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I’m not easily distracted, but if I could manifest my perfect distraction, it’d look a lot like her.
“We aren’t into bras?” “We? I personally don’t love wearing one with my pajamas, but you do you.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “Judgment free zone.”
“Stop looking at her,” I warn. “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 hitting that.” Dom nods in approval. “No, I’m not hitting that. And neither are any of you. Stop looking at her or she’ll be the last thing you ever fucking see.” “Ooooh. Protective Shay is here, and his sister is nowhere to be found. Someone write this date down. History is being made, people. Ryan Shay gives a fuck about someone other than Stevie and something other than basketball.”
“Do you want me to get on my knees and beg or something?” “Now that you say it.” She cocks her head to the side, eyes roaming my length. “I wouldn’t mind knowing what you look like on your knees, Shay.” “Indy, please.” “This is ridiculous. We can talk about it when you get home.” “Perfect. Great. All I’m asking for is one night.” “Go get me your key so I can go crash in my new expensive bed.” “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.”
I have a strong suspicion that showcasing jealousy won’t be the issue—keeping it under wraps will be.
I killed your flowers. My chest deflates with an odd sense of relief. He really is dramatic, but I’ll play into it. Ryan! I tried! I really tried to keep them alive, but I think I watered them too much and drowned them. Then when I went down to the flower stand today to buy the same ones in hopes you wouldn’t notice, they didn’t have them. So I bought you some called Black-eyed Susan? Which is the weirdest fucking thing to call a flower. My cheeks are sore from the splitting grin on my face. The idea of Ryan Shay, NBA superstar, leaving his apartment and facing the streets of Chicago to
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She’s utter perfection, feminine and beautiful,
Keep an eye on Indy for me. She has no clue that these guys are eye-fucking the hell out of her in that goddamn dress.
“No. That’s not how this is going to go. When you’re with me, I want you exactly as you are. That includes letting people know just how fucking smart you are. 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.”
“Don’t.” Ryan sits forward. “Don’t you dare cry.” I suck in a breath, shaking my head and stopping any emotions before they really start. “Sorry. We’re at your work event.” “Indy.” Both his large hands cup my face. “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.”
There’s a nervousness thrumming through me as I open the door to my apartment, the one place I’m able to find peace and solitude. But today, the peace is gone, replaced instead with uncertainty. Part of me hopes Indy is home so I can know whether she’s wearing her hair in a braid or a bun. Whether she’s wearing socks around the house or letting her bare feet enjoy the heated floor. Whether she’s still in the clothes she slept in or if she’s ready for the day.
But regardless of his request, I’ve been watching out for Indy since she moved in. I hate what she’s going through, and my understanding is partly why I’ve been so accommodating, but I think selfishly I’ve wanted Indy to be here since the first night she slept in my spare room. Why else would I buy her a bed to sleep in and add vegetarian substitutes to my order every time I get groceries delivered?
“If I was looking for convenience, I wouldn’t have gone years without touching a woman. Waking up and thinking of you, falling asleep and wishing you were there, it’s been distracting, tiresome, and goddamn infuriating, but I wouldn’t give you up for the world.”
“All I can think about is seeing you smile and trying to be the reason you are.”
🥹
“Trying to water those goddamn flowers just enough so I can watch your face light up when you get home.”
“Indy.” I pull back to look at her, my brows pinched and eyes pleading. “I know you wanted this to be easy, but I can’t do casual with you. I’m in way too fucking deep to pretend you’re not it for me.” “I don’t want casual.” She quickly shakes her head. “I never have, not with you. I’m sorry I let you believe that. You’ve been like a flash of lightning straight to my heart and I’ve been done for ever since. It was confusing.”
At some point, I should probably tell her that my love language is whichever one she wants it to be so she can stop guessing. I’ll make sure that girl feels loved however she needs.
“I want you, Indy. I want us. I want our little life we’ve built even when we thought we were pretending. I want you in our house because you’ve made it a home. I want your mess and your chaos. I want your genuine smiles, the ones you wear when you’re around my sister, the hockey team, and me. I want you happy, and I want to be the reason you are. I want you to choose me.”
“You deserve the grand gestures, the big moments. I’m not great at making a show. I don’t like the attention, but if that’s what you need to understand how much I want you in my life, I’ll do it. Fuck, I should’ve done this in front of a crowd or standing in the rain or something romantic instead of hiding away and saying it. God…” I chuckle without humor. “I’m telling you you’re the best thing to ever come into my life while hiding in a random room with terrible carpet and shitty wallpaper—”
“I’m sorry someone let you believe you were hard to love, because, Blue, it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” I shake my head. “God, I love you. I think in a way, I’ve loved you since our first breakfast together. You brought me back to life, Ind, and I will love you as long as you’ll let me.”
A condescending laugh escapes me. “Says the guy who camped outside of my place of work to talk to a girl who wants nothing to do with him. But let me make this clear, when it comes to her, I have no issue ruining my reputation. I will burn the world down to protect her and I’ll proudly wave the match, so everyone knows I’m the one who did it.”
“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.”
“Why do you like reading fiction so much?” he asks without a hint of judgment. “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.”
“Has my daughter been a handful?” “The best handful.” He chuckles. “Thank you for taking care of her.” This time I don’t use my voice as I sign, wanting this conversation to be strictly between Indy’s dad and me. “I love her. She’s my whole world. My best friend.”
“No. Thank you.” He doesn’t have to say anything else. I know what it means. Thank you for protecting my daughter, for loving my daughter. But later tonight, I’ll hopefully be the one saying thank you right after I ask for his blessing to marry his daughter. It was the first question I learned to sign, so you could say I’ve been practicing it for a while.
I could not be more content, with my people, with my girl, and with my team on the way to the playoffs. This life, this home, this relationship is everything I never let myself want, and it’s more than I knew I was allowed to dream for.
