The Right Move (Windy City Series Book 2)
The Right Move: Chapter 19

He’s celibate.

Ryan Shay is celibate.

What did we, as the female population, do to deserve this?

In the oddest way, I feel robbed, like I’m missing out one of life’s greatest experiences because I don’t care if he’s been celibate for one year or eight, I know that man knows what to do between the sheets. There’s not a soul on earth that could watch the way he plays basketball with precision, fluidity, and control then tell me Ryan Shay is bad in bed. You can’t convince me that his kiss was a one-off and it doesn’t translate in other ways.

All those times I gave him shit about being afraid of naked women, turns out I wasn’t far off. He may not be afraid, but he’s avoiding them at all costs.

“Indy, did you hear what I said?”

No, Jason, I didn’t hear what you said because you haven’t stopped talking about yourself all night and I fully tuned out around the time you mentioned you slept with your buddy’s girl on prom night.

“Yep,” I lie. “That’s fascinating.”

“I know, right? She was batshit, wanting me to go with her to her grandma’s funeral, but I told her the day we met, Saturdays are for the boys. If you can’t get on board with that, I don’t want you, you know?”

Jason orders us another round.

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“Stop. Have another. You’re drinking so slow. I’m on my fourth one already.”

No shit, and each one makes him more handsy. He won’t stop touching the back of my barstool, my shoulders, and his leg won’t stop pressing into mine. I would scoot further away if I could, but I’d be in the girl’s lap next to me if I did. Honestly, that doesn’t sound half bad at the moment.

“Gin and tonic?” the bartender says to me. “I got you.”

“No, I’m—” My words die when I catch the bartender’s discreet nod of her head.

If I knew I was going to have less than one drink, I would’ve driven myself and left an hour ago.

I’ve never dated before, and if this is what the dating pool has to offer, my future is looking bleak. My first real date. God, it’s tragic.

I’d rather claim the fall banquet with Ryan as my first date, even though it was all pretend.

As Jason continues to spill his entire dating history, I tune him out. The guy clearly loves the sound of his own voice that he doesn’t notice me on my phone instead. I swallowed my pride and texted Rio fifteen minutes ago, but the last thing I heard was that he was working on a ride for me.

I’m aware that if I would’ve called Ryan, he would’ve been here in a heartbeat, but I couldn’t do it. He doesn’t need to know I’m on a date. Either he’s not going to care in the slightest and that’ll hurt my feelings, or he’s going to be upset and that will hurt even more.

Besides, I only downloaded Tinder and swiped right on Jason because he was attractive. Unfortunately, he hasn’t shut up and his personality has made him the least attractive man in the room.

I haven’t had sex since Alex. I haven’t gotten off since Alex and it’s beyond time for it to happen. I’m a twenty-seven-year-old woman who hasn’t had an orgasm in almost eight months and I’m afraid my body will forget how to if I don’t have a release soon. My fingers, toys, none of it has worked. I’m too in my head when I’m alone that I’ve come to the realization I need someone with me.

Of course, Ryan is my first choice. You could say I’ve developed an unhealthy crush on my roommate, which is the last thing I need. I shouldn’t have real feelings for someone else so soon after I was with the man I thought I was going to marry. Right?

I truly thought there was a possibility I might have sex with my basketball star of a fake boyfriend until that morning last week when he dropped the news that he’s celibate.

He’s fucking celibate. I didn’t see that one coming. I knew he was private. I knew he hadn’t dated since the woman in college who tried to use him. I knew he didn’t have women over, but I figured it all happened on the road in his hotel room. I assumed he had the women he was with sign NDAs or something drastic like that, but no, he spends every night on the road alone. Just how he spent every night at home before I moved in.

I scroll through the pictures of our text thread—the one of the empty seat next to him at the kitchen island after he made breakfast for only himself while I was out of town. The bouquet of flowers he wanted me to name in the hotel lobby while he was staying in Denver for a game. And then there’s the ones I’ve sent him of my travels—the bookstore I stumbled upon in Columbus. The outdoor basketball court I walked by in Minneapolis.

