The Player Next Door

He told me that he thought he might be falling in love with me.

I remember it all because it was in stark contrast with the personality one-eighty he pulled in the last week before school, when he started avoiding my calls and breaking plans. He dumped me the night before classes began, claiming he wasn’t looking for a serious relationship through senior year.

What he meant was, he wasn’t looking for a serious relationship with me.

Worse, he wanted it with Penelope Rhodes, the daughter of the scandalized mayor having the affair with my mother. She’d made my life hell since seventh grade, and he knew it.

Shane flinches ever so slightly, the only sign that he’s aware of what a thoroughbred douchebag he was in high school. “You look different.”

“I’m surprised you recognize me.”

“Iris told me who she sold to.” He chews his bottom lip, hesitating. “I probably wouldn’t have known it was you at first. Not with those giant sunglasses covering half your face.”

“They’re Prada.” Five seasons ago, but still. And I feel stupid for announcing that.

His eyes bore into the lenses as if trying to see beyond them. “Take them off.”

I hate Shane Beckett with every fiber of my body, I remind myself. Even the fibers between my legs that are stirring right now, as I imagine him asking me in that deep, sexy voice to take something else off. Everything else off.

A medley of short horn blasts sounds and a moment later, the U-Haul pulls in.

I release a shaky sigh of relief, saved from the risk of bending to his will. I need to regain my composure before I come across as the love-struck teenager I used to be. I’ll never allow myself to be that around him ever again.

“My friends are here.”

“Do you need any help with—”

“Nope,” I cut him off curtly, hauling my body up to charge down the steps, inhaling the intoxicating hint of bergamot and mint on my way past. My annoyance flares. He even smells sexy.

I march across the lawn, needing to get away from Shane and fast. “Finally!” I holler as Bill slides out of the passenger seat, followed by Justine.

Her sharp, hazel eyes immediately land on Shane. “Who is that?” she asks in her thick Bostonian accent.

“Can you wait until I’m out of earshot before you drool over another guy?” Bill shakes his head as he wanders to the back of the truck.

“Nobody. Can you stack the orange- and blue-stickered boxes in the dining room? That way we can get to the bedroom furniture as fast as possible. Pink-stickered boxes go upstairs. The ones with the green stickers are for the kitchen.” I spent three days researching how best to organize my belongings for efficient unpacking.

Justine studies me warily. We’ve lived together since freshman year of college, and she can tell when I’m pretending to be indifferent while there’s a four-alarm panic fire burning inside me. But because she’s my very best friend, she also knows when not to push.

“Come on, guys, you heard the boss!” She claps her hands. She’s barely five feet tall and diminutive in every regard except the range of her voice and her larger-than-life personality.

Her brother, Joe, jumps out from the driver’s side. “Gotta take a piss first,” he announces, heading for the porch.

“Put the seat down when you’re done!” I holler after him. I don’t know how many times I’ve fallen into the toilet in the middle of the night because Joe was crashing on our couch and had forgotten the common courtesy.

Shoes crunch against the gravel driveway behind me, setting off a fresh wave of tension.

Just keep on walking back to your side.

Justine thrusts out her hand. “I’m Scarlet’s best friend, Justine. And you are …”

Despite my greatest effort not to, I steal a glance in time to see the deep dimples form with Shane’s sexy smirk. Those dimples fed a lot of girls’ fantasies, including mine. Back before we dated, I used to spend all of chem class waiting to catch a glimpse of them.

“Shane. I live next door.” He accepts her hand.

“Shane. From next door.” God, I’m going to get an earful of lewd suggestions later. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Shane. Have you lived in this thriving metropolis long?”

“All my life, except for a few years while I was away at college.” He nods toward me. “Scarlet and I go way back. We were friends in high school.”

A loud, unattractive snort escapes me, earning raised brows from them both.

“Where’d you say you want these?” Bill rounds the corner, his arms laden with a cumbersome box, the top marked with a blue sticker.

“Dining room. Far wall.”

He juts his chin at Shane on his way past.

Shane looks from him to the truck, and back again. “Are you sure you don’t want my—”

“I don’t want anything from you,” I blurt, and my cheeks immediately burn. But I’m not going to let myself feel bad for being rude. Shane deserves it and far worse.