We quickly transition. I take off towards our end, letting Dom outlet the ball to Ethan who is fast to throw it ahead to me.
I can feel my defender on my back and the scene playing out in my mind as I gather the ball on my way to the hoop is all too familiar. I don’t want to leave my feet. I want to play it safe, come to a complete stop, ensuring he isn’t flying underneath me before I safely put the ball away.
All those thoughts run through my mind in the half second I have to make a decision.
I can’t play scared.
With one swift dribble, I’m in the air, grabbing the rim with a single hand and putting the ball through the net. An internal breath of relief flows through me when my feet safely return to the floor once again.
The guy defending me sure as shit fouls me on my way up, holding my other arm and pulling me down, but do I get the call? Nope, and that’s nothing new for me.
Proud of myself for simply getting it done and not playing in fear, I get back on defense without saying a word. I’ve never been the player to complain to the refs even when they’re doing a shitty job.
“Hey!” Indy jumps from her seat, yelling at the referees as I jog past her. “What the hell was that? Are you blind? That’s an and-one! Why don’t you start blowing that whistle instead of blowing this game?”
My girl is red-faced and angry, stomping around on her strappy red heels as she continues to berate the refs.
Waiting for the other team to bring the ball up, I stand with my hands on my hips, watching her. Ethan and Dom join, sandwiching me on either side.
“He’s an MVP nod, for fuck’s sake! Give the man some credit! What the hell are they paying you for?” she continues before adding a few more colorful curse words. “Goddamn. Are your knees sore from blowing that call?”
An amused smile is fighting to break free, but I just shake my head as I watch her.
“Your girl is kind of scary sometimes, Shay,” Dom notes from one side.
Ethan laughs from the other.
“I know,” I admit proudly. “And I fucking love it.”
We win by seventeen.
36
INDY
Grabbing my keys, I head towards the front door. “Ry, I’m heading to Michael’s.”
Sitting on the couch with a book in his hands and his feet propped on the coffee table, Ryan stiffens before slowly lowering his book to his lap.
“Say that again for me.”
“I’m heading to Michael’s.”
“And who the fuck is Michael?”
Huh?
As realization hits me, I try my hardest not to laugh. Jealous Ryan is hot, so I’ll let this play out before admitting that Michael’s is the craft store where I buy my embroidery thread to cross-stitch.
“Don’t worry about it.”
His brows rocket up towards his hairline. “Oh, don’t worry about it? Okay then.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do unless we're both naked.”
He lifts his book again, refocusing his attention on the pages. “Have fun, but just know that you’re responsible for whatever happens to Michael tonight. In fact…” He eases into the couch as if he’s casually unaffected. “It’ll give me something to do later.”
It’s then that I double over in laughter. “You’re insane.”
Ryan peeks an eye over his book.
“Michael’s is a craft store, you psychopath.”
He pops his shoulder, not denying the statement, and is entirely unapologetic that if there were a real man named Michael I was going to see tonight, he’d have no problem standing behind his promise.
Unable to contain my laughter, I take a seat across his lap. “Would you like to come with me so you can confront Michael while I pick up a new embroidery hoop and needles?”
He drops his book to the couch, slipping his arms around my waist. “I was about to body slam Michael through the floor.”
My head falls to his shoulder, and finally, Ryan is able to laugh at himself. “Do you want me to go with you?”
I want him to go everywhere with me, but it’s hard enough for him to leave the apartment as is, and now, coming to the end of his regular season, it’s essentially impossible.
Not to mention, the attention is overwhelming for him, and the pressure from the media, fans, and upper management since his return has been taking its toll. He’s been trying to play it cool, but I’ve noticed it eating away at him.
“That’s okay. I’ll go tomorrow after you head on your road trip instead.”
Ryan’s stunning smile sparkles. “Read with me?”
“God.” My head falls back. “Talk dirty to me, why don’t you.”
Slinging a leg over his lap, I straddle him.
One hand splayed over the expanse of my back, Ryan leans forward to grab my most current book from the coffee table.
“What’s this one about?” he asks, handing it off.
“A mafia boss cuts a deal with another mafia boss by using his daughter for payment. Marriage of convenience. Normal stuff.”
Opening my book, I restart right where I left off.
“Why do you like reading fiction so much?” he asks without a hint of judgment.
“How else would you get to live a thousand lives in the span of only one? The beauty of fiction is that it makes you feel things on a visceral level. You can cry with those characters, laugh with them. It teaches you to look at another’s perspective, to have empathy. In nonfiction, you simply learn about something instead of feeling it.”
“You already feel more than most people I know.” Ryan closes his book, cocks his head, and watches me with a softness I didn’t know existed when I first moved in. “You haven’t been reading much lately.”
I pop my shoulders. “Well, that’s because I don’t feel the need to live in someone else’s reality. I enjoy my own far too much these days.”
That stunning smile is back, puckered dimples and all as Ryan runs his palms up the length of my thighs.
“Can I read some of your book?”
“Really?”
He nods excitedly.
“Okay, let me find something you might like—”
He stops me from flipping through the pages. “Let me read the page you’re at.”
Well…this is going to be interesting.
I hand it over, watching him with caution as Ryan leans into the couch behind him and begins to read my book. Blue-green eyes widen as soon as he starts because I left off at a detailed scene of the female main character getting eaten out on the mafia boss’s desk right after he killed a man in cold blood.
“Shit,” Ryan exhales, burying himself further into the couch as if he plans to stay there long enough to finish the entire book. “This is hot.”
“That’s what I’m saying!”
One hand holding my book, he uses the other to grab my waist, pulling me against him. My legs are opened around his and all it does is cause me to grind against him which I’m quickly realizing is what he wanted.
“This is practically a how-to manual on how to please a woman. How are more men not reading these?”
Falling forward, I use one arm against the back of the couch to keep myself hovering over him. Ryan’s eyes stay glued to the pages until I roll my hips against his and earn his attention. Those studious ocean eyes turn dark when he looks up at me.