Page 89 of The Right Move

His hand slides to my back, ushering me to walk ahead of him, but I’m cautious to move my body from the space between these two men solely because people are recording on their phones. Eventually, I step towards the exit because I truly want to get the hell out of here, only to hear Jason laugh and say, “Did Ryan Shay just steal my date?”

Ryan halts, and I’m praying to God he shows his typical controlled restraint. Any other time, I’d love to see him pummel this guy, but whatever Ryan decides to do in this moment has the potential to end up on the front page of the newspaper tomorrow.

He takes a centering breath and turns around. “Trust me, she was never yours.”

His blacked-out Audi is parked illegally in front of the bar, and I rush towards it, wanting to get us away from the chaotic scene I caused. Reaching for the door handle, I barely open it only for Ryan’s palm to slam it back closed.

In surprise, I find him staring down at me, his chest rising and falling in rage, his nostrils flared, and his mouth set in a hard line. But then I look up. Brow creased and ocean eyes swimming in a world of…hurt.

I hurt him. Oh my God, I hurt him.

We face off, and I can almost see the words on the tip of his tongue. He wants to say something, but doesn’t, letting the silent anger radiating off his body do the talking for him.

I want to say something too. That was nothing. It didn’t mean anything. Thank you for saving me. But we both stay silent, watching one another, and waiting for the other to break the tension-filled void.

Finally, he looks away from me, as if he can’t bear the sight of me any longer and opens the door for me to get inside.

The ride is silent, but the car is filled with so much tension I’m afraid the windows are going to bust from the pressure. Ryan’s left arm is leaning on the doorsill while he drives with his right, his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel.

“Ryan—”

“Not right now, Indy,” he bites back.

“Yes, right now. Why are you so angry?”

He inhales a breath through his nostrils, running a palm over his mouth, but stays silent.

“Fine,” I huff, turning towards my window, watching the lit-up skyline of Chicago pass by me. “We won’t talk. That seems like a mature way to handle things.”

The ride consists of the loudest silence I’ve ever experienced. By the time we make it home, my lungs are hungry for fresh air, needing space from this man who is suffocating me with his presence. Ryan pulls into his parking space, cuts the engine, and is halfway out his door before I have a chance to leave first.

“Don’t,” he commands when I reach for my door handle.

I follow his gorgeously sculpted body as it rounds the car, and even as I will eye contact through the glass window, he won’t look at me. It isn’t until he reaches my side that he unlocks the car and opens my door for me to get out because even as angry as he is, Ryan Shay can’t help but be a gentleman.

Stepping out, I keep my attention on him, but still, Ryan refuses to look at me. As he holds my door open, I lightly grasp his chin and force him to meet my eye.

Yes, he’s angry, but there’s a mixture of wounded feelings in there, and for a man who doesn’t let himself get emotional, there’s a whole lot of emotion going on at the moment.

He exhales, his voice softer. “Let’s just go home, okay?”

More tension builds on the silent elevator ride to our floor, and once we’re inside the apartment, he wastes no time before beelining it for his bedroom.

“Ryan,” I plead, attempting to stop him.

It works, but he keeps his back to me, standing at his door.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

He scoffs, turning my way. “My feelings? You didn’t hurt my feelings. I’m upset because you did something reckless. You’re out in Chicago with another man. Why? Anyone could’ve seen you. People did see you. We had a deal.”

I take a step towards him, and instantly regret it by the way his body retreats. “It wasn’t like that. I’m not seeing anyone. It was just going to be one night, and I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone would recognize me.”

“One night?” His brows crease. “What was just going to be one night?”

I feel the heat rising on my cheeks because now he decides to hold unwavering eye contact—in the exact moment I wish he wouldn’t look at me.

“I just…” I fiddle with the hem of my dress.

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