The Player Next Door: A Novel Page 6

  I’m sizing up the shovel and the spade, deciding which I should be using for my task, when Shane’s front door creaks open. My heart instantly races, despite my best attempt to not care. I busy myself, pretending to be enthralled by the hoe as I listen to his keys jangle with his steps.

  If Shane notices me, he doesn’t look my way. A moment later, I hear a door slam and an engine roar to life. His pickup truck eases down the driveway, Shane behind the wheel, his forearm resting out the open window, his skin looking golden against a cerulean T-shirt. He must be heading off to work. Curiosity overwhelms me. What does Shane do with his days? What happened to his promising football career?

  I guess I could find out if I would just talk to him.

  If I cared enough to ask.

  Which I most certainly do not.

  With a resolute sigh, I grab the shovel and set to work.

  I keep my attention on my brushstrokes, pretending not to notice Shane’s truck pulling into the driveway at half past eight the next morning. He didn’t come home at all yesterday, and he’s wearing the same T-shirt he left in.

  I ignore the way my pulse races, instead dipping my paintbrush into the can of white paint as I warn my idiotic hormones. You remember what happened the last time you got mixed up with that. It didn’t end well then either. My gaze remains locked on my work as his truck door slams shut, but from the corner of my eye, I see the lone figure strolling across the lawn, toward me.

  “Morning!”

  I stifle my sigh. I decided over the last twenty-four hours that polite indifference is the best way to handle Shane going forward, seeing as I do have to live next to him. “Good morning.”

  “You’ve been busy.” He studies the length of the fence. “It’s looking good.”

  “Thanks. I’m taking a break from scraping paint and hammering nails. And a few fingers.” I hold up my injured hand that I spent last night icing. I’m probably going to lose my thumbnail.

  He cringes. “Give me ten and I’ll come help you.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t be stubborn. We’ll get it done twice as fast together.”

  Finally, I dare meet his eyes. They’re as rich and golden as always, though touched by dark circles and weariness. “You sure you’re up for it? Seems like you had an eventful night.” Screwing someone.

  “Nah, work was pretty slow.”

  “You were at work? Since yesterday morning?” My voice is laced with sarcasm. His eyebrows arch and I feel compelled to add, “Your truck is loud. I heard you leave.”

  “Oh.” He nods slowly. “Well, yeah, shifts at the fire station are twenty-four hours long.”

  Fire station. I frown. “Wait. You’re a firefighter?”

  He smirks. “Why do you say it like that?”

  That did sound snarky. “No reason. It’s just … for Polson Falls?”

  He laughs, as if my surprise is amusing. “For the whole county. Yeah.”

  “Huh.” Star quarterback with a football scholarship and a shiny future ends up back in this tiny town, working for the local fire department? When was the last time there was a real emergency around here? I don’t know what to say, so I settle on, “I can’t see it being too busy for you guys, like, ever.”

  “I’ll have you know, I’ve saved more than a few distressed kittens in my day.” He winks. “It’s a real crowd-pleaser.”

  “Not as much as the calendar, I’ll bet,” I mutter before I can bite my tongue. Apparently, the models aren’t all old and portly.

  “Yeah, that’s earned me a few dates too.” That grin of his turns downright devilish. “How about I bring you a signed copy later?”

  “I prefer the one I have, thanks.” As a gag, Justine gave me an eighteen-month calendar with pictures of various insects mating because I hate bugs and she’s an asshole. Ironically, I’ve found the skillfully taken pictures of spiders and centipedes getting busy helpful in dealing with my phobia.

  Plus, the last thing I need to do is feed Shane’s ego by accepting that offer. I’ll just privately google the images later. They must be online somewhere. “So, whatever happened to football, anyway? You were good.” I thought the NFL was a given. The guy was throwing sixty yards with acute precision at seventeen years old.

  His playful grin wavers a touch. “I blew out my knee sophomore year. Surgery, physical therapy, the whole bit. That was basically a career-ender for me.”

