The Right Move (Windy City Series Book 2)
The Right Move: Chapter 30

A soft, rhythmic patter flutters against my cheek, waking me up from the most restful night of sleep I’ve gotten in a while.

Orienting myself, I replace Indy underneath me, arms around me as she sleeps. My entire body is draped on top of hers, needing her to hold me like the needy fucker I’ve quickly become, and I can’t help but smile, seeing her messy blonde hair contrasted against my black pillowcase. Her swollen lips. Her flushed skin, still glowing from the four orgasms she had last night.

I’m a little bit proud of that one. For a woman who couldn’t come once in the past eight months, I’ve had no trouble getting her there.

Her smell is like a fucking drug to me, and her taste is quickly becoming my favorite addiction. Which is why while she was playing nurse and icing my knee after we had sex, I pulled her to sit on my face and gave her orgasm number three. Then, in the middle of the night, with her body molded to mine, I woke her up, slipped my hand between her legs, and made her come for the fourth time.

It was entirely freeing, to spend an entire night with Indy in my bed and have my mind clear of anxious thoughts.

“Mmm,” she hums, stirring awake. “You’re heavy.”

“I don’t care.” I nuzzle my face back into the crook of her neck, wrapping my arms under her back.

“Get off me.” She pretends to shove me.

I hold her tighter. “Not a chance.”

She bends her knees, tightening her legs around my waist and crossing her ankles to pull me closer. It does nothing but press my morning erection, covered only by my boxers, into the apex of her thighs, reminding me she’s absolutely bare besides the T-shirt of mine she has on.

A deep guttural groan escapes me as I move my hips against hers again.

If I had time and a condom, we’d be going at it.

“When are you going to let me reciprocate?” she whispers into my ear, which only stiffens me even more.

With desperation, I lift my head, snapping my attention to the clock on my nightstand, praying to God I somehow woke up early enough to have the privilege of watching Indy’s mouth slide around my cock again. She tried last night, but after she made me come twice, I wanted the rest of the evening to be about her.

In the morning light though, I’m feeling a bit more selfish, especially knowing that after my game, I’m jumping on a plane for another road trip.

I let out a desperate whine, dropping my head to her chest when I see the time. “When I don’t have to get picked up for a press conference in less than twenty minutes.”

She sighs beneath me. “Are you making breakfast, or am I?”

With my laptop open, I keep an eye on the eggs cooking on the stove.

“Hey, Ind. Will you come here for a second?”

I sense her walking around the kitchen in only my shirt, but she slides her hand around my bare waist, resting her cheek on my shoulder to let me know she’s here.

“What do you think about these shoes?” I ask, nodding towards my computer where a mockup of this year’s potential sneaker is blown up on the screen.

“I…like them.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been successfully lying to your boss for months.”

“And how much of that has been lying?”

She gives me a playful swat on my ass. “Shut it.”

I nod towards the computer screen once again.

“They’re a little boring,” she admits honestly. “I think they could use some color.”

I can’t help but smile at that. I knew my bright girl wouldn’t be all that into a black and white sneaker. “Of course, you do. What color are you thinking?”

She cranes her neck thoughtfully. “Maybe red, like your team colors.”

“Or blue?”

“Why blue? Red makes more sense than blue.”

Turning my head, my lips brush the top of her hair. “Because blue is quickly becoming my favorite.”

“Either one.” She shrugs, clearly not catching on. “Whatever you decide will look nice.”

She tilts, placing a single kiss on my upper arm before leaving me at the stove.

I stop her with a heavy hand wrapped around her waist, turning her into me again. Eyes bounce between one another because though we’ve shared breakfast in this kitchen countless times, today is different and we both know it.

With the need to make sure what happened last night continues outside of the bedroom, I thread my fingers into her golden hair, tugging to tilt her head back.

“Good morning,” I rasp before pressing my mouth to hers, tasting the toothpaste on her tongue.

Drunken and loose, she melts into my side. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted you to kiss me over breakfast.”

So I do just that, again and again until the veggie omelets I made are ready.

