The Player Next Door: A Novel Page 8

  I can’t help myself; I need to know. It’s been driving me insane. “So, you and the Red Devil are still a thing?”

  His feet stall. “What?”

  I instantly regret saying anything. “Nothing.”

  He turns, his face filled with confusion. “No, seriously. What are you talking about?”

  I sigh. “I saw Penelope at your house before you left. Early.”

  Realization dawns over his face and he laughs. “No, we’re not together. She’s living with another guy. Has been for almost two years.”

  “So, what was that about?” If it was a booty call, he wouldn’t admit it to me, would he? I watch him closely.

  “She stopped by on her way to work to get me to sign some paperwork.”

  “Paperwork,” I repeat doubtfully. “At 7:00 a.m.”

  “Yeah. So she could take Cody to Montreal to visit her friend. I had to sign an authorization letter that said I was aware she was taking him across the border.”

  My mouth drops open as whatever skeptical retort I was going to throw out dies on my tongue.

  I really needed this.

  As if I’d ever withhold it from you.

  They were talking about a stupid form for their son.

  I struggle to squash my sigh of relief, but I suddenly feel a hundred pounds lighter. Maybe he isn’t still the douchebag player, after all.

  Shane saunters back over to the fence, his palm sliding along the post as if testing the smoothness of my paint job. “I’m not with Penelope. I’ll never be with Penelope again,” he says slowly, clearly, as if to make sure I can’t possibly misinterpret that. “I’d rather saw my own dick off then let it anywhere near that woman.”

  I wince. “That’s a tad drastic.” And it would be tragic, if what I saw while spying from my window is any indication.

  “That’s how serious I am.” His hard expression amplifies his words. “The only thing I don’t regret about her is Cody. I’ll never regret him.”

  Even if he’s not really yours? Does Shane question it? Does he know one way or the other?

  So not a question I can ask at this stage in our neighborly relationship.

  He sighs heavily. “Do you think you can try to forgive me for the stupid, regrettable shit I did when I was seventeen, and give me a chance to at least be your friend?” He emphasizes the “at least,” as if he’s gunning for more. Or maybe that’s what I want to hear.

  I swallow. The last few days have been enlightening for me, especially now that Becca and I are on the path to camaraderie once again. If I can’t forgive this man for something he did when we were still kids, maybe I deserve to be labeled a shrew. “When you say it like that …”

  The smile that takes over his face is devastating. “You know, you seemed bothered a minute ago. Like you care who I’m with. Or care that I’m with anyone.”

  “I don’t.” I adjust my tone so it doesn’t sound so clipped—so false. “You can do whatever you want. Or whoever you want,” I add, on impulse. “If you don’t mind, though, can you close your bedroom curtains on those nights?” Because I’d hate to catch a glimpse of it, no matter what lies I tell myself about Shane being with another woman not bothering me.

  His eyes narrow as recognition sets in.

  I’ve just outed myself.

  Yes, you’ve undressed in front of your uncovered window.

  Yes, your neighbor knows you sleep naked.

  Yes, she’s a peeping Jane.

  “Only on those nights?” he finally asks. He doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed.

  I, on the other hand, feel the back of my neck burning. “I’m broke. I need free entertainment.” I make a point of ogling him. “You’ll do, I guess.” What am I doing? Am I flirting with Shane? Have I gone mad?

  He crouches opposite me, meeting me at eye level across my picket fence, his powerful, shapely shoulders within reach of my fingertips.

  “What?” I ask warily.

  He hesitates. “What if I said I wanted you?”

  My traitorous heart hammers inside my chest, the possibility that Shane is pursuing me again far too thrilling given our past. I wasn’t expecting that. It’s bold. Then again, Shane never lacked confidence.

  I try to play it off with a derisive snort. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He peers intently at me. “What if I said I wasn’t?”

  There are too many what-ifs in this conversation. Yet, the way he’s acting right now—his heated gaze darting to my mouth, his lips parted, his breathing audible—I’d say his intentions are far from wishy-washy. None of it matters, though.

