The Right Move (Windy City Series Book 2)

“We had too many turnovers in the third and we couldn’t recover. That’s something we’re going to work on in practice this week.”

At least thirty hands shoot up, but I can barely make out the reporters’ faces thanks to the blinding camera lights.

“That’s enough questions for tonight,” our media coordinator announces in the post-game press conference.

I stand, fixing my suit and offering my most diplomatic wave and smile after making sure my answers were perfectly poised for the media. “Thank you, everyone.”

The buzz of chatter is behind me as I make my way back down the tunnel to the locker room. The rest of the team is gone. Only Coach and I had to stay back to be drilled with questions about why we played like shit on our home court. I had my worst game of the season and since I lead my team with the way I play, we collectively played like garbage.

I’d like to say my lack of focus was a random one-off, but the truth is, I know where my head was tonight.

It was stuck on my roommate who I was texting with pregame when she dropped the bomb that she was driving rideshares tonight. She was stoked it was going to be busy thanks to the drives to and from the arena. However, all I could think about is her being stuck in her car with strangers. Doesn’t she realize how potentially dangerous that could be? Doesn’t she understand how drunk some of these fans are after a game?

Worse than that, she hasn’t texted me back since I got to my phone.

“Ry.”

My zoned-out daze is broken to find Zanders casually leaning on the wall outside my locker room, one leg crossed over the other.

“Hey, man. Were you here for the game? I thought Stevie said you were out of town for some sponsorship deal.”

“Just landed and headed here.”

I push the door open. “Want to come into my locker room?”

“You mean my locker room?” He wears a smug smile.

“Not until tomorrow night.”

The Raptors and the Devils share the United Center, so on nights where I’m not playing, there’s a good chance you could find my sister’s boyfriend on the ice.

“Are you picking up Stevie or what?”

Zanders takes a seat in one of the locker stalls as I collect my phone, wallet, and keys, still frustrated from the lack of Indy on my phone.

“No, she’s home already, and doesn’t know I’m here. I wasn’t sure if Indy was at your place, and I was hoping to talk to you alone.”

Well, that catches my attention. I turn around to find Zanders’ expression completely serious, an uncommon occurrence for the defenseman.

“Everything okay?” I take a seat in my stall, elbows on my knees.

“I wasn’t at a sponsorship deal. I was in Nashville.”

Stevie’s and my hometown.

“To talk to your dad.”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Do you remember the night we met, and I told you I wasn’t going to ask for permission to date your sister?”

I attempt to hold back the slight tug on my lips remembering the charity gala where I formally met the arrogant hockey player. Going into that night, I hated him. He was a walking stereotype, but here we are, almost a year later. The guy sitting in the stall across from me is one of my best friends and loves my sister in the way she deserves.

“I’m all for Stevie making her own decisions, so again, I’m not going to ask your permission, but this time, I do care how you feel.”

“Zee, you’re being sappy as fuck about this,” I laugh. “Spit it out.”

“Ryan Taylor Shay.” Zanders gets on one knee in front of me. “Will you be my brother-in-law?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m kidding.” He retakes his seat, laughing. “But I would like to know how you’d feel my asking Stevie to marry me. You’re one of my best friends, but I also want both of you to be my family. Officially.”

I’m not an emotional man. I don’t cry often. I’ve shed a few tears in my younger days if I didn’t make a game-winning shot or if I felt like I let my team down. Now, the only time emotions hit me is when my sister is involved. She’s my gray area in a world of black and white. I want her happiness more than I want my own and knowing the guy across from me makes her happier than she’s been in her whole life causes a slight burning in my eyes.

I exhale a deep breath, centering myself. “You’re about to make me lose it, man.”

“Good. You can get on my page. I was a crying mess talking to your dad today.”

I can picture that perfectly. My dad is a sweet man, caring and kind and Zanders is as in tune with his emotions as I’ve seen almost anyone. Well, maybe besides Indy.

“So, what do you think?”

“What do I think?” I contemplate for a moment. “I think if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” I stand with a smile on my face, repeating the phrase I used the first night I met my future brother-in-law. “But yeah, I’d love for my sister to marry you.”

He stands as well, both of us throwing our arms around each other in a hug. I smack his shoulder a couple of times before pulling away.

He holds me at arm’s length. “You played like shit tonight, by the way.”

A silent laugh heaves in my chest. I almost forgot about my terrible game, but it’s one of eighty-two and I’m not going to let it ruin my night any longer.

