The Right Move (Windy City, #2)

by Liz Tomforde

“Blue.” My attention is torn away from Ryan’s backside to find blue-green eyes amused and watching me. He’s still bent over but looking back. “Are you checking out my ass right now?” A flush ghosts my cheeks and under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be embarrassed, but this guy has thousands of fans’ eyes on him, and many more watching from home. “It’s a nice ass.” I shrug unapologetically. His chest rumbles, his voice lowering. “Trying to distract me tonight? With those heels and those lips? Because you look fucking stunning.”

My breath catches. “Jealousy turns you on?” “Nah. No need to be jealous when I know what’s mine. I’m the one you’re going home with.” As if every last feminist bone has left my body, I melt into him.

“Can I hide with you?” Head leaning back on the wall, I take a deep breath thanks to her proximity. “You can hide with me forever, baby.”

“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.” “Promise?” Pulling her in, I take her lips with mine. “I’ll even add it to the fridge.”

“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.”

“What do you want me to call you then?” she asks, halting us in our tracks. Cupping her cheeks, I kiss her for everyone who wants to see. “You can call me yours.”

Proud of myself for simply getting it done and not playing in fear, I get back on defense without saying a word. I’ve never been the player to complain to the refs even when they’re doing a shitty job. “Hey!” Indy jumps from her seat, yelling at the referees as I jog past her. “What the hell was that? Are you blind? That’s an and-one! Why don’t you start blowing that whistle instead of blowing this game?” My girl is red-faced and angry, stomping around on her strappy red heels as she continues to berate the refs. Waiting for the other team to bring the ball up, I stand with my hands on my hips, watching her. Ethan and Dom join, sandwiching me on either side. “He’s an MVP nod, for fuck’s sake! Give the man some credit! What the hell are they paying you for?” she continues before adding a few more colorful curse words. “Goddamn. Are your knees sore from blowing that call?” An amused smile is fighting to break free, but I just shake my head as I watch her. “Your girl is kind of scary sometimes, Shay,” Dom notes from one side. Ethan laughs from the other. “I know,” I admit proudly. “And I fucking love it.” We win by seventeen.

Grabbing my keys, I head towards the front door. “Ry, I’m heading to Michael’s.” Sitting on the couch with a book in his hands and his feet propped on the coffee table, Ryan stiffens before slowly lowering his book to his lap. “Say that again for me.” “I’m heading to Michael’s.” “And who the fuck is Michael?” Huh? As realization hits me, I try my hardest not to laugh. Jealous Ryan is hot, so I’ll let this play out before admitting that Michael’s is the craft store where I buy my embroidery thread to cross-stitch. “Don’t worry about it.” His brows rocket up towards his hairline. “Oh, don’t worry about it? Okay then.” “You don’t get to tell me what to do unless we're both naked.” He lifts his book again, refocusing his attention on the pages. “Have fun, but just know that you’re responsible for whatever happens to Michael tonight. In

fact…” He eases into the couch as if he’s casually unaffected. “It’ll give me something to do later.” It’s then that I double over in laughter. “You’re insane.” Ryan peeks an eye over his book. “Michael’s is a craft store, you psychopath.”

“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.”

“This is practically a how-to manual on how to please a woman. How are more men not reading these?”

“I will love you for the rest of my life,” she whispers against my lips. It’s a promise, coming from the most loyal woman I know. “Forever, Blue.”

Have you ever seen a 6’3” basketball player laying shirtless with his newborns or in a nursery building cribs with his hands? Because I have and let me tell you, it’s a vision that will forever be branded into my memory. “Are you checking me out, Shay?” Ryan asks, wearing a cocky little smirk and breaking me out of my daydream. No use denying it. “Yes.”