The Player Next Door

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.