The Player Next Door: A Novel Read online

  He laughs, showing off perfectly straight white teeth. Ugh. He’s even hotter when he laughs. “Listen, I’ll leave the mower in my shed for you. I picked up an extra shift for tomorrow and then I’m away for the rest of the week.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  He smiles. “Don’t miss me too much.”

  “Only if a pipe bursts.” And yet I note a distinct twinge of discontent over his impending absence, an urge to ask him where he’s going, when he’ll be back, and most importantly, who he’ll be with. Collecting my paint supplies, I turn toward my porch, noticing the red fire extinguisher that sits at the top of the steps. A housewarming gift, Shane announced, when he returned from his supply run.

  “You know, I missed you,” he calls out after me.

  “Good.” My chest tightens. What I would have done to hear that, all those years ago. As far as I could tell, I no longer existed to him. But why is he telling me this now?

  “Didn’t you miss me? Even a little bit?”

  Every minute of every day for weeks, even as I sobbed into my pillow, wondering how he could be so cruel, replaying all the visuals of him and Penelope together, until my heart felt like it had shrunk by three sizes and hardened into an impenetrable cast.

  Steeling my nerve, I plaster on an indifferent mask and turn back to find him watching me. “You had your chance with me, Shane Beckett, and you blew it.” With that, I disappear into my house.

  Twelve

  It’s almost 7:00 a.m. when I make my way out to my front yard, still sleepy.

  A flash of silver catches the corner of my eye. A sporty Acura is parked beside Shane’s truck that wasn’t there last night when I went to bed. It looks like he had an overnight guest.

  My gut tightens with the thought of Shane at home screwing someone after flirting so shamelessly and inviting me for dinner. But I guess flirting with me doesn’t mean he isn’t also seeing someone else.

  “Oh, you’ve changed, have you?” I trudge to the garden shed, intent on lashing out at the last of the garden weeds as a way of quashing this unwelcome wave of disappointment, with the proof that Shane is still and always will be a douchebag player.

  The sound of his front door creaking open has me diving behind the overgrown lilac bush between our houses.

  “Call me tonight?” I catch Shane say in a deep, throaty voice.

  “Of course,” a female voice answers sweetly. “Thanks again. I really needed this.”

  “As if I’d ever withhold it from you.”

  I stifle my snort, as my insides burn with jealousy.

  “Drive safe, okay? And call me when you get there.”

  I cower behind the bush as heels click on the stone walkway, moving away from the house. It serves as the perfect shield, allowing me to spy like a lunatic, waiting for the owner of those shoes and sweet words to appear on her walk of shame to her car.

  Long, flame-red hair that stretches halfway down the woman’s back sways as she marches, her emerald-green dress swirling around toned legs. It’s the way she walks that makes my skin prickle with recognition. It’s that same prissy gait of a certain head cheerleader when she was stalking onto the field, pom-poms by her sides.

  Penelope Rhodes.

  The car engine starts with a low purr and, in seconds, she takes off down the driveway, seemingly in a rush.

  They’re civil, huh? Civil enough for Mommy and Daddy to still have the occasional sleepover. I can’t believe it. Shane is still screwing Penelope Rhodes. “You lying sack of shit.” I was right to erect a Shane-proof wall. He’s the same whiskey-eyed phony he was in high school.

  Knuckles rap against my front door.

  “Finally!” I exclaim with equal parts irritation and relief. I’m in a pissy mood. Todd the service technician was supposed to be here between nine and noon, and it’s now after one. I’m heading to school tomorrow to start setting up my classroom. I can’t sit here all day, waiting for him, and if I don’t get my internet and cable hooked up stat, I’m going to kill someone.

  Likely Todd.

  I wipe my palm—smeared with Benjamin Moore CC30—on my sweat-soaked T-shirt and open the door.

  And frown. “Becca?” A much older version of Becca Thompson, anyway.

  “Hey, Scarlet!” she exclaims with a fluttering wave of her hand. Her bright green eyes scan my clothes, my paint-speckled skin, and then my messy topknot before settling on my face. “Long time, no talk, huh?”