  Shit. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well …” He shrugs. “That’s life, right?”

  “But you’re okay now?”

  He bends his knee, as if on instinct to test it. “Enough to haul bodies out of burning buildings, yeah.”

  Has he ever had to do that? A question for another time, perhaps. Especially when I have so many others to ask. “Why back to Polson Falls, though?” Of all the places he could have landed, why back here?

  He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth in a pensive look. “You really didn’t keep in touch with anyone, did you?”

  I shake my head mutely.

  “Because of Cody.” He lets a beat pass. “My son.”

  My mouth drops open.

  “I share custody with his mom. The Red Devil.” He starts backing away, heading for his house. “Let me grab a quick shower and then I’ll be out to help you with that other side, so you don’t lose any more fingers. I think you’ll need those to write on the chalkboard, Ms. Reed.”

  I stare after his sleek body as he disappears inside without a backward glance, as if he’s avoiding the aftermath of the bomb he just dropped.

  Shane has a son?

  With Penelope Rhodes?

  My stomach clenches as if it’s taken a hard punch.

  Ten

  “A kid?”

  “I know.” An hour later and I’m still trying to come to terms with the knowledge that Shane had a baby. The fact that it was with Penelope—that they share something so special together—makes me want to hurl. She was a vicious bitch back then, and I’m having a hard time believing she’s gone through a complete metamorphosis since.

  “When? How old is he? Did they get married?” Justine fires off question after question.

  I shake my head in answer, though she can’t see it through the phone. “I don’t know. He came over and went straight to work on the other side of the fence. I’m not going to yell across the lawn, drilling him for details.”

  “But they’re over?”

  “He said they’re ‘civil,’ whatever that means.” Maybe civil after a divorce? Ugh. Just imagining him marrying her—him, down on one knee, professing his undying love—and them having a baby together makes my chest ache.

  “So …” There’s a long pause on the other side of the call. “Is he nailing your fence nice and hard?”

  “And she’s back.” I chuckle, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Shane’s not within earshot. Thankfully he’s far on the other side of my front yard, his concentration on a wobbly fence post, brushing the sweat from his forehead with his biceps. It’s half past ten and already sweltering hot. “Remind me why I called you again?”

  “Because I’m your best friend and this was too good to keep to yourself,” Justine retorts. “Plus you want my advice.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah. On what it’s like to bang a dad.”

  “Please tell me, oh wise one,” I mock wryly, playing into whichever dirty direction Justine decides to take this. No matter how somber the mood, I can always count on her to lighten it up with appalling jokes and sexual innuendo, delivered in that Bostonian accent that somehow adds to the punch line.

  “Well, I am the expert, after all.”

  “What’s Bill’s kid’s name again?” I tease. Bill has a five-year-old daughter from his first marriage who lives in a Boston suburb. He sees her one weekend a month and over holidays, a painful trade-off he had to accept when he moved to New York for his job. Justine could count on one hand the number of nights she
’s spent with the two of them.

  “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you need to make sure you call him Daddy while you’re riding him. Repeatedly. Extra points if you scream it while you’re coming.”

  “Ew! No!”

  “I do it to Bill all the time.”

  “And he likes that?” I cringe.

  “Oh, no. He hates it. Once, he couldn’t even finish.”

  I snort. “You are evil.”

  “I know,” she hisses conspiratorially.

  “Scarlet?”

  I jump at the sound of Shane’s voice right behind me. I didn’t hear him approaching. “Yeah?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were on the phone.”

  “No, it’s okay. It’s only Justine. What’s up?”

  He gestures behind him with a thumb. “That last post by the house is rotten. It’s soft all around the base. I should replace it before it takes the whole section down.”

  “I’ll bet Shane’s base isn’t soft right now,” Justine purrs seductively in my ear.

  I purse my lips, struggling not to burst out laughing as heat crawls up my neck. “Is that hard to do?”