She pulls her coffee from the fridge, adding one of the atrociously sweet creamers. “Maybe it’s acts of service. That could be your love language. Every morning you make sure my coffee is cold, so it doesn’t get watered down when I add ice. I’ve always noticed that.” She looks at me, cocking her head and speaking softly. “Thank you.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe that is my love language because even though I could’ve easily bought cold coffee for the fridge, I like the smile I get to see when she pulls her cup out and realizes I made one for her.

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.

Taking a seat next to me, Indy slides a folder next to my plate.

“What is this?”

A heat rushes her cheeks. “Ignore this if I’m overstepping, but that day we went camping when you told me you wanted to start your own foundation, I couldn’t get it out of my head. You said it felt overwhelming, so I thought maybe I could help steer you in the right direction.”

Opening the folder, endless papers detail the ins and outs of a new nonprofit. Startup costs, fundraising projections, description, and a thorough marketing plan. Every detail is carefully thought out and organized, only needing a name to round out the comprehensive business plan.

The knowledge of what this is swells my throat, keeping me from speaking.

Indy continues for me. “We start small. A lot of these kids, they don’t have a place to go over the summers like they do during the school year. They don’t have school-provided meals either and I’d imagine, because of that, maybe some kids don’t get to eat those days. So, what if we run a summer camp, something to keep them in a scheduled environment? We provide meals and a safe place to play.” She flips through the pages, but I’m not reading a word. I’m looking at her. “We get some of the outdoor courts around Chicago cleaned up. Your shoe deal includes sneaker donations. They have something to wear. As we grow, we move into the school year, creating after-school programs. Here’s my projection.” She motions towards a chart. “In five years, this is how many kids we should be able to help if this is the rate at which we grow.”

I stay silent, mesmerized by every single word that comes out of her mouth.

Nervousness and ingrained insecurities take over. She pulls her hands into her lap, leaving the folder on the kitchen counter. “Only if you want to, I mean. And it’s only a rough draft—”

I interrupt her with a searing kiss before her innate need to tone herself down comes into play. Her nerves melt away as she melts into me.

“You’re incredible,” I murmur against her lips.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s everything.”

“Do you like it?”

Do I like it? I love it. I especially loved how many times she used the word we when outlining the plan.

“Like isn’t a strong enough word, Blue. This means everything to me, truly. Thank you.”

I don’t miss the proud little smile that slides across her lips from being praised for her brilliant mind instead of being warned to hold herself back. It makes me want to spend every day of the rest of my life reminding her just how incredibly bright she is until I get to watch those insecurities wash away.

The detail and care she put into every single page bleeds into the words as I flip through the pages.

“This is what you went to school for?”

“Yep. My degree is in business with concentrations in finance and administration. I had planned to go into the field after I graduated.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I quickly learned that most of the time, I would be working with rich people to make them even richer, and numbers got real boring that way.”

Indy takes a bite of her breakfast, and I can’t help but stare. She’s more intelligent than she allows most people to see. She’s wonderful at putting on a happy mask and making sure everyone around her feels good about themselves. I can imagine that it got exhausting when stroking the egos and pockets of the wealthy.

She’s, as always, an interesting mix of idealism and logic, leaning towards the romantic side. The soft side. The loving side where she lets herself feel everything and care for everyone. I’m sure it was hard for her to replace much feeling behind numbers.

But this, replaceing a way to help kids, you can see the passion she’s put into this business plan.

“So you became a flight attendant instead?”

“Mm-hmm,” she says with a happy hum. “I love my job. I’m with people all day and I get to travel the world. I wanted to see as much of it as I could before I settled down with a family one day.” Eyes darting to mine, she swiftly changes the subject, clearing her throat. “Are you going to your game tonight?”

It’s the first one since my injury and though I was given permission to skip, I promised Leon I’d be there to help him. I want to help him. I want us to win, regardless that I won’t be the one putting up the points.

“I am. Are you?”

“Do you want me there?”

“I want you there.”

I want you everywhere.

“Then I’ll be there.”

This morning’s press conference was the first since my injury and easily the longest of my career. Endless questions that I answered, as always, as diplomatically as possible.

When am I back? Hopefully three to four weeks.

How are you feeling? Great. I’ve made progress in the few short days since it happened.

Do you think the team will be able to pull off a month without you? I have faith in my guys.