I’ve looked for any excuse to talk to him this week and I can’t blame it on being lonely. It’s because I truly enjoy talking to him more than I do most other people. I never thought my recluse roommate would become the person I most look forward to seeing, but here we are.

And here, in this crowded bar, I’m lonelier than ever because he’s at home and I miss him.

The bartender sets my drink in front of me. “Cheers!” Jason says, taking a long swig of the whiskey and Coke in his hand before I’ve even lifted mine off the bar top.

Taking a small sip of my drink, I’m pleasantly surprised to replace its only sparkling water. The bartender shoots me a wink and I secretly hope she charges him for a double.

“So, what do you say?” Jason asks, his hand sliding onto my thigh.

I pick up his sleeve with my thumb and forefinger, as if he might have a disease, and move him off me. “What do I say about what?”

“What do you say about coming back to my place? It’s a ten-minute walk from here.”

“Actually, I’m going to call it a night.”

“Why?”

“I’m tired.”

He laughs without humor. “Sure, you are. Fine. I get it. We’ll stay here for now.” He takes another swig of his drink, but then his eyes fixate on the door behind me. “Oh my God, that’s—”

His words tune out when I turn around to replace Ryan standing in the doorway of Sullivan’s. His angry eyes wander the room, until they soften slightly, landing on me. He takes me in, his shoulders dropping until his attention lands on my knee, and he stiffens again.

Jason’s hand is back, and I didn’t realize.

Ryan’s strides are big and commanding, as if he wasn’t already drawing the attention of the entire room simply by being who he is. I can’t believe he left the apartment, and it’s quickly dawning on me why he typically doesn’t. Every pair of eyes is on him, and the whispers are low but discernible.

“Is that Ryan Shay?”

“Oh my God, it’s Ryan Shay.”

“Quick! Get your phone out!”

His anger is palpable by the time he reaches me, but the controlled venom of his voice is the scariest part. “Get your fucking hands off her.”

I stand, removing Jason’s hand in the act, but also putting my body between Ryan and him.

“Whoa, man.” Jason laughs like the unaware man that he is.

The quick flash of a camera phone reminds me who Ryan is, his reputation, and what’s about to happen if I don’t get him out of this bar.

“Ryan, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

He looks around me, as if I’m not there. “Did you touch her?” He turns towards the bartender. “Did he touch her?”

“Ryan,” I attempt to interrupt.

“I had an eye on her,” the bartender says.

“Ryan, people are watching.”

Finally, his angry stare breaks away from my date. “I don’t give a fuck, Indy.” Just as quickly, his attention swings back to the man behind me. “Did you fucking touch her?” His nostrils flare and if I wasn’t so wrapped up in what’s happening in this moment, I’d give him a pat on the back for pulling off that whole “jealous book boyfriend” thing.

“Not in any way she wasn’t asking for.”

Oh God, he’s revolting.

I’m not looking at Jason, but I’m sure his smile is smug, and the quick lunge Ryan takes towards him ensures me that it is.

An alert movement keeps my body between them. My fists ball in Ryan’s shirt, tugging him down, hoping to get in his line of sight. “Let’s go home, Ryan. I want to go home.”

Finally, he looks at me, his chest thumping against my hand. Cupping my face with his palms, he checks me up and down as if he could tell from my outward appearance. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I promise. Take me home.”

His hand slides to my back, ushering me to walk ahead of him, but I’m cautious to move my body from the space between these two men solely because people are recording on their phones. Eventually, I step towards the exit because I truly want to get the hell out of here, only to hear Jason laugh and say, “Did Ryan Shay just steal my date?”

Ryan halts, and I’m praying to God he shows his typical controlled restraint. Any other time, I’d love to see him pummel this guy, but whatever Ryan decides to do in this moment has the potential to end up on the front page of the newspaper tomorrow.

He takes a centering breath and turns around. “Trust me, she was never yours.”

His blacked-out Audi is parked illegally in front of the bar, and I rush towards it, wanting to get us away from the chaotic scene I caused. Reaching for the door handle, I barely open it only for Ryan’s palm to slam it back closed.

