Page 10 of The Right Move

“You’re emotional.”

Her head snaps up from her arms, brown eyes bloodshot and swollen. “Thanks for the observation, Ryan. You’re real perceptive.”

Okay, clearly that was the wrong thing to say.

“Why?”

Her brows furrow. “Why what?”

“Why are you so emotional?”

“Why are you so cold?”

I switch gears because she’s not getting that answer so easily. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” She laughs condescendingly. “What’s wrong?!” Her voice rises with her as she stands from the couch. I let my wandering eye trail down those mile-long legs, and I can’t help but wonder how they might feel wrapped around my waist.

Not the fucking time, Ryan.

She’s tall for a girl. And at this moment, she’s a little scary too.

“What’s wrong is my life has gone to absolute shit, okay? Sorry, I can’t control my emotions because my shitty boyfriend of six years cheated on me with some chick from his office! And I was the one to lose my apartment because of it. I can’t afford to live on my own in this city, and now I’m sitting in my best friend’s brother’s apartment who doesn’t want me here either! Do you think I want this? I don’t! I want my old life back.”

I stay casually leaning on my bedroom doorframe, watching her mini meltdown.

Mini might not be the right word.

“What the hell am I doing here?” she quietly asks herself.

She stares at me, expecting me to respond, but I have no clue how to act around someone so sensitive. She’s quite frightening.

“You’re right,” she says. “I am emotional. But at least I’m not a fucking robot!” She motions towards me. “At least I feel things. When’s the last time you felt something?”

“Well, currently I’m feeling amused.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she spits. “You’re a monster. And reorganize your goddamn bookshelf. Author’s last name? You’re sick.”

I try to bite back my smile, I really do, but it lifts on one side of my lip.

“Do not laugh at me!”

I shake my head. “Not laughing.”

She inhales a deep, centering breath as she runs her hands down her sweatshirt that looks about five sizes too big on her. “I’m going to move out. We don’t know each other, and you’re right. You didn’t ask for me to be here and that’s not fair to you. I leave on a work trip tomorrow night, but I’ll be back in a few days, and I’ll get my stuff out. I’m leaving Chicago.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not moving out. I’ll have a spare key made for you, Indiana.”

I close my bedroom door behind me, finally saying the line I rehearsed all night.

She’s right, I don’t really want her here. But she is wrong about one thing—I’m not a monster. She’s clearly going through shit—shit I find myself having a weak spot for and I can’t toss her out on the street. I’m not that kind of guy as much as I’d love to be at this moment.

A loud thud hits the back of my door. A shoe perhaps. “My name is not Indiana!”

Yeah, I’d really love to be that guy right about now.

---