  I steel my spine. “I told you, you can’t have me again.”

  “Is it because you have a boyfriend?”

  “I don’t have—” Oh, fuck. Joe. I keep forgetting about him. “No. Not because of him. We broke up anyway.” Why did I just say that? Joe was a solid alibi.

  “You don’t seem too upset about that.”

  I shrug. “It was inevitable. Long distance and all.”

  He seems to weigh that for a moment. “So, you’re single again?”

  I’m struggling to suppress my smile. Shane so blatantly pursuing me isn’t as easy to shrug off as I expected. “More like happily unattached.”

  “Is it because you’re not attracted to me anymore?” He manages a straight face for all of two seconds before it splits into a smug grin.

  I can’t help my laugh, even as my cheeks flush. We both know damn well that I am; he’s caught me gawking too many times to argue otherwise. “Someone came back from his brush with nature loving himself a bit too much.” I’m sure it serves him well when he’s posing for calendars and selling his wares on stage for charity come December.

  “Nah.” He reaches out to snap a spent Shasta daisy off its stem. “I just had a lot of time to think about things while I was away. About things I want in life.”

  My pulse races. What does that mean? What things? Shane was thinking about us while away? About me? Becca said he didn’t seem to be in any rush to settle down, but has that changed?

  He rests his arms over the top of the fence and stares at me, and there is a knowing glint in his eye. A challenge. He’s waiting for me to say more. Or maybe he’s expecting me to melt into a puddle at the slightest sign of his interest.

  Been there, done that. I won’t allow myself to be that girl again. But I’m also realizing that I don’t want to be at odds with Shane anymore.

  “I’d be willing to try to make friends work,” I offer. “But just know that I don’t trust you. I probably never will.”

  “Never? Seriously?” He winces. “But it was so long ago.”

  “It doesn’t matter how long ago it was.” I hesitate. “You hurt me.” It’s terrifying to declare that to him, as if I’m making myself vulnerable.

  He licks his lips. “There’s not much I can say except that I’m sorry. If I could go back in time, I’d do a lot of things differently.” He adds that last part quietly, more to himself.

  It’s comforting to hear him apologize—again—but he’s right. We can’t change the past. “Let’s just keep things as they are, okay? Simple.” And brimming with sexual tension.

  His piercing eyes are locked on mine. “If that’s what you want.”

  What I want at this moment is to trail him into his shower and help scrub every inch of sweat and grime off his tanned, hard body. With my tongue. “We’re neighbors. And you have a kid with Penelope.” I can’t hide the appalling tone from my voice when I say her name. “And I’m Cody’s teacher.” Is there something in the rule book about screwing your student’s father?

  “So, let’s not complicate things. I get it.” He sighs with reluctance, the sound boosting my confidence. “I guess I can do just friends.”

  Let’s hope I can.

  I take in his features, focusing on the scruff along his jawline. I’m not sure if I prefer him this way, or clean-shaven. “You’re not keeping this thing, are you?” Impulse possesses me,
and I reach up to drag tentative fingertips through the bristle, testing its prickliness. What would it feel like to have that scraping along the insides of my thighs?

  Shane leans into my touch, his lips parting.

  I pull my hand back as if I’ve stroked an open flame. Touching Shane is just as dangerous.

  “What are you thinking about?” Goddammit, his voice has turned husky.

  I’m thinking that remembering why I shouldn’t get tangled up with Shane Beckett again is getting harder with each passing moment. “That you really should grab that shower.” I sniff and curl my nose for effect, though he doesn’t smell that bad for a guy who spent days sleeping in a campground.

  A low, deep chuckle reverberates in his chest. With a heavy sigh, he climbs to his feet. “Do I need to draw my curtains tonight or can you control yourself?”

  “Depends what you’re doing in there.” I’m flirting again. While I should be appalled by myself, instead a thrill courses through me.