If I could be honest, I’d tell the truth—that I feel as if I let an entire organization, an entire city down. But I have to be perfect, on at all times, and that includes media interviews. I can’t let them see me sweat.

I couldn’t be more thankful that I’m not on crutches as I stand on the sidelines. The stares and speculation are enough. I can almost feel the cameras zooming in on me, reporters talking about me in their broadcasts.

I hate it.

“You doing okay, man?” Ethan smacks my shoulder.

“As good as I can be.”

“It’s big of you to be here. This is the time when you replace out the kind of leader you are. You’re not faking it for Ron. You’re showing up for them.” He motions towards the team.

I’ve spent the last handful of months curating my life in order to convince my boss that I’m a good leader. But today, he wasn’t on my mind when I made the decision to show up, and for the first time in a long time, I’m beginning to feel like my old college self. The one who led his team to two national championships. The guy who trusted people without second-guessing their motives.

I miss the old me, but my body feels light with hope that I’m on the way back to him.

My chair is the first on the bench after the coaching staff and my feet have been bouncing with energy for the entire first quarter as I attempt to stay seated.

Leon started, but he’s been struggling. More so on defense. He’s a hell of a shooter and can create a play especially with the other talent he’s got out there on the court, but he’s up against one of the best point guards in the league with Toronto’s starter.

It’s much harder for him to see the court the way I do, but that’s what years of experience earns you. For now, I can be his eyes.

Leon gets pulled at the end of the first quarter to start his first break of the game, and with a single domineering “move” to the guy next to me, suddenly the chair to my right opens for him to take a seat.

He leans in close, trying to hear me over the packed arena.

“You’re doing good,” I reassure.

He exhales heavy breaths. “He’s a step ahead of me every time he drives the lane.”

“That’s because you expect him to go right, but he prefers the left. Every time. And yes, he’s faster than you. That’s just a fact, so take a gamble and cheat that way. Best-case scenario, you’ll stop him from driving the lane. Worst-case scenario you let him take you on the right and you learn for the next time. He’s also got a hell of a tell. Whichever way he’s attempting to drive he slightly shifts his weight on the ball of that foot for half a second. Barely visible. Look for it.” I pat him on the back. “You’ve got this.”

The next time Leon is back on the court, he takes away the left and throws Toronto’s point guard off-balance long enough to strip the ball. The time after that, he watches his opponent’s feet with precision and the moment he shifts his weight, Leon is able to cut him off and get a hand on a sloppy pass, causing a turnover that the Devils recover.

I might not be out there, but holy hell this feeling is almost as euphoric as if I were the one making the plays myself.

The next dead ball, Leon looks over like an excited little kid who just made his first bucket. It’s charming and sweet, and I’m proud as hell of him.

My coach walks by with a pat on my shoulder. “Nice work, Shay.”

After the postgame interviews and celebratory speeches in the locker room, I head out with my suitcase in tow, determined to replace Indy before getting on the team bus and heading to the airport. I want to see her in my space. She looks good here.

She looks good everywhere.

And as I turn the corner out of the locker room, I’m pleasantly surprised to replace Indy outside of the family waiting room.

Stevie and my parents have been down here countless times, but I never thought I’d have someone else waiting for me. And Indy of all people, my sister’s best friend. Fucking stunner wearing my jersey.

“I didn’t know where I should go. Annie told me to come down with her, but she and the kids went home already, and now I feel like I’m intruding,” Indy quickly explains as I swallow up the space between us.

“You’re in the exact right place.”

Leaving my suitcase, I swing my arms over her shoulders as she runs her palms over the column of my spine. “Good game.”

“Thank you.” I almost want to remind her I didn’t play, but she knows. Instead, I take the compliment.

Pulling back, I brush her hair away from her face and press my lips to hers. She smiles into me, instantly reassured of how much I want her here.

I lean back slightly to check her out again. “You look good wearing my last name, Blue.”

That megawatt smile blooms as Indy pulls me into her and deepens our kiss, her back hitting the waiting room wall, and I couldn’t be more thankful that Ethan’s kids are gone for the night.

Nothing about this moment is feeling very PG, but I couldn’t care less. No one is around to see it and I have to get on a plane and leave her for the week.

“Shay,” I hear from across the hall. Pulling away from Indy, I look over my shoulder to replace Ron Morgan.

