The Player Next Door

A cackle of laughter escapes me. “Oh my God, I think I remember that!” Steve hobbled off the field, looking like he’d been riding a horse for seven days straight and yanking at his crotch. “I heard it was because you had an STD.”

“People were saying I had the fucking clap! My mom brought me ice all night and kept insisting I show her how bad it was. I know she’s a nurse and all, but no fucking way am I dropping trou so my mom can inspect my sack!” Steve says with horrified flair, earning our boisterous laughter.

I don’t know how these guys are feeling after three shots of Jim Beam in quick succession, but my head is swimming, my emotions have numbed, and I’m suitably distracted for the moment.

“I thought you were nicer than that.” I lean against Dean’s broad chest to give him a playful nudge with my shoulder. He smells like soap. It’s not bergamot, but it’s far from unpleasant. Neither is being this close to him. I’m not normally attracted to guys this muscular, but Dean has a handsome, chiseled face. Plus, I know I won’t fall for him, so he’s safe in that regard. Does he still like to screw around like he did in high school? He never was one to have a girlfriend, though he was practically mounting Virginia Grafton at every opportunity that summer Shane and I were together.

“I am nice. Not to this guy, though.” He juts his chin at Steve. “He’s a jerk.”

“He was a jerk to me in high school,” I agree somberly.

“That’s why I did it. For you, Scarlet.” He peers down at me with mock seriousness for a moment before a playful, crooked smile touches his full lips.

“I guess I owe you a thank-you.” Flirting with Dean is surprising easily. “Thank you, for burning Steve Dipshit’s balls for me.”

His eyes twinkle as he chuckles, and the deep sound vibrates through my limbs.

I give him a second nudge and this time, his arm curls around my body in an affectionate squeeze. He relaxes his grip, but his arm remains slung lazily over my shoulder. His gaze remains settled on my lips.

“What’s so funny?” Shane’s voice suddenly sounds behind me.

Despite my best effort to remain calm, my body stiffens.

“Just reminiscing about the old days,” Steve says, pounding the bar with his meaty fist for another round of shots. It’s an obnoxious move but the bartender doesn’t seem to care. He must be used to Steve.

I stall against the urge to turn and acknowledge Shane for one … two … three seconds. When I finally dare to look, I find his attention on Dean, his eyebrow arched in an unspoken question. I check behind him. Susie Teller is nowhere to be seen.

Thank God.

I can’t read what’s being communicated between the two men, but I note how Dean’s arm flexes, pulling me in a touch closer.

“You guys look like you’re getting into it tonight.” Shane peers at the fresh line of shots. “How many have you had?”

“Who’s counting?” Steve holds one out for him.

Shane shakes his head. “Nah. I’m good. I gotta be at work at eight in the morning.” He nods toward Dean. “So do you, dumbass.”

“Yeah, but I can handle my liquor better than you,” Dean answers smugly, taking the proffered shot.

Shane levels Dean with a warning look, his eyes skittering over Dean’s arm that’s curled around me. I catch the faintest clench in his jaw.

Does this bother you, Shane? I hope so, the wounded voice that’s trying to be indifferent mewls in my head.

“One for the lady.” Steve thrusts a shot into my hand, and a few drops of the sticky liquid splash over to coat my fingers. “Cheers.” The three of us slam the round back.

The emotions I managed to quell momentarily with engrossing stories are rising once again. Despite my better judgment, I meet Shane’s gaze.

Fool me once, shame on you. This second time, though? That’s all on me.

He frowns. “You okay, Scar?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I was going for aloof, but I hear the bitchy tone lacing my words.

Steve holds the remaining shot up for Shane, who’s already shaking his head. “Going once … going twice …”

“Thanks!” I snatch it from Steve’s hand and down it, earning his and Dean’s laughter.

“I like this version of you.” The soft pad of Dean’s thumb skates soothingly back and forth over my bare biceps, causing gooseflesh to erupt. Yes, I think I’ll enjoy this man’s hands and lips all over my drunk body tonight just fine.

Shane watches me intently, as if he’s waiting for the moment the intoxicating buzz of two back-to-back whiskey shots takes over and my inhibitions weaken. Too late, I want to tell him. Because that’s now five shots and I’m primed to do something that is undoubtedly stupid but will feel damn good while it’s happening.