Rewind It Back (Windy City, #5)(3)

“Sullivan’s on Eighth.”

Ryan stiffens in his seat and a playful smile tilts on Indy’s mouth. “Oh, I love that place. I’ve been there on a da—”

“Watch it, Blue,” he says gruffly, pulling her onto his lap.

They grin at each other as if they’re sharing a secret and maybe I’d find the whole thing a little too sickeningly sweet if I didn’t want it so badly.

But also, there really is no secret. We’re all aware that before the two of them were together, Ryan pulled Indy out of a date from the same restaurant I was at tonight.

Indy was a flight attendant for my hockey team years ago and she’s been my best friend since. She met her now-husband when Ryan’s sister offered Indy his spare room to live in, and the rest is history. Ryan is the captain of Chicago’s basketball team and even though I’ve been a massive fan of his for years, he’s also become a good friend of mine.

“What was the issue?” Indy asks me.

“She . . .” I hesitate. “Wasn’t into it. Not interested. You know me. I either friend zone myself or scare them away.”

Not a complete lie. She wasn’t interested in what I’m looking for.

But I don’t fill my friends in on how often I don’t scare them away. I don’t tell them just how often I try to friend zone myself and that doesn’t work. I let them believe that I’m some hopeless idiot with absolutely no game because that seems easier to explain than the fact that I’m twenty-seven years old and have never once hooked up with someone that I didn’t have a deep connection with.

I’m a slow burner. Always have been. Shit, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was nineteen and even then, it was to a girl who I had known since I was twelve.

“Sorry, man,” Ryan says. “It’ll happen.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I stand and stretch. “Well, I’m heading out. Just wanted to pop in and say hi. Love you guys.”

“Love you, Rio.”

“Did you hear that, Ryan?” I ask from the front door. “Did you hear how easily she said that?”

He shakes his head at me. “Never going to happen.”

“Never say never, Shay!”

It’s late by the time I pull into my driveway, but my neighbor’s new front yard lights illuminate the house next door plenty for me to see it’s not the same house I lived next to three months ago.

“Has your house always looked that much better than mine?” I ask, getting out of my car.

Wren laughs from her mailbox, looking over her shoulder at her place. “No. I spent the summer having it renovated, but for a poor grad student, I do have a much prettier house than the pro hockey player living next door, don’t you think?”

We meet on the sidewalk, halfway between our houses, and I bend to give her a hug.

“Good summer?” I ask.

“As good as I could’ve asked for my last summer before graduation to be, which means I lived in a classroom, never saw the sun, and spent my weekends studying in a construction zone. Yours?”

“It was good. Nice to spend some time with my family. Nice to spend a few months in Boston, too.”

She gets a knowing look on her face. “How much are you hating the idea of leaving another Northeastern fall behind?”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

She gestures to my house. “I left your mail on the kitchen island. Opened the windows a couple of times a week to keep it from getting stuffy inside. Your one and only plant is thriving, so you’re welcome for that.”

“It’s a succulent, Wren. All you have to do is leave it alone.”

She nods approvingly, clearly proud of herself. “Well, I did a great job of that.”

Wren has been my neighbor for years. Her brother bought the house directly next to mine so she had a place to live while in school, and we’ve been good friends since.

“Good friends” as in we talk shit about our other neighbors over a beer every once in a while, or offer a cup of sugar if the other is out. Or in this case, we look after the other’s property if one of us is traveling out of town.

Her brothers are professional athletes, so she’s never once batted an eye at me or my teammates who come over, and I always liked that about her.

We’re the only two who live alone on the street, all the other homes filled with families. Which makes a lot of sense, seeing as all the houses are massive and sporting four or five bedrooms. There’s a university nearby, so a few houses rent rooms to graduate students, but they’re so busy studying I never see them.

Wren’s older brother, Cruz Wilder, is a big-name basketball player who bought the place next to mine so his sister could live rent-free during school. They always had a plan that they would customize the builder-grade house and sell it for a profit when she graduated. He calls it an investment, but I’ve met Cruz. He simply didn’t want his sister stressing about finding a good living situation while in school.

I like to tell myself that I too was making an investment when I purchased this new-construction home at twenty-one years old and not because I was a fucking idiot. My rookie year, not a single guy on the team lived outside of the city. They all had apartments. Some of the guys with smaller contracts roomed together, but they were a quick drive, walk, or rideshare to the arena.