Page 41 of The Right Move

Cameras explode with light as we step onto the carpet leading to the hotel. Indy’s fingers link with mine in the most natural way, but I don’t know how the fuck to do this. I didn’t think this through. Typically, I find myself sprinting to get inside and away from the fanfare, but I can’t exactly hurry Indy along when she’s wearing those heels and commanding everyone’s attention the way she is now.

She floats along as I follow, stiff as a board and uncomfortable beyond belief. Clearly, the girl is stunning, but the perfect show she’s putting on tonight is different than the version I get at home.

I’m not sure how to take that.

“Ryan Shay, a photo!”

“Over here!”

“Ryan, over here!”

My date stops on the carpet, pulling me to a halt with her.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She smiles at the crowd, speaking behind her teeth. “Loosen up and pose with me.”

I turn towards the collection of photographers as she puts a hand on my chest. “I don’t pose,” I say quietly enough for no one else to hear.

“You want to sell this? Well, running inside doesn’t exactly sell this.”

She’s right. Ron already thinks I’m lying. If I bring a date who I claim is my girlfriend and only show her off for a few moments in front of him, he’ll know.

Standing stiffly, I smile, allowing Indy to lean into me.

“Put your arm around me.”

“No.”

“Ryan,” she warns behind that sparkling smile. And how does she speak so clearly behind her teeth? She should be a damn ventriloquist. “You’re not going to burst into flames from touching a woman. Put your goddamn arm around me.”

Inhaling deeply, I swing my arm behind her, placing my palm at a respectful height—on her shoulder blade.

“Lower.”

Lower shoulder blade.

I can feel the annoyance flaring off her body as she reaches behind her, finding my hand and curving it around her waist. She presses her body into my chest and sells it.

How is she so fucking good at this?

“Kiss me,” she quietly mutters. “Cheek. Forehead. I don’t care.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Kiss—”

I hold my hand out to the crowd in a swift wave. “Thank you, guys. Have a great night.”

Keeping her hand in mine, I pull Indy towards the hotel, needing to get the fuck out of here.

She sighs. “We have so much work to do.”

One more hour.

Put on the bullshit Ryan Shay smile for one more hour. Be basketball’s shining golden boy for one more hour. All eyes are on me for one more hour, then I can go home and relax.

I’ve internally repeated those sentences for the last twenty minutes as Indy and I worked the room, greeting season ticket holders, upper management, and saying hello to guys I know who play for the other major league teams in the city.

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