All the Bold Moves (All The Right Moves 2)

“Huh?”

“Miles. There are only sixteen hundred miles between Madison and Los Angeles.”

“Oh my god, stop being so damn literal; like it’s no big deal to you. What am I supposed to do while you’re gone? Languish here while you go traipsing about your business in California?”

“Um, no… Cecelia. The season is only like, five months long. If we don’t win the Stanley Cup, it’s even shorter. You can fly home and see your family every weekend if you want to.” I take a drink from my latte and lean back again, reluctantly removing my hands from her body, then take a bite of the croissant that’s all been forgotten on my plate. Taking a bite, I chew, wipe a crumb off my chin, and add, “Sometimes I’ll be able to come with you.”

She shakes her head and stares at me, brown eyes gone huge. “What?”

“The season is only five months long –“

“I heard what you said.”

“Then why did you –“

“Would you shut up for a second? I need to think.” Her hands go up to knead her temples, and she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

I shut up for a second.

But then she raises her head and looks at me, her eyes searching. “I don’t get it.”

I cock my head, confused. “What don’t you get?”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying. Actually, I think it’s you who doesn’t understand what you’re saying.”

Cecelia

He must be crazy: there can be no other explanation for him wanting me to follow him to California. I mean… it’s only been a few weeks. Plus, I’m in my Master’s program; true, I’m almost done, but… still. There’s job hunting, and new apartments, and… and…

He cocks his head again, staring at me with those bright green eyes. “I thought it would make you happy to be with me,” he says, crossing his legs and leaning back in the big leather chair.

“But we haven’t even discussed it,” I argue, determined.

Those eyes bore into me further. “We’re discussing it now,” he points out.

I roll my eyes and cross my arms, glancing out the window to the dark parking lot outside. “First you announce that we’re in a relationship, then you drop the California bomb on me. It just seems a bit… rushed for a twenty-four hour period.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but, well, it’s not like we have a lot of time. I leave in three weeks and won’t be back until Christmas, and that will only be for two days. Do you really want a long-distance relationship? Because I sure as hell don’t. They suck. I watch them play out with my teammates and they always crash and burn.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “I’m going to lay it out there for you, okay? Plain and simple; I don’t want to leave without you by my side.”

The logical Cecelia that overanalyzes everything wants to argue with him; point out all the flaws in his logic – all the reason it would never work having me with him. My heart, however, just about burst inside my chest when he said he didn’t want to leave here without me by his side. And the thought of waking up in bed with him every morning? Um, hello!

I mean: holy swoon, right?

My mouth gapes briefly before I snap it shut. “Matthew, I have a degree to finish. Papers to write. A job to find…”

Now he’s rolling his eyes. “I’m not discounting your priorities, babe, but let’s be honest here: you’re days away from getting your degree. You don’t have any classes to attend, and as far as jobs go… What difference does it make if it’s here, or in California? Or if you wait until you get back? Or if you take a job and work from home?”

Hmmm, all very valid points.

There really isn’t anything tying me down – not technically - and I’m not even from Wisconsin to begin with. My family is in Illinois, but flying home really wouldn’t be an issue.

“It’s possible that we’ll drive each other nuts,” I point out with authority.

“It’s possible that we won’t,” he counters with a raised eyebrow. “Besides, we’ll be back in the Midwest within a few months. And don’t forget; my agent is shopping me around for a trade. I could end up here in the long run.” He takes another causal drink of his latte, before smugly adding, “I’m good enough to play for the Blackhawks, you know.”

The Blackhawks are Chicago’s professional hockey team, and his mention of them almost makes me spit out the coffee I just took a drink of. Not to mention, his continued use of the word ‘we’ is making my head spin, and not to be overly dramatic, but it’s almost information overload.

I knew Matthew Wakefield was intense, but this is overkill.

“Maybe you should come over here and sit in my lap. That might make your decision easier,” he laughs, patting his slightly parted thighs.