Page 49 of The Right Move

“Give the man a fucking Oscar then.” Rio’s eyes continue to flicker to my roommate. “As much as it’d be an absolute honor to be punched in the face by Ryan Shay, I don’t know that a fundraiser is the best place for that.”

“I should get going.” I slide my arms around him in a hug. “I’ll see you on the plane.”

As I make my way to Ryan, he doesn’t look up at me. Instead, his eyes track Rio as my friend leaves the dance floor, and it isn’t until I take the seat directly in front of him, blocking his view, that he breaks his stare.

“Well, hi there.” Ryan’s middle finger traces the edge of his whiskey glass with cool indifference.

“Are you okay?”

I’m acutely aware that my knees are between his sprawled legs as I sit facing him.

“I’m good.”

“Are you ready to go?”

“Do you want to stay?”

“You said we were only staying for an hour and a half, and I’m pretty sure it’s been much longer than that.”

“I know what I said, but do you want to stay? Are you having a good time?”

He sits up, bringing his legs in, and trapping my knees between his. The shiny pink satin of my dress contradicts his thick legs in black suit pants, but I won’t lie, I like the juxtaposition.

“I am having a good time.”

“Then we’ll stay.” He takes a small swig of the whiskey in his glass.

His previous hard glare is now soft as he looks at me, and the slight tilt at his lips is a sight I’ll never get sick of.

Without looking away, he lifts his hand to push a few fallen strands of hair behind my ear. The pad of his thumb skims the skin of my throat, gentle and delicate but with all the confidence in the world for a man who has been nothing short of uncomfortable with faking it.

I find myself relaxing into his touch. “What are you doing?” I whisper lazily.

His eyes softly trace my face before he discreetly nods his head to the side. “Pretending.”

Oh.

His GM must be here, watching us.

My roommate stands, slipping out of his suit jacket and slinging it over my shoulders.

“Ryan—”

“Your dress has had its moment. Trust me, no one has kept their eyes off you, but you’re shivering. You’re taking my jacket.”

I’m not shivering because I’m cold.

Regardless, I tug the lapels together, covering me with the jacket’s warmth and Ryan’s scent—crisp and refined.

Ryan retakes his seat, his legs trapping mine once again. “Remind me of that guy’s name.”

I feign innocence. “What guy?”

“You know which guy.”

“Rio? He plays for the Raptors. You’ve met him before.”

“So, you see him every time you’re on the road for work?”

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