“Thanks, Zee. Always supportive.” I exit the locker room with him following behind.

“Just keeping you in check. At the very least, I need you to make the playoffs because I’ve got a Stanley Cup win under my belt and it’s becoming a heavy burden to be the only champion in this family.”

“I’m so glad I make more money than you.” We head to the players’ parking lot. “Do you need a ride?”

“Nah, I drove.”

As we find our cars, I hesitate, knowing I’m going to sound like a complete stalker, but fuck it. This guy is about to be my brother. If I can’t ask him, who else can I ask?

“Hey, Zee.” He turns to face me, his hand lingering on the handle of his G-Wagon. “When you’re on the road, Indy…She’s good?”

His lips lift mischievously. “Is she good at her job? Yeah, the best.”

“No.”

“Oh, you mean is she good at getting hit on in every bar we walk into? Yeah, she’s fucking great at that too.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughs from his core. “She’s good, man. She usually comes out and grabs a drink with Maddison, Rio, and me if we have the night off, but other than that, she’s in her hotel reading or sewing or whatever the fuck she does with her shoes.”

“The guys though, they don’t mess with her?”

“Ryan, if you’re asking if any of my guys are getting with her, the answer is no. Are they trying? I’m fairly certain a few of them have tried, but she’s not interested in the slightest. But if you’re asking if she’s good as in, is she happy? She seems happier than she has been in a long time.”

A quick nod of my head. “Thanks, man.” We both get into our cars that are parked near each other, but I roll down my window to add one more thing. “And keep your teammates in check. If I hear that one of them tries anything with her again, I’m coming to you.”

Zanders folds over his steering wheel in laughter. “Ryan, my guy, you’re so completely fucked, and you can’t even see it.”

“Indy!” I hang my keys on the hook by my front door. “Blue, are you home?”

All the lights are off in the apartment which means I was the last to leave. Indy leaves a symbolic trail of breadcrumbs behind her in the form of open cabinet doors and unnecessary lights on whenever she exits a room.

I quietly walk by her open bedroom door to be sure, but it’s empty. Her pillows are still stacked on one side of the mattress from last night, yet to work on her bucket list.

Grabbing my phone, I dial her again, which makes it my third call since I left the arena twenty minutes ago.

“You’ve reached Indy!” her voicemail repeats once again. “You can leave a message if you want but I probably won’t call you back. Bye!”

Typically, I’d find her voicemail charming just like her, but tonight it’s frustrating beyond belief.

“Call me back, Ind,” I mutter into the receiver, pacing the length of the living room, continuing to check my phone.

Surely, she’s got to be done driving by now. The game ended two hours ago.

What if she picked up a trip that took her hours out of town? Or what if her car broke down? Fuck, I don’t even know what she drives. Is it safe for a Chicago winter? She’s a Midwest native, so I assume it is, but what if it’s an old car?

I’m self-aware enough to know I’m avoiding the real question. What if something worse happened to her? Fans can be belligerent leaving the arena, I’ve seen it firsthand.

Where the hell is she?

“Stevie?” I ask as soon as my sister answers her phone. “Have you heard from Indy?”

“No. She’s driving tonight. Is everything okay?”

“She’s not home yet. She should be home by now.”

“It’s only eleven thirty. Maybe she’s still working or maybe she met up with friends.”

“What kind of friends?”

She laughs. “Oh my God. Male friends, I’m sure. The kind with lots of money and huge di—”

“Vee.”

“I’m kidding. Friends like girl friends or Rio.”

“Why are you not concerned at all?”

“Because she’s a grown woman who’s working. Will it make you feel better if I text her?”

“Please.”

My sister softens her tone. “Ryan, I’m sure she’s fine. I’ll text as soon as I hear back.”

Another twenty-five minutes goes by. I pace the kitchen. I pour myself a scotch. My collar feels too claustrophobic, so I change out of my gameday suit before wrapping a bag of ice around my shooter’s shoulder.

Stevie is probably right and I’m being over-dramatic, but the idea of Indy being alone in her car with strangers in the middle of the night sends a reaction through me that I haven’t felt in quite a while—concern.

My emotions haven’t taken over in years, including this one. I’ve kept them locked down, controlled, but right now they feel entirely unmanageable thanks to my blonde roommate I can’t stop worrying about.

I know how overwhelming it can be with the public. She’s not me, but what if fans recognize her from the photos of the banquet?

My phone pings, and you’d have to believe I was a professional athlete by how quickly I snatch it off the kitchen counter.

