THE RIGHT MOVE

20

Grabbing the key from under the mat, I go inside. The apartment is quiet but fully lit. It’s early, and the sun is starting to peek though the buildings of downtown Chicago, but it’s not enough to illuminate the space. Apparently, Indy left every single light on last night before she went to bed, which is just wonderful. Not only did I earn a new roommate, but it’s one that’s going to hike up my electrical bill.

Something feels different inside. I don’t know if it’s because there’s a woman sleeping in the other room, but the energy around me has changed. As my eyes slowly adjust, I find pops of color which I know don’t belong to me.

A light purple knitted blanket thrown over the couch.

A pink reusable coffee cup with a straw sits by my mug.

So many goddamn throw pillows on my couch, there’s no room left to sit.

There are yellow curtains with f*****g pom-pom balls pushed to the edge of my panoramic window.

Green. So much greenery between the succulents on my bookshelf and the giant leafy tree in the corner by the window.

Speaking of my bookshelf, it’s a f*****g rainbow. My books are completely rearranged, and the amount seems to have doubled in size since I left. Indy has taken my well-thought-out and organized bookshelf and made it look like a unicorn threw up on it as it goes from red to purple, sorted by color. What god-awful reason should Investing 101 be sandwiched between two books with shirtless men on the covers? Because they’re all orange?

And why the f**k are there naked dudes on my bookshelf?

She’s a romantic. Of course, she’s a goddamn romantic. She waited six years for a proposal that never came. She likes flowers and girly clothes. I should’ve known.

I circle my apartment in a frenzy. This was a mistake, letting her move in. Forty-eight hours alone and she’s taken over. Everywhere I look there’s a piece of her. Something she touched or changed. Color decorates every nook and cranny, but overall, there’s so much f*****g Blue.

I hate it. I can physically feel the control slipping away. My usual even-keeled composure is crawling with anxious thoughts, and I need my space back. I need it to be mine.

“Indy!” I yell into the silence. I don’t give a f**k that it’s the ass c***k of morning. I need to fix this. “Indigo, wake up!”

“What happened to being quiet when you come home from road trips? I’m sleeping!”

I pound on her door. “Indy, I swear to God if you don’t get out here, I’m coming in your room.”

“Please do! I sleep naked.”

Oh.

Heavy breaths keep words from coming out. Hands rest on either side of her doorframe as the image invades my mind. Her, naked. In my house. In the bed I bought her. Heat mixes oddly with the frustration thrumming through my body and the arousal is so sudden and so heady I’m almost lightheaded from the blood rushing south. I’m not sure how long it’s been since I’ve seen a woman’s naked flesh, but my body angrily reminds me with a jolt of my c**k that it’s been far too f*****g long.

Pushing those images away, I take a centering breath. Her most likely flawless naked body is the last thing I need to think about.

She opens the door, fully dressed in pajamas, startling me, and pulling me out of my daydream. “I knew that’d work. A naked woman in your house is practically your biggest fear.” She ducks under my arm and heads to the kitchen. “I know you did not just wake me up without bringing me coffee.”

“What the f**k happened to my apartment?”

“What are you talking about?” She keeps her back to me as she turns on the coffee maker.

“Why is all your s**t all over the place?”

“Because I live here.”

“You have a bedroom.”

“So do you.”

God, this is like talking to a child. “Keep your things in your room.”

“You want me to keep my coffee cup in my bedroom?” She holds it up, trying not to laugh.

“Well…” I stumble. “Okay, that can stay, but everything else… I like my space a certain way, Indy.”

“Boring, you mean. Ryan, your house was like a prison cell. It needed some life.”

“There’s a f*****g tree in my living room!”

“Actually, it’s a Fiddle-leaf fig plant and it’s there because this window faces the east, and the perfect amount of sun comes through here. Bright but not too direct. I have a north facing window. It wouldn’t thrive. So, maybe you could take a breather thanks to the oxygen it’s providing, yeah?”

What the f**k?

“What?” she asks as she puts her hot coffee in the fridge to cool down. “I’m not some blonde Barbie without a brain.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. The dumbfounded look plastered on your face said it for you. Most people think so, and apparently you do too.”

My expression softens. I don’t think that at all, but she is a gorgeous human and I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t the first thing I noticed.

“I thought you liked flowers over plants.” My attempt to shift the tone of conversation is nowhere near smooth, but somehow, even though she’s the one who has taken over my apartment, I’m the one who feels bad.

“I do, but flowers are typically more high-maintenance and with how much I travel for work, I can’t always take care of them.”

I scratch the back of my neck. “I could…maybe help you take care of them.”

What am I doing? I pulled her out of bed so I could get my apartment back to normal and here I am asking her to make more of a mess by offering to water her f*****g flowers?

But I need a favor from her, and I came in hot with my yelling this morning.