Clearing my throat and wiping my lips, I straighten. “Sir.”

“Nice work tonight. Carson did a hell of a job thanks to you. That’s the kind of leader I was looking for.” He nods towards my girl. “Indy, good to see you.”

She cowers, trying to hide her flushed cheeks from being caught mid-make-out by my boss. “You too, Mr. Morgan.”

“All right, you two.” He waves us off, turning his back and heading down the hall. “Don’t let me keep you from going at it. I hope to see you in Phoenix, Indy!”

We chuckle into each other, her forehead falling into my chest. Ironically, for the first time, none of that was planned for Ron to see.

It was for us.

She sighs a happy little sigh, arms slinging around my neck. “What’s in Phoenix?”

“You. Me. Our trips overlap there for the day. He and Caroline were hoping to get together if it works for your schedule.”

“Do you want to?”

If she asked me this a couple of months ago, I would’ve said yes instantly. I wanted to impress my boss, try to show him I’m not as much of a loner as he made me out to be. Now, I still want to say yes, but only because it means more time spent with her.

“I want to only if you’re up for it. I know you’ll be working, but if you’re free, then yes, I’d love to see you.”

“And the Morgans.”

I roll my eyes. “And the Morgans.”

Looking down, I catch Indy wearing her embroidered Converse tonight. I love her in heels and a dress, but equally love her dressed down.

Slipping my foot between hers, I nudge her feet apart to replace a new addition to her shoes. Right there, inside of the left ankle is an embroidered basketball with my number and a heart stitched into the center of it.

“When did that get there?” I ask, loving the way my name and number look all over her.

“This afternoon. I thought it was about time.”

My stare breaks from her feet to replace her smiling proudly, wearing my favorite emotion of hers—joy.

“It was about damn time.”

Leaning down, I take her mouth again. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having the privilege of kissing this girl. I hadn’t kissed a woman for so long that being touched by her, wanted by her is almost too much. What in the world did I do to deserve her wanting me?

“Walk me to the team bus?” I take my suitcase in one hand and hers in the other.

We’re barely out of the back entrance of the arena, and I hear him long before I see him. He tugs at Indy’s arm before I can register what’s happening.

“Indy.”

Her hand tightens in mine at the sound of her name. “Alex,” she breathes out. “What are you doing here?”

He’s still holding on to her elbow, gently. Longingly.

I brush his hand off her, keeping my voice calm and even. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

Instinctively, I shift my body, putting myself between them.

Metaphorically and physically, I want to be between them. He will have to get through me to get to her and that won’t ever fucking happen.

“Okay.” He puts his hands up in surrender before redirecting his attention to the blonde beauty behind me. “Indy, we need to talk.”

“No, you don’t,” I speak for her, like a deranged caveman. She can speak for herself, but she shouldn’t have to when it comes to him. There’s nothing that needs to be said.

“Ryan, it’s okay,” she soothes, her hand rubbing at my side. “Alex, I don’t think we need to talk. Now or ever.”

“We’ve never spoken about that night. I need to explain myself.”

She laughs, but I can hear how much it hurts her as it comes out. “Explain what? Why you slept with someone else?”

Alex looks down towards the ground, hands in his pockets. “Well, yeah, exactly. But I’d like to speak to you alone.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I interject.

“Indy. Twenty-two years. You owe it to yourself to hear me out.”

Manipulative piece of trash, using history as a chess piece with the most loyal woman I know.

Indy inhales a deep breath and I know he’s got her. I hate it.

“Fine. Five minutes.”

“Blue,” I protest over my shoulder.

“It’s okay, Ryan.” Her focus is back on Alex. “It means nothing.”

I refuse to move, to allow any open space between them, but it doesn’t matter because Indy rounds my body, facing me.

“It’s okay. I’ll call you when I can. Have a safe flight.”

The daggers shooting from my eyes fall to the prick behind her. Touch her and I’ll kill you. Say something that makes her upset and I’ll ruin your life. Look at her inappropriately and I will beat the living shit out of you.

I don’t know that he was able to gather that all from my stare, but here’s hoping he understood.

My hands cup Indy’s face as I silently beg her to just go home instead, but she holds her ground, determined to have this conversation.