In surprise, I replace him staring down at me, his chest rising and falling in rage, his nostrils flared, and his mouth set in a hard line. But then I look up. Brow creased and ocean eyes swimming in a world of…hurt.

I hurt him. Oh my God, I hurt him.

We face off, and I can almost see the words on the tip of his tongue. He wants to say something, but doesn’t, letting the silent anger radiating off his body do the talking for him.

I want to say something too. That was nothing. It didn’t mean anything. Thank you for saving me. But we both stay silent, watching one another, and waiting for the other to break the tension-filled void.

Finally, he looks away from me, as if he can’t bear the sight of me any longer and opens the door for me to get inside.

The ride is silent, but the car is filled with so much tension I’m afraid the windows are going to bust from the pressure. Ryan’s left arm is leaning on the doorsill while he drives with his right, his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel.

“Ryan—”

“Not right now, Indy,” he bites back.

“Yes, right now. Why are you so angry?”

He inhales a breath through his nostrils, running a palm over his mouth, but stays silent.

“Fine,” I huff, turning towards my window, watching the lit-up skyline of Chicago pass by me. “We won’t talk. That seems like a mature way to handle things.”

The ride consists of the loudest silence I’ve ever experienced. By the time we make it home, my lungs are hungry for fresh air, needing space from this man who is suffocating me with his presence. Ryan pulls into his parking space, cuts the engine, and is halfway out his door before I have a chance to leave first.

“Don’t,” he commands when I reach for my door handle.

I follow his gorgeously sculpted body as it rounds the car, and even as I will eye contact through the glass window, he won’t look at me. It isn’t until he reaches my side that he unlocks the car and opens my door for me to get out because even as angry as he is, Ryan Shay can’t help but be a gentleman.

Stepping out, I keep my attention on him, but still, Ryan refuses to look at me. As he holds my door open, I lightly grasp his chin and force him to meet my eye.

Yes, he’s angry, but there’s a mixture of wounded feelings in there, and for a man who doesn’t let himself get emotional, there’s a whole lot of emotion going on at the moment.

He exhales, his voice softer. “Let’s just go home, okay?”

More tension builds on the silent elevator ride to our floor, and once we’re inside the apartment, he wastes no time before beelining it for his bedroom.

“Ryan,” I plead, attempting to stop him.

It works, but he keeps his back to me, standing at his door.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

He scoffs, turning my way. “My feelings? You didn’t hurt my feelings. I’m upset because you did something reckless. You’re out in Chicago with another man. Why? Anyone could’ve seen you. People did see you. We had a deal.”

I take a step towards him, and instantly regret it by the way his body retreats. “It wasn’t like that. I’m not seeing anyone. It was just going to be one night, and I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone would recognize me.”

“One night?” His brows crease. “What was just going to be one night?”

I feel the heat rising on my cheeks because now he decides to hold unwavering eye contact—in the exact moment I wish he wouldn’t look at me.

“I just…” I fiddle with the hem of my dress.

“You what?”

“I need a night with someone who isn’t Alex, okay? Not that it’s really any of your business.”

His laugh is dry and humorless as he rounds the kitchen island and pours himself a shot of whiskey.

“I’m sorry, Ryan, but a woman has needs.”

“Then take care of them yourself!”

My head jerks back, a few palpable seconds passing between us.

“It’s really not that fucking hard, Indy. How do you think I’ve gone so long without?” He releases a harsh breath before grabbing our bucket list from the refrigerator. He scribbles quick, angry words before sliding the paper across the island to me. “Here, I’ll even add it to your bucket list.”

Number 6. Have sex with yourself.

“Screw you, Ryan. What if I added that to your list? For you to have sex with someone?”

He blinks. “Is that what this is about? Because I told you I’m celibate?”

I falter, hating where this conversation is going. No part of me has judged his life choices and I don’t think of him any differently for them.

But deep down, yes, this is because he’s celibate. Because I want him and even though there was an invisible line that kept him somewhat off-limits, now it’s clear as day. I can’t have him and maybe someone else would be able to help drown out that realization.

