Page 51 of The Right Move

Ryan’s confused brow softens. “Indy, I wish I had known.”

“Why?” I laugh. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

A moment of silence lingers between us, and I wish I had something to say, something to break the tension and the wave of awkwardness after admitting to my superstar athlete roommate that I’ve never been on a date.

Ryan speaks before I can come up with something. “So, Dartmouth, huh?”

“Yep.”

I find his palms on my thighs, wishing I could put my hand on his, to feel our fingers intertwine as they did earlier tonight, but I don’t want him to stop tracing mindless designs on my legs either.

“Where did you end up going since you didn’t get in?”

“Oh, I got in.”

His head jolts back slightly. “But you didn’t attend?”

Ryan’s hands slide again, his palms now living on my upper thighs with authority. I should look around and find Ron Morgan, reassuring myself this is all an act, but there’s the romantic part of me that wants to continue living in the fantasy, even if it is a lie.

“Alex and all our friends were staying in Chicago, and we weren’t quite together yet, but I knew we would be. He didn’t feel comfortable with us doing long distance.” I laugh without humor. “I should’ve listened to him back then. The second I started traveling for work, he got with someone else.”

Pity covers Ryan’s face. “Blue—”

“Don’t feel bad for me. Yes, I stayed near Chicago to be closer to Alex, but I’m privileged. I still went to a great school, and I still got my MBA. Sure, I don’t use it, but I can’t exactly complain.”

Ryan’s brows find each other, creasing his forehead. “Why didn’t you say that when Ron brought up Dartmouth? That’s impressive as hell. You’re impressive.”

“Because I’ve learned over the years that sometimes people, especially men, are more intimidated than impressed by intelligence. I was valedictorian of our class, but I wasn’t given a second glance until I grew into my body. Some men don’t want to feel like they have someone to compete with, so I play the game. I’m trying to get your boss to like me, not feel like I’m overstepping.”

I’m good at reading people. I know how to make them feel comfortable around me. I know how to adjust who I am depending on the person I’m with. As much as I love people, sometimes they suck and what makes them comfortable is for you to appear to be inferior.

I did it plenty in my last relationship.

“Indy—”

“Please, Ryan, don’t say anything. I know everything you’re thinking right now.”

“No. That’s not how this is going to go. When you’re with me, I want you exactly as you are. That includes letting people know just how fucking smart you are. You’re not going to cater to anyone’s toxic masculinity bullshit. You’re not going to be quiet and appeasing when you’re with me. If Ron, or anyone else for that matter, has an issue with you being smarter than him, then we’re going to have a far bigger problem than him thinking I’m not a good leader.”

“Ryan, it’s fine. I’ve done it for years.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing. How fucking small was Alex’s dick that he let you do this? Or should I say, asked you to do this. That shit is manipulative and controlling because, let me guess, he didn’t like that you were smarter than him, possibly more successful. Did he ask you to tone it down in front of his friends? Did he want you to stay quiet and look pretty so his colleagues wouldn’t think less of him?”

What the hell? There’s a strong prick in my eyes, a quick burn of my nose because Ryan is right. He’s never met him, and yet, he knows everything I tried to ignore.

“Don’t.” Ryan sits forward. “Don’t you dare cry.”

I suck in a breath, shaking my head and stopping any emotions before they really start. “Sorry. We’re at your work event.”

“Indy.” Both his large hands cup my face. “I don’t give a fuck where we are. You could cry all you want at this fundraiser. You could scream, laugh, throw a temper tantrum in front of these people for all I care. I don’t give a fuck, but you’re not crying over him, here or anywhere else.”

He needs to stop. He can’t be demanding and caring in the sexiest way while he’s wearing that suit. He should know by now that I’m a romantic and I’ll end up kissing him for it or something stupid like that.

And as much as I’ve fantasized about the way his mouth would feel against mine, how soft and pliable his lips would be, we’re putting on a show. I can’t forget what this is and confuse my idealistic heart.

This isn’t one of my romance books. This isn’t a fairy tale. And even if it were, I’d be the worst main character because I am nowhere near able to feel anything other than broken even for this man who is sexy and controlling in his own way.

“Ryan,” I say, breaking the spell I wish I could allow myself to fall under.

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