  “So hard, big daddy,” Justine answers.

  “Shut up!” I hiss into the phone, a giggle escaping before I stifle it.

  Shane’s brow pinches curiously. “Nah, not the way this fence was put together. I’ll have to take down the section first, but it’ll be fine.”

  “That’d be … thanks.” Is he this helpful with everyone? Why didn’t he do all this for Iris when she was here? Maybe because he wasn’t hoping to screw her, that cynical voice in my head warns.

  He pushes a hand through his wavy hair, sending it into disarray. “No problem. I’m going to grab a water and then head over to the mill. You want one?”

  “Yes! Oh yes! Give it to me, Daddy! Yes!” Justine moans into my ear, and by the surprised look that flashes across Shane’s face, loud enough that it carried to him.

  “Still have mine.” I wave my half-empty bottle in the air, my cheeks flushing.

  He flashes a deep-dimpled smile and strides past.

  “What is wrong with you?” I ask as soon as Shane is out of earshot.

  “Where shall I begin?”

  My eyes trail after Shane, admiring his body, his walk, his everything. “Oh God …” I mutter, more to myself. I’m in deep trouble.

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. This is horrible. I’m like a hormonal teenager again.” Except one who wouldn’t have any control over her sexual urges around this guy. We’re not teenagers anymore, though. We’re two adults living next door to each other. He’s a hot single dad who rescues kittens and is handy with home repairs.

  Shane suddenly turns to look back at me.

  “Shit.” I drop my gaze, pretending to focus on my picket fence. “I just got caught staring.”

  “Good.”

  I scowl. “What do you mean, good? How is that good?”

  “What’s he doing now?”

  I hazard a glance back. “He’s almost at his porch stairs. And I think he’s … yeah.” I watch slack-jawed as he reaches over his head and pulls his T-shirt up and over his head, revealing that golden tan and corded muscle. He must spend his days at the fire station working out to have a body like that. “He just took off his shirt.” He wipes the cotton over the back of his neck and then tosses it over the railing. “And now he’s gone inside.”

  “So, Daddy’s made the first game move. Your turn.”

  “What? No, he’s just hot and sweaty. And stop calling him that. It’s creepy.”

  Justine cackles. “Bullshit. He knows you want him.”

  “I do not want him.”

  “Really? How’s that fence coming?”

  I look down to see that I’ve been brushing the same spot since I got on the phone with Justine ten minutes ago. “You’ve been distracting me.”

  “Please, a newborn baby could see through your lies.”

  “Fine. He’s hot as hell,” I admit. “But I don’t want anything to happen between us.”

  “Why not?”

  “You mean besides our past?”

  “From a hundred years ago? Yeah. Besides that.” She sounds irritated with me.

  It throws me off. “Well … because of my fake relationship with Joe, for one thing.”

  Her loud bark fills my ear.

  “What? It’s safe!”

  “How long do you think you can keep that going before you just look pathetic?”

  “I was aiming for Christmas?”

  “Scarlet, stop being stupid!”

  “No, getting involved with Shane would be stupid. Russian roulette-level stupid.” He imploded my life once and that was enough, thanks.

  “Okay, well, when you’re ready to stop being a shrew and have some fun, let me know. I’ll give you some tips. Not that you need any, you little minx.”

  With an exasperated sigh, I end the call and turn my attention back to my task, shifting over to the next picket just as Shane’s door creaks open and he strolls out.

  I keep my head down while my eyes strain so I can stare inconspicuously at the ridges of his hard torso. He pauses on the top porch step to suck back half his water, giving me ample time to admire the way his throat pulses over his swallows.

  At some point, I stop pretending not to watch. At some point, I start gaping openly.

  “Come with me to the mill!” he hollers, pulling on a fresh T-shirt. He takes his time pushing his arms through the sleeves before sliding it over his head and sauntering to his truck. His beautiful, chiseled body disappears behind a veil of white cotton, much to my dismay.