“No. No, it has nothing to do with that, but I’ve been single for eight months. I haven’t been with anyone in eight months—”

“So, you were going to let that piece of shit be the first man to touch you?”

“It’s just sex! It doesn’t mean anything!”

“Yes, it does!” He’s desperate, pleading for me to understand. His tone lowers to almost a whisper. “It means something, Indy, and you may have blown our cover for some jackass who doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

“Ryan,” I say softly. “All my life I’ve been told I’m too emotional, that I feel too much, so for once I’m trying to be the girl who is unattached. Look what happened to me the last time I loved someone.”

The truth is, I’ve never had meaningless sex in my life. I lost my virginity to Alex. I truly have no idea how to be unattached.

Ryan pounds back his shot of whiskey. “You’re right.” His glass hits the counter. “Do what you want. I’m just your roommate, right? It doesn’t matter how I feel about the situation.”

How he feels about the situation? If he’s upset his GM could’ve caught me, that’s one thing, but if he’s hurt because I didn’t ask him to be the first man post-breakup, that’s another. Does he not remember that he’s the one who rejected me on the couch a few weeks ago? And now that I know that he’s celibate, I would never ask him to change his lifestyle for me.

“Maybe do it in private next time, you know, to keep up our little ruse.”

I should tell him the truth—I don’t want just anyone’s help. I want his help—but it’d probably make things worse. Besides, Ryan knows how attracted I am to him, so I doubt he’d be shocked to learn what I want, and he already told me where he stands.

Instead, I give him as much of the truth as I can muster, stopping him before he makes it past the threshold of his room.

“You want the truth?” I swallow as he looks over his shoulder at me, bright eyes pleading for me to say something that’ll make the situation better. “The truth is I haven’t gotten off in eight months.” I throw my hands up in defeat. “You think I haven’t tried to take care of it myself? I have. Countless times. And every time I get close, an image of my ex-boyfriend pops into my head and suddenly, I’m back in our old apartment walking in on him fucking his coworker. He cheated on me and now I can’t even have an orgasm because of it.” A half-hearted laugh escapes me. “I’m pretty sure my body is broken, so yeah, I thought I’d test that theory by having someone else there to help distract me. I didn’t think about being seen in public, so I apologize for that, but I’m not going to apologize for having needs and being desperate to take care of—”

Ryan’s hand brackets my throat, pinning me to the wall with his hips, stealing the rest of my words when his mouth takes mine.

Instantly, I’m compliant, pliable, letting him take me however he wishes. On the other hand, he’s commanding in his standard controlling manner, but there’s a juxtaposition in the way he kisses. Rough but thoughtful. Hurried but enjoyed.

This…this can’t be fake. There’s no one else to witness it and therefore that insecurity has vanished from my mind.

A whimper crawls up my throat when his tongue sweeps into my mouth.

He groans, pressing his forehead to mine. “Fuck, Ind. Make those little noises again and I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop.”

“Good, I don’t want you to.”

Hesitating for a moment, eyes bounce between mine until his lips are back where they belong.

The whiskey he drank burns my senses in the most delicious way, like I could get drunk on it, simply from tasting it on his tongue. His body falls into mine with a low grunt and his hand releases my throat, instead replaceing the wall behind me with whatever restraint he has left.

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.

I have no idea how long it’s been since he’s been touched. This lonely man, who is so stunning and controlled, hasn’t been intimate for far too long and I get to be the woman to change that.

Fingertips sliding up his chest, I touch every crevice and ridge, his heart beating against my palm at an erratic pace. Though Ryan is great at appearing controlled on the outside, his heart tells a different story.

The pads of my fingertips glide up his neck, cupping either side of his skull, holding him to me.

He whimpers at that, and I don’t know if it’s the feeling of simply being touched or knowing someone else has got him that breaks him, but either way I plan to recreate that sense as long as he’ll let me.

Every kiss is wetter, needier than the one before, my body burning with how badly I want him. How achingly sweet the pain is between my legs, needing something to rub against.

