The Right Move (Windy City, #2)

by Liz Tomforde

Do you know how to flare your nostrils in anger?” My breakfast almost comes back up. “What?” “If you see me across the room, talking to another man, I need you to stare intently then flare your nostrils. Or grind your molars together and tic your jaw.” “Blue—” “Do you know how to growl?” “What?” “Yeah, I don’t really know what that’s supposed to sound like, but every one of my book boyfriends is big into growling. Oh! And can you darken your eyes?” “Darken my eyes?” “Yeah. When you pretend to get angry or act really turned on, can you darken your eyes?”

“As much as it’d be an absolute honor to be punched in the face by Ryan Shay,

“Half of my income though…” I continue. “I donate to charity.” “Really? Where to?” “Well, currently I’m housing this flight attendant who is terrible at cleaning up after herself. Total charity case. Tragic story, really.”

“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

“Ryan, you know I practically worship the ground you walk on,

The guy slept in his car, and honestly, if I were into dudes that right there would have me folding.”