The Player Next Door

He holds up his hands in a sign of surrender and backs away slowly. “All right, Scar …”

Ugh. I always hated that nickname.

“But, just so you know, I’m around if you ever need help.” He juts his thumb in the direction of his house.

“Thanks. I’m good.” I spot Joe storming down the steps and add on impulse, “Because I have him!”

“Huh? You have me for what?” Joe’s face fills with confusion.

“For everything.” I rush over to loop my arm around his waist and sidle close to his tall, lanky body, giving off the impression that we’re a couple. Just play along, I silently will him, staring up into his baby-blue eyes.

If there’s one thing I know about Joe, it’s that he’s had a not-so-secret crush on me ever since I went with Justine to Boston for Thanksgiving, back in sophomore year of college. He knows I’m not interested, but that hasn’t stopped his shameless flirting. Pretending we’re together isn’t an issue for him.

He throws an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close until my face is mashed up against his chest and my sunglasses are sitting crooked. “That’s right, babe. You don’t need nobody else.”

Shane’s gaze flips between the two of us before shifting to my house, an unreadable look touching his face. “I hope you’re a handy guy.” With that, he heads back over the white picket fence.

“Does this mean I get to sleep in your room tonight?” Joe whispers.

I give him a hard shove in the ribs, earning his grunt.

Four

“Can’t believe you actually did it, Reed.” Justine settles into a rocking chair and hands me a Corona, the cap already twisted off. Her smile is wistful. “Is it weird to be back here?”

“So weird. Never thought I’d see the day.” I suck back a mouthful of cold beer, parched after hours of hauling furniture, scrubbing cupboards, and unpacking boxes. A quick glance in the hallway mirror earlier proved that I shouldn’t look in a mirror again until after I’ve showered. “I still can’t believe this house is mine. And that I have a full-time teaching job.”

It’s a far cry from where I was at the stroke of midnight into a new decade this past New Year’s—living off ramen noodles and afraid of what my uninspiring future held. A few months later, a lawyer appeared on my doorstep to tell me that a grandfather I’d once met briefly had died, leaving me—not his son, who’d fallen out of favor years before—everything he owned.

Turns out it was enough to buy this place outright, and not battle with the bank for a mortgage they’d never agree to anyway.

“Cheers to that. You deserve this. I’m so happy for you.” We clink the necks of our bottles and watch in comfortable silence as a middle-aged couple coasts along the street on their bicycles. It’s after eight and nearly nightfall. The guys are inside, listening to the ball game on the radio while they put my futon frame together.

“When are you going to see Dottie?”

“This week, I guess,” I say reluctantly. “I kind of have to, right?”

“She is your mom,” Justine agrees with equal enthusiasm, her free hand toying with her messy topknot of black hair.

Dottie’s also a narcissist with loose morals, and a functioning alcoholic—styling hair by day, downing glasses of chardonnay by night. She doesn’t touch a drop of it while on the clock, but once her shift is over, look out. There’s been more than one embarrassing story about her being escorted out of the local watering hole for being too drunk.

I sigh. Justine has a good idea how deep and dark the rabbit hole goes with my mother.

“I’ll deal with her when I have to. Tonight, it’s all good times.”

“It’s going to be strange, not seeing you every day,” she pouts.

“You’ll just have to come visit me. A lot.” I clink my beer bottle against hers again. We’ve lived together since we were eighteen years old. It was a random roommate match that turned out to be a godsend. Justine is family to me. She’s the one and only person I’ve ever been able to count on over the years. “Besides, I’m sure Bill will be a great roommate.”

“Yeah, after he’s housebroken. Why are boys so gross?” She cringes. “Thirty-three years old and he still leaves his socks everywhere. Dirty, smelly socks rolled up in balls, all over my bedroom floor!”

I laugh, even as my attention wanders to my neighbor’s property. The red muscle car is gone. I heard the engine rumbling hours ago, and I found myself wondering where Shane was going and when he’d be back. I’m sure he has a girlfriend. No one looks like that and doesn’t have a girlfriend, at least not for long.

“So, are you going to make me ask?”

“Huh?”

Justine points a finger a Shane’s house, her eyes wide. “What the hell was that about earlier, with Mr. Hot As Fuck who you iced out?”