  “What are you doing here?” I blurt.

  “Uh …” A nervous laugh escapes her lips. “My mom mentioned me coming by, didn’t she?”

  I struggle to recall what Ann Margaret was prattling on about the other day while I was engrossed with the Hunky Hero auction flyer. What the hell did I agree to?

  “I brought your favorite!” She holds up a plastic Subway sandwich bag. “Turkey club, extra mustard.”

  “That’s my mother’s favorite, not mine,” I say, more to myself. My mother would assume her favorite sandwich is by default my favorite. I don’t even like subs; there’s too much bread.

  “Oh.” Becca’s arm falls to her side, her high spirits deflated.

  Becca did go to the effort, though. But why is the question.

  I force a polite smile. “Did you want to come in?”

  She nods vigorously.

  I lead her into the kitchen, watching her take in every square inch of my humble abode with acute interest. When she catches me staring at her, she smiles brightly. “It’s so cute!”

  “Thanks.” I’d like to think she’s being genuine. She was never evil like Penelope, but she was an enabler all the same, sitting back, saying nothing. “Have a seat.”

  I feel her gaze on me as I pour us each a glass of ice water.

  “You look amazing.”

  I snort, peering down at my ensemble—a baggy blue-and-white charity run T-shirt and a ratty old pair of sweatpants that I turned into shorts by cutting off the legs.

  “You’re super pretty now. I mean, you always were, but you look good with long hair. And you’re crazy fit. Not like me.” She laughs in a self-mocking way, shifting in her chair at my kitchen table. “I wish I could still eat five thousand calories and not gain weight, like back in high school.”

  I can’t help but do another fleeting scan of Becca. She’s still cute, her hair that same warm honey-blond shade but cut to her shoulders and layered; her broad smile is still her best feature. But she has filled out some, her once-skinny cheerleader form morphing into something more akin to her mother’s pear-shaped figure—smaller on top and heavier on the bottom.

  “My mom said you’re going to be teaching at Polson. I’m a teacher there too!” She tries for another round of excessive enthusiasm that reminds me of her younger version, bouncing around on the football field. “It’s my second year. I had fifth grade last year but I’m taking seventh grade this year. Anyway, we’re going to be coworkers, so I thought it’d be a great idea to come by and say hello. I know when I started last year, it was scary. I didn’t know anyone or anything, and a lot of the teachers there have one foot in retirement. They don’t put any more effort in than they have to, so you won’t get much help from them.” She’s rambling. She’s nervous, I realize.

  “That’s nice of you.” I set the glass of water in front of her.

  Becca sighs heavily. “I was a jerk to you in high school. I’m sorry. I don’t have an excuse for it—you never did anything to me.”

  “I never did anything to Penelope either.” It slips out before I can stop myself.

  “Except be Dottie’s daughter. And date Shane for that summer.” She raises her hands in a sign of surrender when she sees my scowl. “Penelope has always been crazy jealous when it comes to him. She went psychotic on me once when Shane gave me a hug!”

  “Really? But you guys are best friends.” As much as I don’t care what happened, I find myself desperate to mine any valuable Shane-related information that I can.

  “We were. Until o
ur first year of college, when everyone was back in town for Thanksgiving. She accused me of trying to steal Shane from her, even though he’d already broken up with her by that point.” Becca shrugs. “What can I say, she showed her true colors. Of course, she blamed her pregnancy hormones, but she hasn’t been pregnant for a long time and she’s still a giant bitch.”

  It takes a moment for her words to register. “Wait, Shane dumped his pregnant girlfriend?” My faces screw up. What kind of asshole does that, even if it is Penelope?

  “He didn’t know she was pregnant when they broke up,” Becca defends. “And she was cheating on him big time.”

  My jaw drops. Penelope cheated on Shane? She had him all to herself and she threw that away for another guy?

  Becca looks at me curiously. “Wait, you didn’t know about all this already?”

  “I left this place behind when college started and didn’t look back.” The only person who could have relayed anything was my mother, and if the story doesn’t involve her as the main character, she tunes out instantly.