BLUE

Sorry, still working! I’ve had nonstop rides tonight. Be home late. Going to keep driving until the bars close.

What the hell? Is she trying to force me into cardiac arrest? As if the fans after a home game weren’t rowdy enough, I can’t imagine how sloppy some of them get when they hit the bars afterward.

RYAN

Can you please come home?

Can’t. I need to make a little more $$ before calling it a night. Got a ride! Got to go. See you tomorrow.

See you tomorrow? Is she out of her goddamn mind? In what world does she think I’m going to bed and will just see her tomorrow?

VEE

Indy is good. Still working.

RYAN

What the hell is so important that she needs to be working these kinds of hours? Did the airline do a pay cut?

No, but it’s also not my business to talk about. If she wants to tell you she will. Heading to bed. Love you.

I exhale a deep, resigned sigh.

Thanks for getting ahold of her. Love you too.

Indy’s obnoxious yellow curtains are pushed to the wall, letting Chicago’s midnight skyline filter into my living room. Stevie and Zanders’ penthouse is across the street, and I watch as their lights go out for the night.

I’m glad someone is getting some sleep because I’ll be sitting on this couch, wide awake until Indy comes home.

It’s 2:57 when the front door quietly opens, and I’m sitting in the living room like someone’s father, disappointed by a missed curfew.

“You’re awake?” Indy whispers as if there were someone asleep in this apartment.

“Clearly.”

Shedding her coat, she slips off her high-top white Converse, the ones that are covered in embroidered designs. “What’s wrong?”

I take a long sip of my scotch, shaking my head. “Nothing.”

“Okay. Want to try that again without lying this time?” She stands opposite me in the living room, her arms crossed over her chest, pushing her tits up in the most distracting way.

“I can’t say what’s wrong, otherwise, I’ll sound like a controlling dick.”

“Control is kind of your thing, Ryan. Are you upset because you had a bad game?”

Scoffing, I stand from the couch and head to the kitchen to rinse out my glass. “I don’t give a fuck about my game.”

She follows me, palms on the kitchen island opposite me. She’s wearing a pair of 90s denim jeans that seem too short on her long legs, but she of course, pulls off the flooded look in an intentional way. Her T-shirt is worn beyond belief, a soft pink cotton from an old-school Brittney Spears concert.

God, she’s fucking adorable and that pisses me off.

Because this version of her, the real one where she’s not putting on a show for my GM or her ex-boyfriend and his friends. The version where she’s not toning it down to be appropriate or appeasing. This is my version of her. The one where she’s comfortable and casual at home and I don’t want to share her.

“Then what’s wrong?” she presses.

I set my glass down on the drying rack, bracketing my hands on the edge of the sink as I exhale a deep breath. “I was thinking about you the whole game.”

“Aw, Ry.” A hand splays over her chest. “I’m flattered. Truly.”

“I’m not kidding, Blue. I don’t want you picking up and driving random strangers around.”

“Well, that’s not really your say, is it?”

“What if Ron Morgan called a rideshare and you happened to be his driver? How would we explain why you’re driving rideshares while your millionaire boyfriend is playing a game?”

“Okay.” Indy laughs. “The chances of that happening are almost nonexistent, so why don’t you tell me what your real issue is.”

Her brown eyes are soft with patience, not that I deserve it. I’m acting like a possessive caveman right now, but I don’t know how to fake it.

“I’m…I don’t know.” I look down at the sink where my knuckles are white with restraint. I haven’t cared about another person besides my sister in God knows how long and I have no idea how to feel or express it.

Her voice is kind. “You’re what, Ryan?”

“I’m…worried about you, Ind. I was worrying about you the whole game.”

Her lips lift mischievously, her tone teasing. “Ryan Shay, do you care about me?”

“No.”

“You care about me.”

“No, I don’t, but I’d rather you not get kidnapped while I’m playing a fucking basketball game.”

She moves her shoulders, dancing around the island. “Ryan Shay cares about me!”

“You’re annoying.”

Her hands go to her knees, and she sticks her ass out, twerking in my kitchen. “Yeah, but you still care about me.”

Shaking my head, I try my hardest not to laugh. “I’m going to bed.”

“Say it.”

“Not saying it.”

“Well clearly, words of affirmation are not your love language.”

I turn around to face her, continuing to walk backwards to my bedroom. “None of this has to do with love.”

“Ryan Shay cares about me!” Hands on her hips, she circles them, continuing to dance in my kitchen.

