Page 97 of The Right Move

My ego, Ryan. We only have so much space in the apartment.

I send her a picture of my empty beer glass with my teammates blurred in the background.

Who is that tall one? Is he single?

They’re all tall.

Perfect, any will do then.

Are you trying to make me jealous?

Is it working?

I know flirting with my sister’s best friend is very much blurring the lines of my fake relationship, but I can’t exactly help it with Ind.

I’m trying to get along with my teammates, and now I’m fighting the urge to get them all traded just from imagining you giving any of them the time of day. Jealous enough for you, Blue?

Three gray dots dance along my screen then disappear. Reappear. Disappear.

For someone who always has something to say, I like making you speechless.

Her response is almost instantaneous.

I can think of another way you can make me speechless.

Oh, fuck me.

Well, now I’m the one without words. In true Indy fashion, she says whatever the hell is on her mind, and I can barely catch up let alone catch my breath.

I hope you and your right hand enjoy the rest of your night. See you at home, Roomie.

All the ways I could make Indy speechless flood my mind, but I think I’d rather make her scream. My name, preferably. Goddamn, and now I’m remembering how fucking pretty she is when she comes. But imagine more than just her dry-humping my leg. Is that chaotic girl even more wild when she fully unravels? Would those lilac fingernails dig into my back and maybe draw blood? Would her bare legs wrap around my waist, her ankles twisting together to pull me tighter? Fuck, I hope I get to find out.

There’s a shit ton of blood rushing to my dick and I’m in a bar of my colleagues. Not exactly the moment I need a fucking hard-on to make an appearance. Indy’s not wrong. That little image she put in my head is begging for my right hand to get to work.

I tell Dom he’s paying for my beer and I’m halfway out the door when I see one of the rookies, Leon Carson, towards the perimeter of a crowded half circle the team is making around the bar. The last time we hung outside of work was at team dinner where Ethan so kindly pointed out that the kid feared me.

Yes, I want respect, but I don’t want anyone I play with to be afraid of me. That’s reserved for any guy wearing a jersey other than Chicago’s.

“Leon.”

He stands straighter, eyes bouncing away from my face, having a hard time connecting. “Hey, Shay.”

Jesus. Even when I was a rookie, I was never this timid. I came into the league with humble confidence, knowing what I was bringing to the game. But Leon is a bench guy. He’s our backup point guard and only plays in the fourth quarter if we’re blowing out another team or getting blown out ourselves.

“On Tuesday I’m going to stay late after practice and work on some footwork drills. Get some shots up. Do you want to join?”

“For real?”

“Yeah, a couple of the guys on the coaching staff usually stay late with me once a week to work on individual stuff, and if there’s anything you’re having trouble with we can go over it together. If you need some pointers on—”

“Yeah! Hell yeah. That would be incredible.”

He’s looking me in the eye now, a bit more self-assurance coming through.

“Good.” I nod towards his empty beer before heading towards the door. “Get yourself another beer. Dom’s buying.”

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