  Becca gives me a sympathetic smile. She must have an idea what I was running from, what I’ve gone through with my mother. Everyone knows who Dottie Reed is, but no one knows better than Margaret Ann. “There are still rumors floating around that Cody’s not Shane’s biological son.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Anyway, I cut ties with Penelope after that fiasco. I’ll say hi to be polite if I see her around, but I have no time for mean girls in my life. Especially now that I’m dealing with the pint-sized versions of them. That’s draining enough. It was a bit awkward, though, having Cody in my class.”

  “You taught their son?” I ask absently, my mind working to create a visual of Penelope and Shane’s son. If it’s even Shane’s son.

  “Yeah. Polson Falls is way better than the elementary school in Dover, so they send him here. I had him last year. He’s a good kid, overall, and one of the popular ones, of course. You’ll like teaching him.”

  I choke on my water. “Wait, what do you mean? I’m teaching their son?” Does Shane realize this? I think back to our conversation the other day, about me teaching sixth grade. What did he say again? It was going to be “interesting.” Is that what he meant? Interesting that I’d be teaching Satan’s spawn?

  “Thank God he’s an easy kid, too, because Penelope’s one of those parents. You know, the kind who thinks their kid poops rainbows and should get special treatment.” Becca prattles on, seemingly unaware of my mortified reaction. “And then there was all the drama between her and Shane. She tried to get him back for years. I heard things were really ugly between them for a while. She even used Cody as leverage, threatening to take Shane to court for full custody. Stupid way to say, ‘I love you, please take me back,’ right? At one point, I heard Shane refused to be in the same room as her. I don’t blame him. But, she’s finally over him. Thank God, for Cody’s sake, more than anyone.” She tsks. “Poor kid.”

  “Are you sure she’s over him?” I ask warily.

  “Oh, yeah.” Becca’s head bobs furtively. “She’s pretty serious about Travis. That’s the guy she’s living with now.”

  Does Shane know this? Of course, he must. They share a son. Does he care that she’s screwing them both? Or, a small hopeful voice preens in the back of my mind, is it possible that I’ve totally misinterpreted that exchange between them on the porch this morning?

  “It’s what I heard from Josie Hilton, anyway, and she always knows the good gossip.” Becca starts listing names of people I might remember—with much younger kids than Cody—but I’m still stuck on this flood of new information. Will I have to sit across from my desk at parent-teacher conferences and act like the three of us don’t have any history? Do Shane and Penelope come together or does Penelope handle the school stuff?

  Will she remember me?

  Will she still be an enormous bitch?

  “Crazy, huh?” Becca asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Yeah. Crazy,” I mumble in agreement. This entire situation is getting more complicated by the day. “I had no idea Shane was going to be my neighbor until the day I moved in.” And now I can’t seem to escape him.

  “Bet that was a nice surprise.” Becca’s eyes light up with amusement.

  “It was definitely a surprise. I wouldn’t call it a nice one.”

  She grimaces. “Has he said anything at all about what a jerk he was to you back then?”

  “He apologized.” I shrug, playing it off as no big deal. Because it shouldn’t be. And yet hearing Becca acknowledge his appalling behavior makes me feel oddly better. Maybe I wasn’t entirely invisible to everyone my senior year.

  “I think losing his NFL dreams and becoming a dad knocked his ego down a few pegs. He’s actually turned into a nice guy. Helps out a lot around the community. He’s always part of any charity events.”

  “Being a nice guy was never Shane’s problem.” He was always nice, especially to the female population. Even when he was crushing their hearts.

  “Right.” Her lips twist. “He’s still a huge flirt. It doesn’t look like he’s in a rush to settle down.”

  What does that mean? Is he fucking every eligible woman in a hundred-mile radius of Polson Falls? Offering a side of dick with every smoke alarm test? I’m beginning to sound like Justine.

  Becca drops her voice conspiratorially. “He’s the big ticket at the charity auction every year. Raises a ton of money.”