  He flashes a mischievous grin—and those dimples—as he backs away. “I’ll be thinking about a certain elementary school teacher. Should be a good one-man show.”

  Oh my god. He actually went there. “Friends don’t masturbate about friends!” I holler after him, his sordid promise warming my thighs.

  A gasp sounds. I turn to catch the dirty look from a couple as they walk past, their beagle pausing long enough to lift his leg against my freshly painted fence. Son of a …

  I duck my head and focus intently on the last of the Shasta daisies until the people have rounded the corner, all while the reality that I’ve just smashed open Pandora’s box with a sledgehammer looms.

  This is Shane Beckett I’m dealing with, I remind myself. My first love, my first heartbreak. Still the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Rationally, I can’t stop myself from being attracted to him.

  What I can—must—stop myself from doing is acting on it.

  Fourteen

  I don’t know who else Penelope was screwing at the time, but Cody Rhodes is, without a doubt, Shane’s son. I couldn’t see it in the tiny class picture but he has the same shade of hair and beautiful, whiskey-colored eyes as his father.

  Unfortunately for Cody, the rest of his features firmly resemble his mother. It’s like having a young male version of Penelope Rhodes staring back at me in my classroom, his T-shirt two sizes too big for his skinny frame. For his sake, I pray the boy inherits his father’s physique when he hits his growth spurt.

  I peel my gaze away from him and calmly take in the entire group of eleven-year-olds settling into their seats—nine boys, sixteen girls—twenty-five kids who look like they’d rather be anywhere in the world but here. They know that’s not an option, though, so they’ve at least made a solid effort. Most of them are wearing squeaky new shoes and prudently selected first-day-of-school outfits. Of course, there are the few whose families can’t afford new things. Their shoulders are slouched as they silently evaluate their classmates, hoping no one will notice that their generic sneakers are the same ones they wore last spring, only with fresh laces. I recognize those kids. I was one of them, once.

  I take a deep breath and plaster on a brave smile, though inside I’m a nervous mess. “Good morning, everyone. I hope you all enjoyed your summer vacation and are excited to be back.”

  Groans carry through the room, but I ignore them, letting my smile grow wider. This is my classroom. These are my young minds, ready to be molded and impressed upon. I’ve dreamed of this moment for years. “I’m Ms. Reed, and I’m excited to be teaching you.”

  “So?” Becca sidles up beside me to rinse her coffee mug at the staff-room sink. Her pink, button-down blouse is a shock of color against the drab beige walls, and it complements her blond locks nicely. “How was your morning?”

  “Good! I think? Hot, though.” The school isn’t equipped with central air, and the fans I’ve strategically positioned in the corners have done little to help, especially with twenty-five prepubescent bodies packed into the room. By the end of math, my navy dress was clinging to my damp skin and students were staring vacantly at me from their desks, like sweaty little red-faced zombies, uninterested in anything I had to say.

  “Tell me about it. Some of my male students haven’t embraced the value of regular showering and deodorant yet and they really should, especially in this heat.” Becca scrunches her nose. “I don’t understand it. My mother never had to remind me to bathe when I was twelve.”

  “My best friend still has to remind her boyfriend to shower sometimes, and he’s thirty-three. She has a lot to say about gross, smelly boys, though.”

  Becca laughs. “Is she a teacher too?”

  “Justine?” I snort. She doesn’t even like children. “No, she’s a recruiter for a skilled trades agency.” She deals with construction workers, electricians, plumbers, and the like all day long, the majority of whom are men.

  “That’s …” Becca’s nose scrunches. “I wouldn’t have the first clue how to do that job.”

  “Yeah, neither did she, and she hates it, but she’s really good at it. She fell into it after college.” Her uncle needed an assistant and she needed a job, so she stepped in. The next thing I knew, she had her own office and box of business cards, she was interviewing machinery operators about their background, working trade fairs, strolling around our kitchen in her underwear while discussing copper fittings over the phone, and a thousand other things that bore me to tears when she tries to explain them.

