“It’s just a little farther,” I say, continuing down the brick street.
At least, I think it is. I looked this location up months ago, when I first moved to Boston, but I’ve never been before. When Saylor suggested getting another drink after we finished dinner at an Italian restaurant, this seemed like a perfect opportunity to go.
“You’ve been saying that for ten minutes,” Beck grouses, but he and Saylor continue after me.
I glance over my shoulder and grin at him. “Tired,Kaiser?”
“Yes,” he replies grumpily.
Saylor and Beck—and Gigi—are only in Boston for one more night. They stopped here specifically to see me rather than fly into Atlanta, like they normally do as part of their annual trip to Saylor’s hometown. Will’s brother, Tripp, offered to watch Gigi for the night so that Saylor and Beck could enjoy a parents’ night out.
Weirdly, despite us seeing less of each other than ever before, I feel closer to Beck now than before I got injured. Most of our phone conversations have centered around topics other than football, which was rarely the case when we were playing together. I’ve always been closer to Beck than any other guy on the team. He mentored me, offered me advice and insight, as soon as I joined the team. At the time, it was widely considered that Stefan Herrmann would be in goal for the foreseeable future. Beck was one of the few who bet I’d be starting sooner. It’s nice to know our friendship extends beyond being teammates, especially now that he has a family of his own.
“Paul Rebeer’s?” Saylor laughs, spotting the sign ahead. “That’s awesome.”
I exhale, relieved to have found it.
The wood-paneled pub is loud and busy. A trivia game is taking place in one corner, and the tall stools along the length of the bar are all occupied.
Saylor and Beck head for a back booth while I split off to use the restroom. There’s only one, with a line, so I lean against the wall to wait my turn, surveying the vintage sports pennants attached to the wall. The first team I look for is the Siege, finding a teal triangle tucked in the bottom right.
My phone keeps buzzing in my pocket—Will and Sophia responding to the photos Saylor sent during dinner, I’m guessing. I don’t pull it out to check.
The last time we talked, Will mentioned plans for another trip to Boston this summer. He also asked how much longer I’d be in Boston.
I made some vague response about needing to talk with the Siege coaching staff.
It’s late May. I have three months before Kluvberg’s preseason begins. By the time it does, I need to be the same player I was when my injury happened.
In a few weeks, my role on the Siege will officially end. Past that point, there’s no requirement for me to stay in this city. I could book a flight home. Could have already been back in Kluvberg if I’d taken Eliza up on her offer last week.
The bathroom door opens. The brunette woman exiting holds the door for me, appraising me with a lingering look that I respond to with a polite smile before ducking inside the small restroom.
Back in the main section of the bar, I scan the crowd for Saylor and Beck. Before I find my friends, I spot a guy who looks vaguely familiar. I stare, trying to place him, until he leans back and reveals the woman seated next to him. I glance away, looking around the bar with renewed interest.
Claire’s standing at one end of the bar, elbows leaning on the shiny wood as she chats with a dark-haired man with a white towel slung over one shoulder. His grin is familiar—and instantly pisses me off. I’m walking that way before the bartender turns toward the rows of bottles, pushing through the crowd of people who couldn’t find seats or opted to stand.
I sidle up next to her, purposefully knocking my elbow into her arm.
She glances over, irritation, then confusion, and finally recognition spreading across her face. “What-what are you doing here?”
I rest an elbow on the counter, angling my body toward hers and using the bar’s busyness as an excuse to lean closer. “If I buy you a drink, will you insist on paying me back?”
“Yes.” She’s fighting a smile though, tapping a credit card against the counter. “Technically, Josh is paying anyway. We were going to come here last weekend, after Tommy’s party, but looking after twenty five-year-olds for four hours was kind of exhausting.”
“So, Josh can buy you a drink, but I cannot?”
“Exactly.” She purses her lips, glancing around the immediate vicinity. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”
“I am with Saylor and Beck. We went to dinner, and then Saylor suggested getting another drink. So, we came here.”
“Oh.” She relaxes some, and I wonder if she thought I was here on a date. “That’s a…coincidence.”
“Not really.”
A furrow appears on her forehead. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you are the one who told me about this place. I did not know you would be here tonight, but it is why I chose it.”
