The Player Next Door

“You know, I’m learning some valuable tips on how to handle men from that calendar you gave me.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Justine asks dryly.

I suck back a gulp of my beer. “September’s the month of the praying mantis.”

Her loud cackle cuts through the music and hum of voices.

“Roger would call his mother every time we had a fight. Can you believe that?” Becca’s voice turns shrill. “Every time! And he still has her do his laundry!”

Justine tsks. “Count your blessings. You don’t want a mama’s boy, believe me. Bill can’t make anything but ham sandwiches.”

Becca hiccups through a giggle and her hand flies over her mouth. “I should have eaten dinner.”

That, and not chugged so many Blue Lagoons. Her cheeks are flushed, her speech is slurred, and she’s divulging every sordid detail that pops into her head. In just the past twenty minutes, we’ve learned that Roger is the only guy she’s ever blown, he makes a suckling sound while he sleeps, and he showers in scalding water immediately after sex.

Good riddance to Roger.

But at least Becca’s miserable ex-boyfriend stories have helped distract me from my growing disappointment as I watch Shane. He swung by to drop off a round of drinks forever ago and was about to take a seat beside me, only to be called over to another table by a guy I don’t recognize. From there, he keeps getting pulled from one group to the next, floating like the proverbial social butterfly, lingering much longer where there’s a pretty female in the conversation to bat her lashes at him.

And they all bat their long, artificial lashes at Shane.

But the one he’s been chatting to for the past fifteen minutes—a knock-out gorgeous blond with a petite but curvy figure and full, red lips that stretch across half her face—has brushed her fingertips over his arm at least a dozen times.

Nobody touches anyone that much unless they’re having sex.

“What do you think?” Justine’s sharp elbow pulls my attention back.

“Huh? About what?”

“You and Becca come to Jersey for the weekend. We’ll go to Tinderland. She wants a rebound.”

Tinderland is a cesspool of drunk single people congregating under one roof with hopes of finding an easy lay, aptly named after the hookup app. I’ve been twice and wanted to bleach the sleazy innuendo off my body after both times. I’m still getting to know Becca, but there is no way she is made for a place like that. “Who is that blond with Shane?”

Becca glances over her shoulder. “Who, Susie Teller?”

“I guess? Do I know her?” Her name doesn’t sound familiar.

“Uh …” Becca’s nose scrunches up in thought. “Maybe? They dated back in high school. She went to Connor High. She was on the cheerleading squad. So pretty.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I mutter through a gulp of beer. I don’t remember her on the field at those games, but I was never paying attention to anyone besides Shane. He did have a penchant for cheerleaders, though. Apparently, he also has a thing for flirting with old high school flames.

“She works at the fire station.”

“She’s a firefighter?” I can’t hide the shock from my voice. I’m all for female empowerment, but there’s no way that tiny body can haul anything heavier than a wet cat down a ladder.

Becca shakes her head. “In the office. She’s the chief’s administrative assistant.”

The chief … as in Chief Cassidy, I presume. The man my mother bid on—and won, for what was likely a sordid night—last year.

I can just make out Shane’s dimples from this angle. His smile widens as he talks, and Susie Teller’s head falls back as she belts out a boisterous laugh, her silky golden waves reaching halfway down her back.

I grit my teeth as she reaches out to slide her hand along his forearm—again—pausing at his biceps. “They look like good friends,” I observe, hearing the strain in my voice as I picture where this night is leading, if she keeps pawing him like that.

How different tonight has turned from what I allowed myself a moment to imagine, not long ago. And, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m drowning in displeasure over it.

“She’s only been back for a couple of months, from wherever she was. Atlanta, I think I heard.”

How long have they been flirting at work?

Have they slept together?

“I ran into her at the grocery store last week.” Becca slurps the last of her drink, seemingly oblivious to the tension building in my shoulders. “Penelope hated her in high school, of course. Trash-talked her any chance she could, but she’s actually really nice.”

I’m sure she is, and I have no right to dislike her because I have no claim over Shane.

But I dislike her all the same.

“Twenty bucks says they fuck tonight!” Justine bellows in my ear.

I glare at my best friend, but she merely grins back. She’s goading me. She can see that I’m jealous.