  “Oh my God.” I shake my head as the pieces click. I can’t believe I hadn’t put them together already. Shane’s a firefighter, and hot as hell. Of course he’d prostitute himself for the children. Does it stop at dinner and a movie with his prize winner, though?

  At least my mother can’t afford him.

  “They can fall over him all they want. No, thanks. I’m over that.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Again, with that sympathetic wince. “But, hey, we all did stupid stuff back then. You wouldn’t believe half the things the kids are doing these days, and they’re not even teenagers yet. There are a couple you need to be ready for.” She waves the turkey sub she brought, as if trying to tempt me.

  Pushing aside my wariness at this new connection—or rather reconnection—I settle into the chair across from Becca. It’ll be nice to start my new job with an ally.

  Thirteen

  Shane’s truck rolls into his driveway at seven on Monday, the night before school starts, as I’m deadheading the last of my late-blooming Shasta daisies—thank you, Polson Falls Public Library, gardening section, for helping me identify what’s on my property and what the hell to do with them.

  Ever since my lunch with Becca, I’ve been replaying what I saw and heard that morning on Shane’s porch in hopes that I misinterpreted it, and telling myself that I don’t care either way.

  The truth is, I must care, because I’m still thinking about it.

  And despite every intelligent fiber in my body telling me I don’t care that Shane is home, I can’t ignore this hum of excitement that ignites inside me, seeing him again.

  He hops out and stretches his arms over his head, as if cramped from a long drive.

  “Holy shit …” Wherever he took off to, it didn’t involve basic grooming. His jaw is covered in a thick layer of stubble, only adding to the wild mane of unkempt wavy hair atop his head.

  He spots me in my yard and tosses a casual wave before heading over with a confident, relaxed swagger.

  “Where on earth have you been?” I eye his loose tank top, trying my best to focus on the dirt streaks on his arm and not on the muscle that’s peeking out along the sides.

  “Camping. Upstate New York.” He loops his thumbs in the low arm holes of his top, pulling the cotton far enough away to flash me a glimpse of his impressive chest.

  I swallow against the sudden dryness in my mouth and avert my gaze farther south to his powerful legs. Nothing hints of his devastating knee injury except for the surgical scar obscured beneath dark hair.
“Like, camping camping?”

  He grins. “Like sleeping bag under the stars, catching our dinner in the lake, sitting by the fire. Just me and a bunch of the guys.”

  So, no women, I note, with far too much relief.

  I sniff. A waft of smoke, bug spray, and sweat touch my nostrils. “Yeah, smells like it.” Oddly enough, on Shane, it’s far from unpleasant.

  He bursts out in laughter, his eyes twinkling mischievously as they roam over my yard. “You finished painting.”

  “Yeah.” Not just the fence, but my living room, and front hall too. It’s amazing what a fresh coat of a neutral gray can do.

  “Looks really good, Scar. Hasn’t looked this good in years.”

  I smile. “Thanks.” This exchange is … nice. Civil.

  And yet is it just me or is the air between us electric?

  “So, you ready for your first day tomorrow?”

  “I think so.” Becca has turned out to be a godsend. She helped me navigate around the school, introducing me to staff and procedures so I could swiftly set up my room. Then, this past Saturday night, she arrived on my porch with a bottle of wine and her class picture, to walk me through my students, highlighting the brown-nosers and the troublemakers, the ones with challenges at home, the best friends and worst enemies, the frenemies.

  Cody was in the class picture too. He looks like Penelope, save for his brown hair.

  I hesitate. “I’m teaching Cody this year.” Wendy Redwood handed me my class list and there it was—Cody Rhodes.

  I’m not sure what reaction I was expecting from Shane with this news—perhaps a cringe, at how awkward this might be? But he smiles secretively. “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Yeah. Maybe having a hot teacher will finally make that kid want to go to school.”

  My stomach flips. There he goes, flirting again. Does he realize what it does to me?

  Of course, he does.

  “Good luck tomorrow.” With a wink, he turns to head back toward his house, his track shorts clinging to his ass.