The Player Next Door

Shane waves him off with, “My girlfriend’s toilet is running, but I think we’re set. Thanks for asking.”

I duck my head to hide the way I beam at the label Shane so casually threw out. We haven’t officially had that conversation. But we also didn’t discuss spending every Cody-free night sleeping together. Yet, that’s what the past three weeks have entailed, as we’ve found our way to either Shane’s bed or mine, exploring every inch of bare skin, every scar, every erogenous touch point on each other’s bodies.

Shane wasn’t wrong when he said sex would intensify our relationship. But the sweat-laced, heart-pounding nights we’ve lost ourselves in since we took the next step? I don’t think either of us anticipated how addicted we’d become to each other. It takes nothing—a single look when he walks through my door, a hard swallow that draws my attention to that sharp jut in his throat, a casual draw of his tongue across his bottom lip—to clear my mind of all thought, save for the pleasure I’m about to get from him.

Him, lying beneath me as I ride him.

Him, hovering above as he drives into me.

Him, crying out as he explodes in my mouth.

Us, tangled in each other’s limbs after, whispering and laughing as the hours melt away.

My time with Shane has been intoxicating and all-consuming, and the only thing I regret is that I didn’t give him a second chance sooner.

With a nod, the man goes searching for another customer, sliding his boots along the aisle.

“Ready to go home?” Shane throws his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side, dipping to kiss me. Despite our claims to stay quiet about our relationship, Shane seems unable to keep his hands off me in public.

And despite my aversion to public affection and my wariness to spark gossip if the wrong person sees us canoodling in the plumbing aisle, I find myself casting aside caution. “My bed or yours tonight?” I tease the seam of his lips with the tip of my tongue. I’ve been looking forward to this weekend. Shane is all mine until he leaves for work Sunday morning.

He groans. “It’ll be in my truck, out in the parking lot, if you do that again.”

I repeat the tongue tease, adding a swirling action, mimicking his favorite move when I use my mouth on him. “Good thing your windows are tinted, then.” I foresee road head in Shane’s near future.

His grip around my shoulders tightens as he leads us toward the cashier, our pace quick enough to confirm I’ve just given him a raging hard-on. For all his playfulness, I’ve learned that he’s embarrassed to walk around stores with an erection. Guess I can’t blame him. His size makes them noticeable.

And yet it’s become an amusing game.

I laugh at the muscle tick in his jaw. “Something the matter?”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “You’re the devil. You know that?”

“I guess you have an affinity for wicked women.”

He snorts derisively.

The familiar rap music ringtone carries from Shane’s pocket as we reach the self-serve checkout register. As usual, Shane doesn’t hesitate to dig his phone out and answer. “Hey, buddy. What’s up?”

I move in to scan the part for my failing toilet.

“What?” Shane’s suddenly hard tone pulls my attention away from the keypad. “Okay, slow down, Cody, and tell me exactly what’s going on.” Wearing a deep frown, Shane strolls out the door, his phone pressed against his ear.

Clearly, something’s wrong.

I finish paying for my purchase and rush outside just as Shane is ending the call. His frown hasn’t eased, and now it’s coupled with a clenched jaw.

“What’s going on? Is Cody all right?”

“Yeah. He’s fine. Just …” His words trail as he dials someone else.

I bite back the urge to press for information and reach for his forearm, stroking it with my fingertips to offer comfort while he waits for an answer that doesn’t appear to be coming.

He ends the call with a heavy sigh. “Pen and Travis are in the middle of a major fight. Cody said it’s bad.”

“Bad how?” I ask evenly, alarm bells going off. “Shane, if there’s any chance Cody is in danger—”

“No. It’s not like that.” He shakes his head. “Just yelling, from the sounds of it. But Penelope can get pretty scary. Cody wants me to come get him.” Shane rubs his brow with a rough hand. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Because it’s her weekend?”

“Honestly? When my kid calls me, crying like that? I don’t give a fuck whose weekend it is,” he growls. He’s agitated.

I soften my voice. “So, then what’s the issue?”

He looks at his watch, scowling.

“How far away do they live?”

“From here? Five minutes. If that,” he says absently, deep in thought.

But it would take almost half an hour, by the time Shane drops me off at home and comes back. The distress in Shane’s eyes tells me he doesn’t want to make Cody wait.