Rewind It Back (Windy City, #5)(59)
My heart is racing. My skin is on fire. But also, I couldn’t be more relieved.
Fuck it. I can do this.
“Put a song on,” I tell her, nodding to my nightstand where both my boombox and iPod sit. I wait for her to do so, running the palms of my hands along the backs of her thighs, keeping her standing between my legs.
If I’m not listening to Hallie’s yearly playlists, I typically use my iPod and headphones to listen to music. But Hallie doesn’t reach for that. Instead, she flips through my old CD case quickly before picking one and skipping to the track she wants.
“Why do I need to pick a song?” she asks.
It starts playing through the boombox speakers and I can’t help but laugh at the lack of subtlety in her song choice.
“Because I’m going to kiss you and when we listen to next year’s playlist, I want this song to be on there so we can rewind it back however many times we want to and remember this.”
Her smile blooms, and her arms wrap around my neck. “I was hoping you were going to say that.”
I slip my hand into her long hair, pull her down to meet me, and press my own smiling lips to hers.
It’s messy and mistimed, and yeah, I think I hit her teeth at one point, but it’s also so fucking perfect. And eventually, with a little practice, we figure it out together.
Chapter 16
Rio
“As of this week, you and Evan Zanders are officially the longest-running defensive duo ever in the NHL,” a reporter says in our postgame press conference. “What do you think has contributed to your successful partnership?”
I sit forward, bringing my mouth closer to the microphone, running my hand through my wet hair, fresh out of the shower. “Uh . . . we’re friends,” I say simply.
There’s a small laugh among the media, but that’s clearly not enough of an answer because no one jumps in to ask the next question.
I’m not totally used to being called on to do interviews. I don’t wear the captain’s patch, and as a defenseman, I’m not the high scorer on the team. My contribution is rarely noticed on stat sheets. It’s with defensive plays, big hits, and experience, so I hardly get called on for postgame media.
But of course, the one game we’re home, the one night we’re home, in an almost three-week span of road games, I’m called in for an interview.
My short responses aren’t getting me out of here any quicker, so I try again. “I think the reason we’re so successful on the ice is because we’ve built our chemistry off the ice. He’s one of my best friends outside of the rink. We talk nearly every day. Add that to many, many years of sharing the blue line, and it’s become almost automatic to know what the other is going to do in any given play.”
More hands are raised by reporters, but thankfully our media manager cuts in. “Thanks, everyone. That’s all the time Rio has for tonight.”
I’m up and out of my seat, grabbing my water off the table and hightailing it out of the media room as quickly as possible. Don’t get me wrong, I typically don’t mind when reporters call on me and want my take on the game, but tonight is the one night I’m home.
Tonight is the one night I have any hope of seeing Hallie.
It’s been five days since our almost-kiss, and I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. Haven’t really been able to get her off my mind in about fifteen years, but it’s been all-consuming the past few weeks. Her living in Chicago is like a bad drug, knowing in my head I should stay away, but needing that hit of seeing her. The more time I spend with her, the more time I need.
Back in the locker room, I find it completely empty. With only one night in town, the guys were quick to get home to their friends or families while I was finishing up postgame interviews.
Typically, when we’re playing in Chicago, I leave the arena in comfortable clothes, knowing I’m headed straight home. Tonight though, I change back into my pregame suit, grab my wallet and keys from my locker stall, and practically jog to my truck.
The bar is only a few blocks away and when I get there, I surprisingly find an empty space left in the lot. Hallie’s shitty Nissan Altima isn’t here, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s not working.
We’ve been texting here and there since I left on Monday. If she was getting ahold of me, it was with house-related things. If I was reaching out first, it was because I was wondering how her day was going or what she was doing.
On Tuesday, while I was in Tampa, the first snow had fallen in Chicago, and she casually mentioned that she took a rideshare into the city for work, in case her car decided to give her issues again. She very well could have done the same thing tonight, and if not, and she’s at home, I’ll go there instead.
Because I want to see her.
As much as I shouldn’t, as much as I want to write her off and hold on to old grudges, the truth is, I just want to see her. Now that I’ve admitted to both of us how much I’ve missed her, there’s no use in pretending that I don’t.
The bar is crowded for a Thursday, but it’s not nearly as busy as it was the last time I was here. There are plenty of Raptors’ jerseys, with fans grabbing a drink after the game. On my way to the bar, I get stopped more than I’d like, so I sign a couple autographs, smile for a few pictures, all while trying to get a glimpse past the crowd to see who’s working tonight.