The Right Move (Windy City, #2)

by Liz Tomforde

And now I’m left grieving a version of my life that no longer exists.

“You’re pretty…bold for someone who just got here yesterday and still hasn’t signed a lease. And you ask a lot of questions.” “You think I’m pretty?”

I liked the idea of him being my over-possessive roommate who couldn’t stand another man to be near me because he wanted me for himself.

His stance might seem informal, but his stare is venomous, pointed right at Rio.

“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.”

Leaning over to Stevie, I speak quietly. “Daily update—I hope your brother wears his jersey when he fucks me.” I pop my shoulders. “Or I could wear it.”

I’ve never been kissed like this. Desperately. Longingly. As if he’s needed to do this since the day I walked into the apartment in the same way I have.

As the post-coital fog lifts, realization hits me. This is my sister’s best friend. My sister who doesn’t have many friends because of who I am. Not only that, but Indy needs to live here. She needs to save money, and this could easily ruin our living situation.

I know you’re faithful. It’s one of my favorite things about you, but there has to be a limit. Some people don’t deserve your unwavering loyalty.”

I chuckle without humor.

“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.”

I spent a lot of years asking and hoping for the life I wanted. It’s almost as if my words were never heard so I stopped asking at all.