The Right Move (Windy City, #2)

by Liz Tomforde

This guy is a monster who probably runs marathons for fun and passes out nutrition bars on Halloween.

“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t want you here. I didn’t ask for you to move in, and the only reason you’re here is because you’re my sister’s friend and I’m the reason she doesn’t have very many. I like my space, and if it were my choice, I’d be living alone. So, no, Indiana, we’re not going to be friends. We’re going to coexist in the same apartment until you can find yourself a different situation while I fulfill my brotherly duty.”

“It could be negative twenty, and I’ll hold an iced coffee in my hand while I wear my winter gloves.”

“Yeah, that’s not me. I’m just like every other chick. As basic as they come. I had an Uggs phase. I had a skinny jeans phase. I like my books with romance, my coffee with more creamer than caffeine, and I even take aesthetic pictures of my food anytime I’m at a restaurant.”

My nipples sure as shit want to know where Ryan Shay fucks.

It’s my self-assigned role. Host. Event coordinator. The one who always makes a huge deal of birthdays and promotions. The friend who wants to celebrate every exciting moment of my people’s lives, to give them a moment of recognition so they know how special they are. The one who ensures those around her feel good about themselves.

You’re not going to cater to anyone’s toxic masculinity bullshit. You’re not going to be quiet and appeasing when you’re with me. If Ron, or anyone else for that matter, has an issue with you being smarter than him, then we’re going to have a far bigger problem than him thinking I’m not a good leader.”

“I don’t give a fuck where we are. You could cry all you want at this fundraiser. You could scream, laugh, throw a temper tantrum in front of these people for all I care. I don’t give a fuck, but you’re not crying over him, here or anywhere else.”

“She’s only a pain in the ass when she leaves her dishes in the sink or forgets her clothes in the dryer for days at a time.”

“Just wait until you realize she never screws the lids back on all the way or forgets to close cupboard doors behind her.”

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

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

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.

She’s your sister’s best friend. She’s going through a nasty breakup. She’s your roommate, for fuck’s sake.

“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.

“What you offer in a relationship, as a friend, a woman, a partner, by simply being who you are is more than enough. And if someone can’t see that you’re everything, then it’s them who's missing out.

Some people don’t deserve your unwavering loyalty.”

I don’t necessarily need someone else to tell me I’m doing a good job. I know I’m doing a good fucking job. I’m on pace to break my personal records in both assists and points in a single season, but I won’t lie and say gaining the approval of the man who signs my paychecks isn’t a total ego boost.

She’s not just a happy-go-lucky girl with no perception of the terrible parts of life. She doesn’t shit rainbows or believe in unicorns, but she feels everything. Every emotion good or bad

“Sometimes the quietest love is the loudest,”

He doesn’t need to say it and I don’t have to hear it. I already know. It happened so quietly, so effortlessly.

“You know that jersey you’ve got with my last name on it? When you see it hanging there in your closet, let it serve as a reminder to you, that soon enough, it’ll be her last name too.”

“How else would you get to live a thousand lives in the span of only one? The beauty of fiction is that it makes you feel things on a visceral level. You can cry with those characters, laugh with them. It teaches you to look at another’s perspective, to have empathy. In nonfiction, you simply learn about something instead of feeling it.”

“I love you, Blue. So fucking much and I’ll fight for you forever, but I need you to fight for us too. Now eat your breakfast, it’s getting cold.”

Now, that silence screams with reminders that I’m worthy. That I’m deserving of the love I read about. I’m deserving of the family I desire, and I know this because I fell in love with a man while I was being completely and utterly myself and he fell right alongside me.

“We live our happiest lives out here. You and me. Even if it’s always just you and me. Even if children aren’t in our future, we remember how grateful we are to have found each other.”

“What do you say, Shay? Want to be my roomie? Hide away with me in this big, beautiful house?” “I think that sounds like the right move.”