With his hands bracketed above me, he moves from my mouth to my jaw, peppering hot slides of his lips until he takes my neck, working his way down the column of my throat.

“You’re not broken,” he rasps against my skin. “You just didn’t have the right distraction.”

He might be onto something because right now, with him touching me, kissing me, I’m not thinking about anything other than how he would feel between my legs.

Ryan nips at my collarbone, leaving a precious sting before licking it to soothe.

Head falling back, I offer him better access, my tits flush against his chest. My hard nipples press into the softness of his shirt. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give for him to rip this dress off me and take one in his mouth.

Instead, his lips are back on mine, eager and wanting. Giving me just enough to placate my neediness. Even in his giving, he’s controlled. I want him to unravel, to lose himself in the way I feel lost right now.

My lower body grinds into nothing, searching and throbbing. Pulling at his forearms, I ask him to touch me without having to beg for it, but he stays strong, his palms bracing the wall above my head.

Instead, his foot slides between mine, urging them apart.

“Oh,” I cry out, followed by the most desperate of moans when he positions his thigh to hit against my clit. “Oh God.”

On instinct, I grind against him, rocking my needy body and chasing a desperate release.

It feels good. Too good.

Pulling back, Ryan watches me, his eyes locked on where we’re connected. Dilated pupils zero in on his leg. He slightly lifts my dress, not enough for him to see all of me, but just enough to note the glistening wetness I’m leaving on his thigh.

I could give two shits that my arousal is all over his leg. I haven’t been this close in months.

“Look how pretty that is, Blue.”

“Please don’t stop.” The words are more desperate than they’ve ever been.

“Never, baby.”

Building and building, reaching for my climax, I rub, needy and frantic, as he grinds into me with the tempo I need.

That is until I’m distracted once again, my attention falling on a little white bookshelf sitting next to Ryan’s. An empty cardboard box and single screwdriver lay tossed aside on the floor.

“Did you build me a bookshelf?” I squeak out, trying to swallow down the emotion sitting in my throat.

He was home, thinking of me, while I was being selfish, thinking of me too.

Blue-green eyes dart up from where they were mesmerized on our connection, replaceing me staring over his shoulder.

He grasps my chin, forcing my attention back on him. “Focus on me.” That’s met with another searing kiss, my body rolling against the muscles in his leg. “Focus on us. Fuck,” he exhales against my lips, sharing breaths before his eyes drop south. “Are you going to come on my leg, Ind?”

Grinding, I moan into his mouth.

Yes, I’m going to come because if I wasn’t close already, now I’m teetering on the edge, ready to fall. I’d love to think I could disconnect sex from emotion, but I can’t, and knowing Ryan was thinking of me tonight, has me coming undone.

I pull his shirt up, needing to feel the warmth of his stomach, my fingers whispering against the hard planes of his muscles until they tighten and coil under my touch.

He hisses an inhale through his teeth. “Keep touching me.”

His words are just as desperate as mine, silently begging me to want him.

My palms slide around his back, under his shirt, holding him to me as close as possible. He’s warm and hard and so perfect it hurts.

In reply, Ryan presses his thigh firmly against my clit, rubbing, and my body’s response is immediate and electrifying.

His name rolls off my lips like a desperate prayer as the beginning waves of my orgasm rip through me. Needy fingers turn into white knuckles grasping at his shirt, hoping it has the strength to keep me upright. Euphoria sparks in the back of my eyes, stringing me along as wave after wave flutters through me.

I can barely focus on Ryan’s admiring gaze watching me work through my release, but it’s there, nonetheless, watching me unravel for him.

Catching my breath, my head falls, replaceing the wet spot I left on his pants but unable to care in the slightest.

After almost eight months, all it took was Ryan’s fucking leg to make me come.

Grasping my chin once again, he kisses me more tenderly than before. Reverently. Passionately.

“Next time you decide you need help with your…situation,” he murmurs against my lips with an aching rasp. “Ask me.”

With that, he leaves me dazed and satisfied, slumped against the entryway wall before he closes his bedroom door behind him.