Page 84 of The Right Move

How’s bridal shower planning going?

My sorry attempts to find any excuse to text Indy are getting more obvious. Sending her pictures of my lonely breakfasts without her, asking her the name of certain flowers I stumble upon, or just texting her to complain about how she’s not very good at cleaning up after herself, though I’ve grown used to my apartment being a bit more frenzied these days. Seems like I find a reason to message her at least once a day, and we’ve already talked about this bridal shower all week, but fuck it, I want to talk to her.

Don’t get me started on how I feel about her childhood friends taking advantage of Indy’s ingrained necessity to do anything for those she cares about. They went dress shopping without her, but conveniently need her to plan a bridal shower. She would never say no, and she’ll knock it out of the park, but that’s not the point. I wonder when the last time one of those friends planned something for her.

Blue

It’s coming along! I ordered the flower arrangements today. How’s team dinner?

It’s fine.

I wait just thirty seconds before I text again and tell the truth.

No, it’s not actually. It kind of sucks. When we used to do it at Ethan’s house, everyone was happy to be there.

Well, what do you think the difference is?

I don’t know. I picked one of the most expensive restaurants in Chicago. The food was good.

You can’t see me, but I’m rolling my eyes. The difference is that Ethan let the team into his life. Maybe you should too.

Jesus, did he tell you to say that?

No, I’m simply that brilliant on my own.

The bill is discreetly handed to me, and I slip the server my Black Amex.

I’ll see you when I get home?

Glad that was just a text, because if I said that out loud, I’m pretty sure my voice would’ve cracked like an excited middle schooler getting to see his crush.

Yes, but I’ll be home late or maybe tomorrow. I have plans tonight.

What the hell? What plans? And with whom? And excuse me, but “maybe tomorrow”?

It takes all my restraint to keep my thumbs from typing out each of those questions, not that I’m in any position to deserve the answers. I’m just her roommate. She doesn’t have to tell me anything.

But goddammit, I’ve been looking forward to her coming home all week. I even had the guy who owns her favorite flower stand down the street drop off a bouquet for her today, simply because I knew she’d be excited for a fresh one. That and because I killed the last arrangement she left me with.

And now I’m feeling petty and annoyed and for no real reason other than I wanted her to want to stay home with me. Isn’t she tired from working all week? Yes, it’s a Friday night, but why’d she make plans?

I’m asking myself these questions as if I haven’t gotten to know the girl across the hall. Indy is a social butterfly who loves people. Of course, she made plans on a Friday night. She’s a single woman, stunning and too smart for her own good. Just because I have a hard time leaving the apartment doesn’t mean she does. Hiding away with me would never be enough for her.

Okay. Let me know if you need anything.

God, I’m pathetic.

Thanks! Have a good night.

Highly unlikely that’ll happen at this point.

One of the rules of team dinner is that if there’s going to be alcohol, no one gets behind the wheel. So as the last of the guys pile into a rideshare, Ethan and I wait for our respective drivers to pull up.

“That went okay, don’t you think?”

He pops his shoulders. “Yeah, it was nice. Food was good.”

“But…”

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