“How much caffeine did you have tonight? Jesus.”

“None. I’m high on life, baby!”

“You’re not paying rent anymore, by the way. So that should solve the whole driving random strangers home from the bars thing.”

Her dance moves halt. “Ryan!”

I roll my eyes. “I was saving it for you anyway. So just…put it towards whatever you’re saving for.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t.” I lean back on my bedroom door, not quite going inside yet. “Knowing you’re not out there alone driving drunk dudes home at two AM is worth far more to me than five hundred dollars a month. Besides, you should probably start coming to my games when you’re in town. You are the point guard’s girlfriend after all.”

“I’m not going to cry over this.”

“Congratulations.” I motion to Britney Spears on my twenty-seven-year-old roommate’s chest. “Cute shirt by the way.”

“You know it’d be a whole lot cheaper to just tell me you care about me.”

“Good night, you weirdo. Oh, and by the way, the dinner with the Morgans tomorrow night is an hour outside of town and we’re spending the night. So, pack something to sleep in.”

“Do footy pajamas work?”

“Yes, please. I want nothing more than to share a room with you while you’re wearing fucking footy pajamas.”

I go to close my door, but she stops me, putting her hand out and blocking me.

“What happened?” She nods towards my shoulder.

The ice has long melted, but I’ve yet to unwrap the pack from my sore muscles.

“Nothing. I’m just banged up from the game.”

“Can I see?”

Hesitating, unsure of what she’s looking for, I cautiously unwrap the ice from my shoulder and put the pack in the sink. Reaching up, Indy’s dainty fingers run the length of my shoulder blade, her thumb following behind and digging in.

I wince, pulling away slightly.

“Ryan, you’re really tight.”

“I’m fine.”

Indy’s hand glides down my bare bicep and forearm until it slides into mine. She begins pulling me to the couch. “Take a seat on the floor. Let me rub this out.”

Let me rub this out.

Jesus. Inhaling a deep breath, I pray away the erection. Ever since the banquet, I can’t stop remembering how good she felt to touch, how natural it felt to have her with me. The fantasies have been on overdrive, and I’ve done everything in my power to will them away, but how the fuck am I supposed to do that with her soft hands rubbing my skin?

Taking a seat on the ground in front of the couch, Indy sinks into the sofa behind me, sitting on top of her crossed legs. Her hands find my shoulders, kneading and manipulating my sore muscles into relaxation. Instantly, I close my eyes from the sensation.

“This is your shooting arm?”

She takes her time on my right shoulder, thumbs pressing into the sore flesh. I can feel my face contort with pain, but it’s equaled out with pleasure.

“Yeah.”

“How’d it get so bad?”

“Repetition, I’d assume. I’m shooting a few hundred shots a day between scheduled practice and my own time on the court. That, and, sometimes I’m not given the same respect as other guys with protective calls, so I can get thrown around in games.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have a championship or an MVP yet and I’m one of the smaller guys in the league. It’s all politics.”

“You’re 6’3”,” she laughs. “And it’s only a matter of time for the other things to come your way.”

I don’t respond, but also don’t miss the blind confidence she has in me.

Her latest read sits on the coffee table in front of me. As usual, it displays a shirtless man right there on the cover.

“What’s this one about?” I ask, holding it up.

“The female main character hooks up with her ex-boyfriend’s dad.”

“What the fuck?”

“Trust me. The little shit deserved it.”

I’m glad she’s behind me and can’t see the smile pulling at my lips. She’s fucking ridiculous sometimes and I kind of love it.

Her warm hands work into my skin, loosening my muscles. Her fingertips move over the tendons of my neck, creating slow circles before the edges of her nails lightly scratch against my hairline.

My head falls forward with a low moan.

“Does this feel good?”

“So good.”

So fucking good. Yes, my muscles feel loosened, but being touched by her feels borderline euphoric.

Indy’s voice is soft and a bit hoarse when she asks, “Do you want to come up here with me so I can get a better angle?”

It’s a bad idea. It’s a terrible fucking idea. It’s three in the morning, I’m half naked with a half-hard dick, and my stunning roommate is asking me to get on the couch with her.

“Yeah,” I rasp.

Standing, I stretch my neck, already feeling some of the tension dissolving. I know of another way to dissolve some tension that involves a soft, flat surface like this sofa, and a lot less clothes on us both. My body is too aware of the option and the awareness only heightens when I sit on the couch and Indy sandwiches her body behind mine.

