The Right Move (Windy City, #2)

by Liz Tomforde

I’d never let him see her cry over him, so you could blame the kiss on that, but the truth is when I walked out of the players’ entrance all I saw was Blue. My perfect fucking Blue with those strappy heels, leather pants, and an attitude consisting of the strangest mix of welcoming and sharp. But when I noticed him, all I saw was red. Call it possessive, protective, or straight-up caveman tendencies, I don’t care. There was no part of me that would allow for that sorry excuse of a man to think he “won.” So, yeah, I kissed her to prove a point. But I also kissed her because I’d been wanting to do it for weeks now.

It’s impractical, constantly spending money on flowers that will die shortly after bringing them home, but every cent is worth it when I get to watch that beaming smile bloom when she sees them. The girl deserves to be spoiled, and I want to be the one doing the spoiling.

“I’m sorry someone let you believe you were hard to love, because, Blue, it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”