Ryan fakes right, throwing Connor off-balance, before he pulls back and hits a three over him. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t wear a deserved smug smile, he simply turns around and jogs back on defense, completely in control of this game.
I have to cross one leg over the other, because it’s really fucking attractive.
The first half goes by in a blur, and I get my second drink of the night sometime in the third quarter. I could get used to this, watching my hot-as-sin roommate while sipping on a cocktail, wearing my red strappy heels, and sitting courtside.
Probably shouldn’t though. This fake relationship has an expiration date. He’ll get his GM’s support, I’ll get through my friends’ wedding, and eventually I’ll have to move out.
My chest hollows at the prospect.
No one has distracted Ryan this whole game, not the fans, not Connor Easton, and not me. Call me needy, but I wouldn’t mind those ocean eyes looking over here once. Wouldn’t mind knowing I have that man’s attention even if it’s only for a split second.
Then the basketball gods smile down on me when the ball gets knocked out of bounds right next to my seat. Ryan walks towards me, directly in my path to inbound the ball, but still, he keeps his eyes down on the floor, utterly focused. The area around me explodes with screams and desperate cries of his name, hoping for a high five or a wave, or even just some eye contact. But what they don’t know is that if his own twin who was sitting at my left can’t get a small look from the guy, there’s no hope for a single fan to garner his attention.
Ryan stands just to my right, so close that if I spread my legs out even a tiny bit, they’d knock into his. The fans around me are quick with their phones, documenting the moment Ryan Shay was breathing the same air as them.
The referee holds on to the ball as both the teams substitute players, and my roommate takes a moment to bend over, palms on his knees, catching his breath.
Corded arms, decorated with veins. Long fingers, big hands. And holy hell, that ass.
His sweaty body smells oddly heavenly to me, and—what the hell is going on? Get control of yourself, woman. His sister, my best friend, is thankfully using the restroom at the moment, but what is wrong with me? I’m in public and trying to smell my roommate mid-game like an addict needing a hit of his pheromones.
“Blue.” My attention is torn away from Ryan’s backside to find blue-green eyes amused and watching me. He’s still bent over but looking back. “Are you checking out my ass right now?”
A flush ghosts my cheeks and under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be embarrassed, but this guy has thousands of fans’ eyes on him, and many more watching from home.
“It’s a nice ass.” I shrug unapologetically.
His chest rumbles, his voice lowering. “Trying to distract me tonight? With those heels and those lips? Because you look fucking stunning.”
Before I can answer, the referee blows the whistle. Ryan’s focus is instantly back on the game. However, the man directly across from him on the inbound, Connor Easton, has his mischievously glinted eyes on me.
His stare is uncomfortable and unrelenting. I offer him a small smile, hoping to pacify the weird sudden interest he has in me, and thankfully the game restarts and he’s gone.
“Jesus,” Zanders laughs. “So, you and Ryan are sleeping together, huh?”
“Define sleeping.”
His hazel eyes narrow with annoyance. “Fucking, Ind.”
“No,” I quickly answer, but there’s not much conviction behind the word. “Do I want to?” I cock my head to the side. “Very much so.”
Zanders' amused laugh shakes his chest as we lean over Stevie’s empty seat to talk.
“I can’t though,” I continue. “Stevie will be upset. I tell her I’m planning to bang her brother all the time, but she knows I’m joking. Well, she thinks I’m joking.”
“Nah,” he reassures. “She wouldn’t be upset. I don’t know that she’d be cool with you using him as a rebound, but if it’s more than that, I’m sure she’d be supportive.”
Is that what this is? Is this unrelenting attraction simply the rebound I’ve been needing to get out of my system for the last seven months? Possibly. The last person I was with is Alex and now Ryan is a part of my daily life. It’d make sense if it was my body’s form of begging for a release. Would he want that? Do I want that? Yes, I want to sleep with him, but I also want to have breakfast with him every morning. I want to sit on the couch and read with him. I want to spend my days off work holed up in that apartment. I’m not sure those are rebound feelings, but I might need a rebound to figure it out.
By the time Stevie’s back in her seat, Ryan has a game high forty-two points, but the Devils are still losing by three in the fourth quarter. Connor Easton has continually tried to knock Ryan off his game, to get him to react to something, anything he says, but to no avail. The guy is a brick wall of emotions, and though I give him a hard time for his sometimes stoic and robotic personality, I can see why it works so well for him on the court.
That is until the final few minutes when Houston has a bad pass, and the ball comes bouncing over to where I sit on the sideline. It’s already out of bounds by the time Connor dives for it, and there’s truly no possible way he could save it. I don’t know why he’d even attempt to. His giant body falls into my lap, spilling my drink all over my chest. The crowd around me yelps, and the heavy blow to my body is a bit painful.
“I’m so sorry,” he says as he stands from my lap. He holds on to my shoulders, bending down and making himself eye level. “Are you okay? Let me get you another drink.” He slides a thumb over my cheekbone. “You’re far too pretty to be covered in—”
“Get your fucking hands off her.” Ryan shoves Connor. “Fuck you! You could've hurt her.”
I’m front row to watch Connor laugh as the ref blows the whistle and awards Ryan with a technical.
“Oh, bullshit!” Ryan protests. “He’s diving into the crowd for no goddamn reason! The ball was already out of bounds.”
“Technical foul. Chicago. Number five.”
“Whoa,” Stevie exhales. “Ryan’s never been tee’d up before.” She turns to me. “Are you okay?”
I nod in silence, hoping to regain the breath that was knocked out of me.
Connor saunters past Ryan on his way to the free-throw line, knocking his shoulder as he goes. “Finally found a weakness, Shay.”
“Fuck you, Easton.” Ryan charges at his back, but one of his teammates holds him back.
The typical calm, cool, and collected basketball player I’ve come to expect is nowhere to be found at the moment.
He stays as close to the sideline as possible while Connor shoots his free throws. Ryan watches the court but speaks to me over his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I quickly blurt out. Because I am and that was a far bigger scene than it needed to be. “I’m fine. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re not hurt?”
“No.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”