The Player Next Door

Thirty-One

“Why are we doing this?” I whine, trailing Justine and Becca into Route Sixty-Six. The interior has been decked out for the holiday season, with garish green garland strung around the door and red-velvet bows decorating the booths. Oversized sprigs of mistletoe dangle across the length of the bar like a bad omen—to get a drink, you must first kiss.

“It’s for charity,” Justine throws her favorite line over her shoulder.

“You’re not charitable.”

She flashes her pearly whites at me. “Stop pretending you don’t want to see him.”

I won’t deny I’m eager to see the Hunky Heroes Auction headliner, but I dread watching a room full of thirsty women bid on him, especially when he’s no longer mine to take home.

Becca leads us to the back of the bar where an elaborate stage has been set up in front of the patio, complete with spotlights and thick black curtains. The place is packed with people. Mostly women.

Which one of them will win Shane tonight? What if it’s some beautiful vixen and they make an unexpected connection at their dinner? I’ve been plagued with these thoughts lately.

Do I believe Shane will remain celibate until maybe, at some point in the future, after Cody’s gone from my class and Penelope’s had copious therapy sessions to accept another woman in his life without wreaking havoc, we’ll have another shot?

I’m not an idiot.

The thought of Shane in bed with another woman makes me want to vomit.

“Front and center, Dot-tee!” Justine grips my mom’s shoulders in greeting. “How’d you manage such a good table?”

“That handsome bartender back there owed me a favor, and it was a huge one.” My mom winks. “Pull up a seat.”

Justine cackles at her lewd innuendo. Despite knowing what a terrible mother she was to me, Justine can’t help but find Dottie Reed highly entertaining, and I can’t blame her for that.

Still, I cringe, as is par for the course with most of what comes out of my mother’s mouth.

Becca leans in to kiss Ann Margaret on the cheek.

“Is someone else sitting with us?” I point at the sixth chair.

“That would be me,” a gray-haired man says, balancing two glasses of wine and a pint of beer. “That is, if you ladies don’t mind an old fool hanging around?” He’s looking at me when he asks that.

I frown. “Chief Cassidy?”

He chuckles. “Just Griffin to you.”

“Sorry, I didn’t recognize you out of uniform.” Tonight, he’s in a simple sky blue dress shirt and black jeans with no hat to cover his full head of wiry gray hair.

He sets the drinks down, placing his beer at the seat next to my mother, I note. “Can I head back to the bar for another round? It’ll be faster than ordering through the waitress.”

“I’ll never say no to a pint of Guinness, delivered by a distinguished gentleman.” Justine bats her curled eyelashes at him.

“Hey now, we got a Southie in here,” Griffin teases, imitating her thick accent with surprising precision.

She grins. “Born and raised.”

“Well, all right, then. This is going to be a fun night.”

We give him our drink orders and he sets off to the bar again, seemingly happy to do so.

Ann Margaret leans over to say, “He’s a very good man,” and I get the distinct impression she’s trying to sell him to me.

I take the other free seat next to my mother. “Isn’t he on the auction block?”

Mom shakes her head through a gulp of her wine. “That was just the one time, and it was only because three men canceled at the last minute and they needed bodies to raise enough money. He was nervous no one would bid on him. It was so adorable, I just had to scoop him up.”

I watch my mother closely. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her call any man adorable. “So, you guys are friends now?” Shane said Chief Cassidy wasn’t the type to have slept with my mom the night of their charity dinner. But what about since then?

“Yes. I guess you could call him that.” She glances over her shoulder to locate him by the bar. “He lost his wife four years ago. Cancer. He was very devoted to her. He’s had a hard time moving on.” There’s an odd, genuine affection in her voice.

“Well, I for one think he’s fabulous,” Justine drawls.

“That’s because he’s bringing you alcohol.” Though, between the night of the fire and so far tonight, he does seem decent.

“And your point is?”

“Ladies and … well, mostly ladies,” a male voice croons over the speaker system. The bartender has taken to the stage in a full tuxedo, complete with a red cummerbund and matching bow tie. “We are about to start the main event but calendar sales are now open, and let me tell you, next year’s calendar is hotter than the fires these men put out!”