Page 9 of The Right Move

They didn’t.

I walked into my apartment and realized my mistake. They were right—she’s stunning, and I hate it.

I’m not easily distracted, but if I could manifest my perfect distraction, it’d look a lot like her.

I can’t have someone like that living here. I don’t want anyone living here. I need my space. This apartment is my one reprieve from the outside pressures. I need to concentrate on my first season as Captain, and I don’t know how I’m going to be able to do that when my roommate looks like she just stepped off the beach with her sunkissed legs, golden hair, and her colorful clothes strewn around my apartment floor.

Fuck this. I need to go to the gym.

Maybe I’d be a little calmer if I had a moment to relax and prepare to come home to a new roommate, but I didn’t have a single calm minute tonight. I was being watched and therefore on edge every moment of the evening.

Typically, the stares are from fans and reporters, observing my every move, but ever since my promotion, Ron Morgan, the team’s General Manager has been watching me with more disdain than normal.

Ron liked me for the first three years I played for him, or at least he liked me as much as an employer can like an employee whose salary takes a large chunk of their yearly budget and has yet to lead the team to a championship, let alone the playoffs.

But Ron’s evident distaste for me really began last winter after I escorted his niece to a movie premiere as a favor to him. His niece, who is practically his daughter, had gotten in some trouble with the law and what better way to clean up someone’s image than to call in good guy Ryan Shay?

It was one night, one event, but the real problem began when more than one night was asked of me. It’s been constant, and I’ve turned down his request to take his niece out every time since, using my sister as some kind of Morgan family shield.

“You should take Lesley to that charity gala.” Can’t. I already invited my sister.

“End of the year weekend on the lake. Everyone is bringing someone. You’ll bring my niece.” Can’t. Stevie already snagged my plus-one.

“Lesley is really smitten with you. You should invite her to team dinner on Friday as your plus-one.” Ah. Damn. Wish I could, but my sister is really excited to go, and I can’t bail on her.

It’s worked well all year, using Stevie as my pseudo-date, but then she had to go ahead and fall in love. And with not just anyone, but someone who is at ninety percent of the same functions as me because he’s an equally big name in Chicago sports. Without her help, my motive became clear that the real reason I couldn’t continue seeing Ron’s family member was simply because I didn’t want to, and that’s when his indifference turned to blatant dislike.

That aversion was aggravated at the end of the season when Ethan stepped down and the team named me Captain despite Ron’s vocal disagreement. But I don’t date, haven’t done it since college, and I’m not going to change simply to appease the man who signs my paychecks, especially when it’s regarding a woman who I’m genuinely not interested in.

You’d think Ron would appreciate my ambition. My mind is on a single track and that’s winning Chicago their first championship in decades and topping it off with an MVP trophy for myself. That means no women, barely any friends, and keeping my eyes on the prize. Not letting anyone take advantage of my name or who I’m going to become in the sport of basketball.

It’s happened before and I’ll never make that mistake again.

I need a fucking workout. Clear my mind from the mess my night was and the disaster my apartment turned into while I was gone.

Slipping off my suit jacket, I hang it in the closet where it belongs—between my black jacket and the dark gray one. Unclasping my watch, I carefully lay it in my nightstand drawer, back in its velvet box, exactly where it goes every time I remove it.

Getting some shots in will calm me down now that my apartment seems to have the opposite effect on me. But before I can slip out of my suit and into gym shorts, a soft whimper from the living room stops me.

This must be a joke.

Why the hell did I agree to let this girl live here? Oh, that’s right—Stevie. I need to learn to start saying no to my sister, because not being able to just earned me a crying blonde in my living room.

I’ll ignore it. It’d be more embarrassing for her than anything if I went to check on her. Was what I said really all that mean that she’s crying over it? I’ve only seen this girl cry or drink herself into oblivion, so I guess it’s not so surprising she’s emotional once again.

Another whimper and another muffled weep punch through my closed door and invade my chest.

You don’t owe her anything.

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

I can’t. As much as I’d love to be that guy, I’m not.

Taking a deep breath, I open my bedroom door to check on my new roommate.

Little miss blondie has her knees tucked into her chest as she sits on my couch, hiding her face in her crossed arms, and I don’t know what the fuck to say to get her to chill out. How am I supposed to get her to stop? I don’t even know the girl.

Say something nice, something comforting.

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