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Houston’s point guard isn’t on Ryan’s level by any means, but he is good. Not as effortless, his moves are choppy and brutish, but I’ve noticed his team makes up for passes that might not be perfect or plays that might not be fully executed. However, he’s a shit talker if I’ve ever seen one. In Ryan’s face every chance he gets, holding on to his arm or jersey while on defense. He’s loud as if his words will make up the difference in talent levels between the two point guards.
I lean into Stevie. “Who is that? The guy guarding Ryan.”
She can’t hold back from rolling her eyes. “Connor Easton. He’s a jackass. Played for Duke while we were at North Carolina and he’s in the same draft class as Ryan but went in the fourth round. I’d say they’ve had a rivalry since freshman year, but the truth is, it’s one-sided. Ryan has never once said a word back to him on the court, but Connor can’t shut up.”
She’s right. Connor hasn’t stopped talking, getting in Ryan’s face every chance he gets. He seems like he plays a little dirty, and still, Ryan doesn’t say a word.
Calm. Cool. Collected.
Connor guards Ryan tightly at the top of the key, swiping at his arms and jersey, but Ryan protects the ball with ease as he dribbles around the perimeter. I can’t hear a word Connor says, but his lips won’t stop moving. You’d think after all the years they’ve played against one another, he’d figure out that it’s impossible to rile up the guy.
Even after living with Ryan for a short time, I know it’s rare to get him to show his emotions. It takes more than some adrenaline and shit talking to throw him off-kilter.
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.”