  But I’ll forever be amused when I watch her—a dainty, dark-haired nymph—open her mouth and make a three-hundred-pound male welder blush with her brash words.

  Becca smiles. “She sounds really interesting.”

  “She is. I miss her a lot. She’s coming to visit this weekend, actually.”

  “Oh, that sounds like fun.” I can’t help but note the waver in Becca’s smile. Along with the rundown of my students, Becca updated me on her life over the past decade. The latest change was her moving back to Polson Falls after breaking up with her boyfriend of two years—the older brother of a girl she says we went to school with who I don’t remember. She’s been single ever since and, though she didn’t come right out and say it, I think she’s lonely.

  I hesitate, but only for a second. “Hey, you should come out with us, if you don’t have any plans. We’re just going somewhere local.”

  “Maybe I will. Thanks for the invite.” She smiles softly. “I’m glad you moved back to town, Scarlet.”

  “Yeah, no worries. It’ll be fun.” Though Becca’s liable to lose her jaw on the floor after ten minutes with Justine.

  I busy myself with filling my water bottle at the cooler before the staff room gets crowded.

  “How was Cody?”

  “Fine. He’s quiet, but he seems like a good kid. Despite his mother being Satan.”

  A snort escapes Becca before her expression smooths over. She glances around, as if checking to make sure no one else heard me. Maybe it’s uncouth to label your student’s mother the Antichrist on the first day of class, but it is Penelope Rhodes we’re talking about. She had half the school believing I was working as a cam girl at fourteen years old. “I guess he got some of his traits from his father, at least.”

  “Who is Shane, by the way.”

  Becca frowns curiously. “How do you know? Did you ask Shane?”

  I snort. “Are you kidding me? No. But look at Cody’s eyes, with those gold flecks around the irises?” He stopped at my desk before heading for recess and I got tangled in them for a moment. “And he has his dad’s dimples. And when he smiles, the corner of his mouth, right here”—I tap the edge of my mouth—“buckles like Shane’s does.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “What?” I ask warily.

  Becca grins, as if she’s just discovered something exciting. “You still have it bad for him.”

  “No, I don’t!” I shake my head to emphasize my words. “He’s an arrogant ass.”


  “Who you still have a crush on,” she says matter-of-factly.

  “Do you not remember what happened between us? Besides, I’m a thirty-year-old woman. And a teacher. I don’t have a silly crush on my neighbor,” I scoff.

  “Thirty-year-old single teachers can have a silly crush on their smoking-hot neighbor.” She raises her hands in surrender at my warning glare. “Okay! You’re right. I believe you.” She hides her amusement behind a sip of water. She does not believe me.

  Playing my words back in my head now, I’m not sure I believe me either. “Besides, it’s not like anything could happen between us. I’m teaching his son.”

  Her lips purse. “I don’t think there’s an official rule against it.”

  “Maybe not, but it would be frowned upon.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” she agrees with reluctance. “Unless you kept it under wraps for this year. I mean, you’re old school friends and next-door neighbors, so it’s not shocking if you’re seen together. No one needs to know what else you’re doing together.” She waggles her eyebrows.

  “Secret relationships with my student’s father is not how I want to start my teaching career here.” Lies and scandal. That sounds right up my mother’s alley, not mine.

  Becca sighs heavily. She must sense she has no chance to persuade me otherwise. “But, still … wouldn’t that be romantic? You two getting back together after all these years?”

  Several more teachers filter into the staff room for lunch-hour recess, thankfully halting that conversation from going any further.

  Becca wasn’t exaggerating when she said half the staff here have one foot in retirement. The early-morning conversations I’ve heard so far all revolve around grandkids and countdowns to winters in Florida. Becca and I are two of the youngest staffers, part of what Wendy has referred to as “the new wave.” She claims that within five years, Polson Falls Elementary will be run by entirely new faces. Wendy herself must be thinking about retirement soon.

  We exchange smiles with Karen Faro and Heidi Mueller—two primary grade teachers—and then shift into a corner to allow them space to use the sink.