I’m a possessive man when it comes to her, there’s no denying that, and even though I’m controlling in my own life, I’d never control her or her decisions.

Relenting, I press my lips to her temple and linger there as long as I can.

“Ryan!” Ethan calls out from the team bus behind me. “We’ve gotta go!”

There are so many things I want to say to her right now, but mostly I want to know if what she feels towards me is enough for me not to worry. I also want to know if she’s really okay to do this. It wasn’t all that long ago she was crying in our living room before throwing a shoe at my door after being stranded without a place to live because of him.

But I don’t have time to ask a single question with a bus waiting for me and a plane sitting on a tarmac, ready for our road trip.

“Call me when you can?” I ask, walking backwards towards the bus.

She nods, and I keep my eyes on her until I have to climb the steps on the bus, where I practically sprint to my seat and look out the window, replaceing the two of them taking a seat on the curb outside the arena.

Why are they sitting? They don’t need that much time. In fact, they don’t need any time at all.

No part of me is calm, cool, or collected. I’m entirely out of control. In a sense, I’ve been out of control ever since that girl waltzed into my apartment, but this time, the powerlessness doesn’t feel freeing. I’m spiraling as we drive away.

Whatever is going on between us is so new. We haven’t had the opportunity to fully discuss it, and at the time it felt weird to throw a label on something so organic.

But now I wish we had. That way she could tell him, but more importantly, she could tell me where we stand.

Every single insecurity of mine floods my body, overtaking any reasonable senses I have left.

Do I mean enough to her?

Will she go back to him?

Was it always him?

Does she want me at all?

Those four questions consume me, blind me as they repeat over and over while I watch the girl I’m completely gone for with another man. And I have to get on a plane, leave Chicago, and pray that I’m enough.

It’s a twenty-minute drive to the airport and I give her that much time before I call her.

“Hi,” she says, swallowing.

And I know her well enough that she’s swallowing down emotions.

“Are you okay?”

Exiting the bus, I linger on the tarmac as the rest of the guys board the airplane.

A sob breaks free from her chest. “Yes.”

“Indy.” I close my eyes, sighing. “Fuck.”

Not only do I hate hearing her upset, but not knowing exactly why is eating me alive.

Scrubbing a hand over my head, I pace the quickly cleared tarmac and listen to her broken breaths and sniffling nose.

Finally, she says, “I’m fine, Ryan.”

There’s a bite to her words and I’m not sure if she wants me to leave her alone or if she’s simply trying to sound unaffected.

Tension lingers on the line.

“He wants you back, doesn’t he?”

She doesn’t answer, and my heart plummets from her blaring silence.

“What exactly did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“How could you say it doesn’t matter, Ind? It clearly matters to you. You’re upset.”

“I’m processing. That’s a lot of years to say goodbye to.”

Fuck. None of this is what I wanted to hear, but I’m not sure what I expected. Did I really think she was going to answer the phone and tell me she told him to fuck off or that he didn’t affect her at all?

Indy is sensitive. Initially, it turned me off, but it’s what eventually made me fall so hard for her, her openness to feel. Of course, that conversation would affect her. She wouldn’t be her if it didn’t.

But what I need her to tell me is that nothing changes between us and clearly, she can’t.

“Shay, let’s go!” one of the team staff members shouts from the top of the aircraft stairs.

“Blue…” I begin but can’t seem to replace the words.

I need to tell her how much I want her. I need to tell her I can give her the life she’s always wanted if she would let me. I need to tell her anything that will make her forget about that fucking conversation with the guy who’s done nothing but make her feel like she’s not enough, yet too much all at the same time.

“You have to go, Ryan.”

“Shay!” I hear again.

“Goddammit.” I inhale a deep breath, beginning up the stairs to the plane. “Take all the time you need, Indy. I understand, or at least I’m going to try to. Have a safe flight tomorrow.”

I hang up the line because I care about her enough to understand this moment isn’t about me. Yes, the lack of control and the unknown might just kill me, but how fucking selfish would I be if I didn’t give her a moment to process?

But even though I’m trying to be a good guy, the overwhelming realization that I may have misread everything, like a love-sick fool, just as I’ve done before with another woman, eats at me as I slip into my seat for takeoff.