep breath, I pray away the erection.

Her latest read sits on the coffee table in front of me. As usual, it displays a shirtless man right there on the cover. “What’s this one about?” I ask, holding it up. “The female main character hooks up with her ex-boyfriend’s dad.” “What the fuck?” “Trust me. The little shit deserved it.”

Lmaoooooo yes

She’s fucking ridiculous sometimes and I kind of love it.

It’s a bad idea. It’s a terrible fucking idea. It’s three in the morning, I’m half naked with a half-hard dick, and my stunning roommate is asking me to get on the couch with her. “Yeah,” I rasp.

Her long legs open around me and fuck if that doesn’t send an image straight to my lusting brain.

I shake my head, inhaling through my nose because well…I hate this guy. Indy would never question how magnetic, how distracting she is if she saw herself the way everyone in her orbit sees her. The way I see her.

“You can’t stop being who you are because someone else thinks it’s too much, Ind. He can go find less.”

You don’t get much better than I...

“Do you think I’m a trainwreck, Ryan?” I huff a laugh. “You’re more like a cut...

I want to kiss her, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.

Her voice is a low rasp, the whisper sending goosebumps over my skin. “Please don’t.” Oh, fuck me with that gentle plea, those begging eyes. Indy sweeps her tongue across her bottom lip and my attention is glued to it. Glistening pink, pouty and what I can only imagine as pillow soft.

Indy is not the type of woman you can simply flush from your system after a single night. She’s the kind to seep into your veins and rewire your brain, making you do and say things you swore you never would. Whether she believes it or not, Indigo Ivers is the type of woman you keep forever, and even though I can pretend to be her boyfriend, there’s no way in hell I could pretend that one night with her wouldn’t completely fuck me up.

An airplane is sewn by the outside ankle of the left shoe. There’s a hockey stick and a Stanley Cup on the right. An ocean and sunset which I assume is Florida. A head of chestnut curls and I could recognize that as representing my sister even from a mile away. A number thirty-eight is nestled into Boston’s skyline for her friend Rio, I guess. I don’t let myself think too far into that because I’m just grateful there’s nothing regarding her shitty ex that she would quite literally be walking around with.

“I donate to Zee’s foundation, Active Minds, but my main focus is Chicago’s public school system. Making sure kids have the textbooks they need for class and food for lunch. And part of my shoe deal is that every year my sponsor has to match my donation in gifting said shoe to kids who need something to wear in order to be active. But there’s so much more that needs to be done. It feels overwhelming.”

Indy reaches for the door handle, but I click the lock in place before she can get to it. Brown eyes roll with exaggeration when the door refuses to open for her. Call me old-fashioned, I don’t care, but I have yet and will not let her open her own door.

IM SCREAMINGGGGGG

“You’re so weird about that.” “I’m not weird. You’ve just never had someone take care of you before, so you may as well get used to it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Indy plops her duffel bag on the mattress. “I’m going to pile the other side with pillows anyway, you may as well sleep next to me. But don’t worry, Shay, I don’t have cooties.” Cooties are not what I’m worried about.

The sun is setting, leaving a slight golden glow to illuminate him and he looks fucking gorgeous in those fitted black jeans. His beanie is a navy knit which does nothing but make his eyes glow strikingly blue. Good God, Indy. Get it together. It’s a goddamn beanie and jeans.

As his girlfriend, of course I would. As his roommate who is forming an unhealthy crush, it’s a terrible idea.

“We’re a team. I’m here to help you out.” “I like the way that sounds.” Turning, I smile at him. “Does that mean the team shares s’mores too?” I shake my head in disagreement. “They’re reserved for the MVP.”

“Don’t make those little noises while you’re sitting on my lap.” He grabs my thigh, his lips dangerously close to mine while he speaks. “Otherwise, you’re not going to be able to get up for a while.”

Ahhhhhhhhhh

Turning around in his lap, I swing both of my legs to one side of his, offering him some of my s’more. His lips wrap around it, taking a generous bite, all the while keeping his ocean eyes penetrating mine.

A bit of marshmallow falls onto his chin, and without thinking, I wipe it off with my thumb. But before I can clean off the mess, he grabs my hand and takes my finger in his mouth to suck off the remnants.

Hotttttttt

Before I can look up to see the view, I find a much more spectacular one standing naked in the center of the room wearing only a towel and looking up towards the sky. “Wow,” Indy exhales, her head thrown back. “That’s beautiful.”

I honestly couldn’t care less what’s up north. If she saw how stunning she looked with a light layer of moisture coating her body or the slight flush to her cheeks from her warm shower, she would understand my disinterest in looking away. “The stars are so bright out here,” she continues. “I never see them in the city.” Brown eyes track me. “Ryan?” I nod. “Stunning.”

Every fiber in my body wants to close the gap between us and kiss her right now. And if she asked for more than that, I don’t think I’d be able to hold back.

Yearninggggg

What the fuck sort of evil thing did I manage to do in order to earn this kind of temptation? I’ve gone years, years without giving a woman as much as a second glance, and now the one I can’t stop thinking about is living in my house.

My fingers entangle in those blonde tresses, pulling her hair the way I’ve pictured since the day she walked into my apartment.

I want to fuck her so badly it hurts.

She bucks her hips off the wall, needing to meet mine, and as soon as I imagine pushing into her, jets of cum hit the shower tile with force. My release is almost blinding as I come harder than I have in a very long time. Continuing to stroke myself, I let every last drop fall and swirl down the drain, allowing the water to wash away what I just did.

I like that people believe she’s mine. I like how it feels to have her in my bed.

There’s a heavy silence in the room, and not the kind when two people are trying to fall asleep, but the type that’s buzzing with anticipation because you’re both aware of just how awake you are. A beat passes between us before hesitantly, Indy slips her hand back in mine.

I can almost hear my nervous heart beating in the silence until her thumb skims mine in a gentle stroke, and fuck if I don’t want to yank her on top of me and kiss her right now. But I can’t. For a multitude of reasons, I can’t, so I keep our hands as the only point of contact.

“You’re chaotic as fuck, Blue, but you bring me more peace than anyone else.” She stops her giggling.

“Yes, I worry about you and that stresses me out. And you’ve practically shit a rainbow all over my apartment which almost gave me an ulcer, but when you’re home I don’t feel like I have to put on a show. I have a hard time with new people. I’m sure you know that by now. But with you, I can be myself, and that might seem like nothing to anyone else, but to me, it’s everything.”

“Stop being nice to me or you’re going to make me cry.” I smile at that. “You always cry.”

“I know I am, but my ovaries aren’t. Thanks to my genetic line, at twenty-seven, I’ve got some old-ass eggs. All I’ve ever wanted is to be a mom, and I don’t care how. Stepmom. Foster mom. Adoptive mom. But if I want to keep the very slim chance of being a biological mom, this is my only hope. It might be too late already, I don’t know, but I need to try.” Okay, now I can’t help but touch her. Grazing my fingertips across her cheek, I push her hair behind her ear. “Why would I laugh at that?”

I let go of her hand and instead, tuck one arm under her body, pulling her into my chest. She hides in the crook of my neck, so I speak softly, my lips to her ear. “There’s nothing desperate about going after what you want most in life. So, fuck him for saying it because even if you don’t want to tell me, I know it was him.”

Fuck me, I want her, and even though she’s made it clear she’s got nothing left to give, I find myself desperate to take even the scraps if they’re offered.