Her long legs open around me and fuck if that doesn’t send an image straight to my lusting brain.

Digging the heels of her palms into my back, she whispers, soft and low, “Does this hurt?”

Moaning, I shake my head. “No. It feels so good, Blue.”

I can feel her breath on my neck, her scent on my skin. She’s almost holding me in this position, her chest to my back, her legs wrapped around me.

I haven’t been held in years.

“Did you do this for Alex?”

 She pauses her movements.

I don’t know why I asked. Maybe because I wanted to hear that I’m special. Maybe I wanted to hear that she treats me differently than she did him.

Or maybe I need to hear that her attentive doting is nothing out of the ordinary.

“No. He got plenty of attention from other people. He didn’t need mine.”

With her legs slung around my hips, I find one of her thighs, pulling her leg into my lap, and slowly running my palm from her ankle to her knee.

Even down to her toes, this girl is pretty. Slender bones and soft skin.

Indy’s touch is no longer a massage but wandering caresses up and over the slopes of my shoulders. They’re careful and exploratory, roaming my body.

The apartment is dark. It’s the middle of the night. Her mouth is inches from mine.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to love someone the way you loved him?”

“I don’t know,” she says with honesty for no one else to hear but her and me. “Right now, it feels like he took everything. Like I don’t have anything left to give someone else.”

I swallow, hating that answer.

“I know I need to move on,” she continues. “I know I joke around a lot, but I’m really messed up, Ryan. As if that wasn’t clear from the night I moved in.” Her light laugh rumbles against my back. “How can I go from being with someone for six years to jumping into something with someone else? It feels wrong.”

“He did,” I remind her.

“I know.” Her forehead falls to my shoulder. “It feels disloyal, as ridiculous as that sounds, but that’s how long I loved him for. I never imagined loving someone else. But at the same time, if I’m being honest, when I think about the time we had, the overall feeling I come away with is that he made me feel like I wasn’t enough yet too much all at the same time.”

I shake my head, inhaling through my nose because well…I hate this guy. Indy would never question how magnetic, how distracting she is if she saw herself the way everyone in her orbit sees her. The way I see her.

“You can’t stop being who you are because someone else thinks it’s too much, Ind. He can go find less.”

From the sounds of it, that’s exactly what he did. You don’t get much better than Indigo Ivers.

“Do you think I’m a trainwreck, Ryan?”

I huff a laugh. “You’re more like a cute little fender bender.”

Feeling her smile against my skin, I pull her other leg into my lap as Indy wraps her arms around my neck from behind.

“Do you think he loved you the right way, Blue?”

“I don’t know. He loved me loudly. I think the romantic in me thought that was the right way. The grand gestures. The big love confessions. He wasn’t afraid to touch me in public but being away from him for the first time in my life, I’m realizing there are a lot of ways in which I thought he was showing me love, but really he was just showing me off.”

Leaning back, I push her into the sofa, which only makes her body close around mine even more.

“I thought he loved me loudly, but when I found him with someone else, you were right when you said he practically screamed that he didn’t want me. That was the loudest he’s ever been.”

My breathing turns shallow and rushed with the knowledge of her proximity.

Turning, my lips almost graze hers with how close we are. I can feel the erratic beat of her heart thumping against my back, her breasts pressing against my bare skin.

I want to kiss her, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.

She whispers, low enough that if I weren’t inches from her lips, I wouldn’t hear.  “Sometimes, I think I just need to move on in a different way. In the only way I can.”

In a physical way.

She’s your sister’s best friend, and you couldn’t handle just one night even if she weren’t.

“Indy, it’s late.”

“Ryan—”

“I should go to bed.”

Her voice is a low rasp, the whisper sending goosebumps over my skin. “Please don’t.”

Oh, fuck me with that gentle plea, those begging eyes. Indy sweeps her tongue across her bottom lip and my attention is glued to it. Glistening pink, pouty and what I can only imagine as pillow soft.

“Ry.”

Clearing my throat, I stand from the couch and untangle our bodies in the process. “Good night, Blue.”

Like the coward I am, I rush to my room, closing the door behind me.

Indy is not the type of woman you can simply flush from your system after a single night. She’s the kind to seep into your veins and rewire your brain, making you do and say things you swore you never would. Whether she believes it or not, Indigo Ivers is the type of woman you keep forever, and even though I can pretend to be her boyfriend, there’s no way in hell I could pretend that one night with her wouldn’t completely fuck me up.