The Player Next Door

“Uh-huh,” he parrots.

I laugh and toss a weed at him. “Shut up.”

He catches it in the air and leans over to drop it into the yard waste bag.

And I stare shamelessly at his naked chest.

“You don’t regret it, do you?”

“No.” Though it’s going to make a simple kiss good night seem laughable going forward.

“Good.” A secretive smile touches his lips. “So, Tuesday night, two old friends from high school are going to grab a bite at the Patty Shack, right?”

“Just two old friends?”

“Might be a bit of a stretch.” He winks. “But it’s not an outright lie and no one can say otherwise.”

I’m far more okay with this plan than I expected to be. “Sounds good.”

I watch him go, my focus on how those pants hug his hard, round backside, and a part of me wishes we hadn’t been interrupted. I would probably still be able to feel Shane inside me this morning.

Cody’s teacher or not, I look forward to that delicious ache.

But sex changes things. Even yesterday afternoon’s escapade has changed our dynamic. I feel proprietary over him—that he is somehow mine.

Perhaps it’s a delusion. Given what he said to me at Thursday’s parents’ night, perhaps not. But there’s no need to rush this. We’ve technically waited thirteen years.

Shane turns left and heads along the sidewalk past my house, his pecs jolting with each pound of his foot, his facial features stony and determined. That is, until he turns my way and flashes a smile, followed by a lazy wave. He doesn’t slow to see if I return it.

My heart sings.

With one last heave of my bed frame to center it against the wall, I step back to admire my newly finished bedroom. I knew the silver and plum bedding would complement the paint color beautifully because I had the paint sample with me at the store. However, I wasn’t so sure about the accents—the charcoal-gray, faux-fur mat, the dove-gray cushion, the pastel watercolor prints—until now. They’re perfect.

With a sigh of satisfaction that I’ve finished another room in my perfect little dilapidated home, I amble into my cramped bathroom to start the bath, hoping Epsom salts will leach the ache from my muscles. While the water’s running, I set to folding the heap of freshly washed laundry. I didn’t get around to grocery shopping today, but at least I have clean clothes ready for another week of work.

I’m folding and humming to myself when the now-familiar rumble of Shane’s engine sounds. I dart to my window without a second’s thought, eager for a glimpse of Shane. I saw them leave before noon today and it’s almost nine now.

A warmth fills my chest at the sight of the two of them strolling up the walkway side by side, Shane’s arm slung over his son’s shoulder, Cody with a football in his hands, peering up at his father as he chatters away. I can hear his boyish voice and Shane’s deep, throaty one through my cracked window, but I can’t make out what they’re talking about.

Suddenly, Shane looks up to my bedroom window.

I don’t jump back this time but instead pretend to fuss with my new curtain rod.

“Hey, Scar! You need help painting tonight?” he hollers.

I slide my window open all the way and lean out, mentally adding “window screen” to the list. “I’m actually done.”

His lips twist with disappointment, and I realize my error. “But I could use help moving my bed.”

The returning grin is wide and devilish. “I can definitely help you move your bed.”

“Hey, Ms. Reed!” Cody chirps his standard greeting.

It suitably distracts me from Shane’s dirty insinuation. “Hi, Cody. Are you ready for your math test tomorrow?”

His face falls.

“What math test?” Shane peers down at his son. “You told me you didn’t have any homework.”

“I don’t! It’s a test.”

“Studying for a test is homework.” He frowns. “And I gave you two extra hours to play your PS4 because you lied to me.”

“But I didn’t lie.” Petulance fills Cody’s voice.

“Do I need to check with your teacher from now on to make sure you’re telling me the truth? Because I can. She lives right next door.”

Cody studies his shoes instead of looking his father in the eye, his previously cheerful mood diving into sulkiness.

Shane sighs. “You’ve lost your gaming until Friday.”

Cody’s head snaps up. “But—”

“Not another word or it’ll be two weeks,” he warns severely, checking his watch. “Get inside and get cleaned up fast. I can’t stay up late to help you. I’ve got work in the morning and I’m beat.”

Cody scrambles into the house.

“I’m not going to earn points with the kid if I rat him out, am I?” Part of me regrets mentioning the test. But is it wrong that a fresh spark of desire surged through me, watching this new stern, disciplinary version of Shane?