  I finally break free from my embarrassing gawk fest. “I should stay. I want to get this side done today.” And get my tongue firmly back in my mouth.

  “Suit yourself. Be back in a bit.” He climbs into his truck. “Hey, do you have a fire extinguisher in your house?”

  “No? Why?” Is he about to suggest I go put myself out? Am I that obvious?

  “Everyone should have one. Just in case.”

  Oh, right. He’s a firefighter. “’Kay, Safety Sam. I’ll get right on it.” I mock salute, earning his head shake as he cranks his engine.

  I watch as he coasts down the driveway, his tanned arm resting on the open window.

  Deep dimples pierce his cheeks as he grins at me.

  Maybe Justine is right. Maybe we have started playing a game. If so, I’m pretty sure Shane’s several points ahead.

  Eleven

  “Done?”

  I drop the brush in the empty can and pull myself off the grassy ground with a heavy sigh. “For today.” I’ll need to buy another can of paint to finish the last side.

  Shane stands next to me, his arms folded across his broad chest as he surveys my yard. “It’s a big improvement.”

  “Yeah, it is.” I still don’t know what those fuchsia and mauve flowers are, but the petals are popping against the crisp white paint and the freshly churned and weeded soil. “Now I just need to find someone to cut my grass until I can afford a mower.”

  “Borrow mine whenever you want. I’ll leave it out for you.”

  I hesitate. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

  Shane secured every loose picket, something that would have taken me another two days—and likely many more injuries—to do, and I wouldn’t have done it half as well. He also replaced the post, which required a lot of digging in ninety-five-degree heat, which resulted in him taking his shirt off again and me painting half my hand while my tongue lolled out again.

  All this, after having worked a twenty-four-hour shift.

  A giant check mark added to the “Just give him another chance, you bitter shrew” box.

  “Tired?” I ask, though all I have to do is look in his eyes and see the answer.

  “I never sleep well at the station. Too many snorers.” He smiles sheepishly and checks his phone. “I’m gonna grab an
hour or two before dinner.” He starts moving toward his house, and I admire the way his damp T-shirt clings to his shoulders as he walks away, wishing he hadn’t put it back on.

  I’m not ready to part with that view yet.

  “I’m throwing in a lasagna for dinner. It’s nothing great but you should come over and help me eat it,” he hollers, as if reading my mind.

  Dinner with Shane would be nice. Why shouldn’t I say yes? It’d be rude to not accept. And we seem to be getting along. We’d talk, we’d laugh. He’d tell me all about his son. He’d acknowledge what an idiot he was for leaving me for Penelope all those years ago and then strip off his clothes, fall to his knees, and beg me to forgive him. And I’d get to feel the thread count of his sheets against my bare skin.

  Shit. Look how easily I let that train of thought go down an indecent path.

  “I can’t. I have plans tonight,” I lie.

  He nods, and I might be wrong, but I think his furrowed forehead hints at disappointment. “You going out somewhere in town?”

  “Not sure yet,” I answer vaguely. “Any recommendations?”

  “Try Route Sixty-Six—the old Luigi’s by the river. They opened a few years ago.”

  “Luigi’s closed down?” That restaurant was there forever.

  “Yeah. Luigi had a heart attack in the middle of a busy Saturday night shift. Dropped dead in the dining room. We were the first ones there.” A somber look fills his face. “I hate those shifts.”

  “I guess so.” How many people has Shane saved? How many has he lost? Is he happy in his life?

  “Anyway, you should check it out. We go there a lot. Friday nights are popular. They’ve been doing really well.”

  “Maybe I’ll try it.”

  “So, rain check on that lasagna, then?” He watches me, a hopeful glint in his eye that looks adorable.

  “We’ll see,” I say noncommittally, nodding toward his house. “Get some sleep. The kittens of Polson Falls are counting on you.”