The Player Next Door

Two beams of light hit us then, followed by a playfully short toot of a horn. We break apart in time to see the approaching car ease past us to park, the driver flashing a knowing grin.

I step away from Shane and edge toward the sidewalk, my pulse racing as grim reality sets in again.

He follows me, frowning. “What’s wrong now?”

“The same thing that was wrong five minutes ago. You’re making plans with other women.”

He sighs. “It’s just dinner. And I didn’t say yes.” He throws his hands in the air. “You were going to fuck my best friend tonight.”

“I wouldn’t have,” I lie. What an idiotic move that was. Why did I go after Dean like that?

“So, what, you were trying to make me jealous? You were playing a stupid head game? Is that it?” The look of reproach he gives me only ignites my anger, but he’s not finished scolding me. “And you told me you just wanted to be friends. So, what am I supposed to do? Sit at home alone and jerk off while I wait for you to decide you’re ready to forgive me for something I did when we were kids?”

“Yes!” I shriek, my anger and hurt exploding in a volcanic mess.

His jaw hangs open a moment. He was not expecting that answer. “Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“I don’t care.” Hot tears begin to trickle down my cheeks as I grasp what I want—what I need from Shane—and I’m so happy that the rain is there to hide them. “It’s the only way I’ll trust you again.” Does he not see it? “I was in love with you and you broke my heart!”

“That summer was thirteen fucking years ago,” he yells, his voice incredulous and a touch desperate. “Why can’t you let it go?”

Justine and Becca come stumbling out the door of Route Sixty-Six, arm in arm.

“I love that movie,” Justine hollers, and begins belting out the lyrics to Disney’s Frozen theme song, off-key, with hiccups interspersed.

“Hey! There you are! I ordered us a Lyft.” Becca waves her phone in the air as if to prove it and then points toward the main street. “He’s meeting us out front. He’s almost here.”

I’m not about to argue that I’d rather walk, because Justine appears to be in no shape, and suddenly I don’t think I am either.

“Turns out we can’t be friends, after all,” I say to Shane, who is standing on the sidewalk, his hands on his hips, staring intently at me.

“Yeah, I guess not,” he mutters.

I move toward the pickup spot. “Stay away from me.”

“No problem there.” A moment later, he adds in a holler, “Let me know when you grow up!”

By the time I climb into the back seat of the Honda Accord, I’m struggling to muffle my sobs, my anger and disappointment reaching a boiling point.

“Well … that was a fun night.” Justine lets out a hiccup.

Sixteen

I stir to the sound of Justine setting a glass of water on my bedside table.

“Figured you’d want that.”

“Thank you,” I croak, the dull ache at my temples an instant reminder of last night’s whiskey marathon. “What time is it?”

“Just after nine.”

I groan. “Go back to sleep.”

“I wish. You know how I am.”

“Yeah. Insane.” In all the years I lived with Justine, I’ve never known her to sleep in, no matter how late she goes to bed or how much she’s had to drink.

She flops into bed beside me, making the mattress shake and my body jolt. “What the hell happened last night?”

“Jim Beam happened.” Jim Beam and my attractive next-door neighbor, who continues to dominate my thoughts and spur my most volatile emotions.

“I remember you going to the restroom and not coming back forever, and then Shane chasing you out the door. Things are blurry after that. Did we go through the McDonald’s drive-thru?” I hear the grimace in her voice.

“Of course, we did because you insisted. It was disgusting.” I roll onto my back with another groan, the taste of the Big Mac melding with stale booze and morning breath on my tongue.

“You were upset,” she notes.

I was more than “upset.” I was a hysterical drunk who broke down the second the Lyft driver pulled away. He kept giving me the side-eye and warning Becca—in the front seat—that she’d be dinged for the detailing bill if either of us puked. Who knew Becca, the Blue Lagoon maven, would end up the soberest of all of us?

“What happened with Shane?”

I pick through my foggy memories. “Let’s see … I started doing shots and making plans to screw Dean to get over the fact that Shane is dating Susie.”

Justine’s mouth gapes. “He is not!”

“Okay, fine, a date. That will turn into marriage, with my shitty-ass luck.”

“But he seemed totally into you!”

“Right? I guess, while he’s waiting for me, he’s going to go elsewhere to get laid.”