Page 52 of The Right Move

“Hmm?”

“You’re really good at pretending when no one else is around. Now we need to work on it for when we have an audience.”

Ryan sits back in his chair, creating a needed distance between us. “Right,” he says before finishing off his whiskey. “I’ll work on it.”

11

RYAN

Blonde hair and lilac-painted toes clouded my mind all practice. Imagining what that pink satin would’ve looked like on my bedroom floor last night instead of Indy’s.

I haven’t fantasized about a woman like this in years. Typically, if I’m attracted to someone, it fades within a few hours once I remember who I am and why someone would want to be with me. That thought alone douses any fire. But lately, I’ve barely recognized myself through the carnal thoughts invading my brain—Indy on her back. On her knees. On her stomach, ass in the air.

Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about every position I could take her in and I’m a piece of shit for it because she’s getting over a guy who only cared about the trophy on his arm. The last thing I want is to be compared to him.

There’s a nervousness thrumming through me as I open the door to my apartment, the one place I’m able to find peace and solitude. But today, the peace is gone, replaced instead with uncertainty. Part of me hopes Indy is home so I can know whether she’s wearing her hair in a braid or a bun. Whether she’s wearing socks around the house or letting her bare feet enjoy the heated floor. Whether she’s still in the clothes she slept in or if she’s ready for the day.

And part of me hopes she’s gone so I can’t have any of those questions answered. They’re dangerous to our arrangement and they’re dangerous to me.

But every single one of those questions is answered when I walk into the apartment and find Indy sitting at the kitchen island with her laptop open in front of her.

Braid slung over her left shoulder.

Bare feet dangling off the stool.

Oversized sweatshirt and cotton shorts that she clearly slept in.

“Oh, Ryan is home,” Indy says to the computer, all while she moves her hands in quick motions. She turns towards me. “Ryan, come meet my parents.”

Again, her hands move and this time, I pick up on the four letters of my name from my very minimal knowledge of American Sign Language.

Stepping behind her, I find the camera, allowing her parents to see me. “Hi. I’m Ryan,” I say with a wave.

I find those four letters that make up my name in Indy’s hand movements once again.

“Lovely to meet you,” her mom says, using her hands to speak as well. “I’m Abigale.”

Her dad waves and speaks with only his hands.

“This is my dad, Tim,” Indy says, signing as well. “Geez, Dad!” she says after her father signs something else. She turns towards me. “He said, ‘We hope our daughter hasn’t been too much of a pain in the ass.’”

She wears a post-giggle smile, awaiting my response. Indy must notice my hesitation. “Speak clearly,” she reassures. “He can read lips and I’ll sign for you as well.”

I’ve never met a woman’s parents before, not that this is a “meet the parents” type of moment, but their daughter does live with me and between that and the inappropriate images that have been flashing through my daydreams, it’s a bit terrifying.

But Indy’s parents seem kind and welcoming. Her dad must be where she got her height. I can tell he’s a tall man even as he sits on his living room couch in Florida. On the other hand, her mom is a petite woman, but that blonde hair and those warm brown eyes make me feel at home in the same way I do with her daughter who shares the same attributes.

Leaning forward, I split the screen with Indy. “She’s only a pain in the ass when she leaves her dishes in the sink or forgets her clothes in the dryer for days at a time.”

Indy signs all while wearing a gaping mouth in mock offense.

Her parents laugh. “Just wait until you realize she never screws the lids back on all the way or forgets to close cupboard doors behind her.”

“Mom! God, you guys, I’m right here.”

“Honestly, though,” I continue. “I’ve enjoyed having her here. You raised a good woman.”

Indy’s attention darts to me before she looks away, signing my words as she does.

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