Page 54 of The Right Move

“Yes.” She yawns with a stretch, her hands in the air. “How was practice?”

The short answer? Terrible.

I’ve never had so many turnovers in a two-hour span, never missed so many free throws in a single practice. And it’s all because I couldn’t stop thinking of what might have happened if I knocked on Indy’s closed bedroom door last night instead of going to my own.

After hesitating with my hands on her doorframe, my chest moving with heavy breaths, and the overwhelming desire to end our night doing something that would be anything but pretend, I did the right thing and turned around. I went back to my own bedroom, back to my own shower where I took care of myself as I have for the last couple of years.

“It was fine.”

She stands, circling the kitchen island to my side and I automatically round in the opposite direction, needing to maintain distance when all I want to do is touch her.

“Have you always known how to speak like that?”

“ASL?” she asks. “I guess so. At home we’ve always signed. My dad was born deaf, and my mom learned the language when they met.”

“How would…” I hesitate uncomfortably. “How would an adult learn the language?”

Her head snaps around to me. “You want to learn how to sign?”

Oh fuck. Those glossy brown eyes are back. Indy, the romantic. “I want to be able to speak to your dad without you having to translate. That way I can let him know when his daughter is being a pain in my ass.”

A quick, non-feminine laugh bubbles out of her. It’s lovely.

“There are classes you could take. Or I could help teach you if you’d like.”

She doesn’t make eye contact, as if she’s new to the topic. As if no one else in her life has ever asked her how they could learn to better communicate with her family.

Indy opens the fridge, quickly shifting the subject. “Are you hungry? I can make you some—” She takes her pink coffee cup out of the refrigerator and holds it up to me. “What is this?”

“I uh…” I rub my hand on the back of my neck. “I made you coffee before I left for practice and put it in the fridge to cool so it wouldn’t get watered down when you added ice.”

Her head drops to the side. “Ryan, that’s really sweet. Thank you.”

I look away from the girl who probably assumes this is some grand romantic gesture. “It was nothing.”

She rifles through the fridge, her blonde braid cascading down her back. Those bare feet and long legs distracting me once again.

“Where’s the regular bacon?” she asks.

“I haven’t been ordering it. I’ve just been getting the vegetarian stuff.”

She looks over her shoulder at me for an explanation.

“I think it tastes pretty good. No need to order both.”

Another thoughtful smile pulls at her lips.

Dammit. I know she’s going to think this is deeper than it is. She’s going to romanticize me buying fucking breakfast meats because that’s who she is, but it’s nothing. Really.

I just want the fridge to be stocked with things she can eat. I want her to feel at home here because it’s her home too.

The realization rams into my chest.

I want her here. I want her to want to be here.

Fuck, when did that happen?

12

---