Page 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.

I haven’t spotted her yet, so I weave my way through the bodies and high-top tables, finally making it to an empty stool tucked under the far corner of the bar top.

Ken Doll is taking orders, and another girl is working the well. There’s no Hallie, though.

I’m standing from my seat to go find her at home when the side door swings open. Hallie steps through, arms full of multiple different bottles of liquor from what must be the storage space.

My chest does this annoying tightening thing that it’s only done when I was a teenager, and the nerves instantly ramp up. They’re excited nerves though, not the uncomfortable or scared ones.

It’s no secret that I haven’t exactly been smooth in my attempts to meet someone else in hopes of convincing myself that Hallie wasn’t my person. I’m shit at talking to most women outside of the safety of the friend zone.

But I’ve never been anyone but myself with Hallie. Smooth, awkward, it didn’t matter. That’s part of the beauty of us growing up together, I guess. We’ve always known exactly who the other is. There was no need to try to be someone we weren’t.

Hallie doesn’t see me immediately. Her eyes are locked on the labels of the bottles, organizing the new ones behind the already opened ones, lining them up to be used next. She’s concentrating on the final whiskey bottle when someone shouts my name loud enough for the entire bar to hear.

“Rio DeLuca!” some big, drunk dude hollers, stomping over and throwing his arm around me. “Huge fan!”

Hallie whips around, quickly scanning the bar before her eyes finally land on me.

I wear my most innocent smile when she finds me.

I’ve got this giant guy hanging on me, telling me how big of a fan he is, but I’ve got all my attention locked on her.

“Do you come here a lot?” he asks me.

I’m still looking right at her. “I have a feeling I’ll be here quite a bit going forward.”

She rolls her eyes, shakes her head, and looks away, but I see that smile fighting to break through.

“Man,” the big dude says. “I’ve got to get a picture. My buddies aren’t going to believe I saw you.” He holds out his phone and takes a selfie of us before I can agree or disagree. “Okay, I’m going to leave you alone and make sure no one bothers you for the rest of the night.”

He moves a couple of feet away, at the same time pushing a few other patrons too, leaving me with my own private corner of the bar.

My focus is still lasered in on Hallie’s back as she returns to organizing the bottles. Painted-on black jeans stretch over her ass before flaring out over her thighs, stopping just above the ankle where a shiny gold anklet lays. She’s got this funky, brightly colored sweater on, and her short hair is half pulled up in a bun.

“Are you ignoring me?” I ask.

“I’m working.”

Reaching up on her toes, she slides a new bottle behind a partially used one. Her sweater rides up, giving me a full view of her heart-shaped ass before the denim cuts in around the waist.

“That’s fine. Lovely view from this angle.”

She looks over her shoulder and I let her catch me checking her out.

Turning, she comes down from her toes, pulling her sweater to cover her stomach, but all that does is draw my attention to the dip of the neckline where a black lace bralette peeks out.

Yes, I know what a bralette is, thanks to the girls’ nights I’ve been a part of over the years. I’ve learned some crazy shit from those get-togethers.

I lean my elbows on the bar top, pushing myself forward, towards her. “Crazy seeing you here.”

She crosses her arms on the bar, mirroring my position. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Water.”

She lifts a brow.

“I’m not exactly here for the booze.” My eyes drop down to her lips. “What time are you off?”

She tries to hide it, but I catch her attention flicking to my own mouth as I speak, and it takes everything in me not to ask if she changed her mind about that kiss.

She pushes herself off the bar, simultaneously pulling her attention away from my mouth to scan the room.

“I’m not sure yet. Depends on when things start slowing down.” Hallie scoops ice into a cup and tops it with water from the soda gun. “Nice game tonight, thirty-eight,” she says as she sets the glass on a coaster in front of me before nodding to the TV in the corner playing our local sports network. “You looked good out there.”

That thing happens in my chest again, and suddenly I feel like a kid, knowing she watched me play, hoping I impressed her.

“No jersey?” I ask, nodding towards her colorful sweater.

“Not until you tell me why you changed your number.” She lets that statement hang to see if I take the bait, but I don’t. “And besides, you’ve got plenty of other people wearing your jersey in here.”

I hold eye contact. “Kind of only care about one.”

A laugh bubbles out of her. “When did you become such a smooth flirt?”

“Smooth? That part pretty much only happens with you. The flirting part of that question really hasn’t done much for me over the years.”

She shrugs. “Always worked on me.”

Those lips tilt into a knowing smile and fuck me if I don’t want to lean right over this bar and kiss them. Kiss her.

“All right.” She wipes down the work area around her before tucking the towel into the back pocket of her jeans. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Okay. I’ll be here.” I lean back in my chair, bringing my glass to my mouth.

“Wait. You’re just going to sit there while I work?”

I nod.

“Why?” She seems genuinely confused with those brows pinched together and her nose scrunched.

And that makes two of us because only a couple of months ago I thought I’d never see her again, and now I don’t want to let her out of my sight.

I shrug casually as if the answer were obvious. “I already told you, Hal. I missed you.”