The Heartbreaker Next Door
By Melanie Marks and M. Anne Marks
Copyright 2017 Melanie Marks
Copyright 2017 M. Anne Marks
Cover Image © Rohappy | Shutterstock.com
All Rights Reserved.
Table of Contents
The Heartbreaker Next Door
His Kiss
Note From the Author
Newest by M. Anne Marks:
The Hockey Player’s Heart
(Available Now)
The Heartbreaker Next Door
CHAPTER 1
Five in the morning was too early to be up—especially getting wet. Yawning and groggy, I slogged out of the shower, then grimaced hearing someone in my room. My sister was supposed to have left for the airport by now. She’s a slowpoke, and definitely going to miss her flight.
“Marcy!” I quickly wrapped a towel around myself, and hurried out of the bathroom to speed her along. But then I froze in my bedroom doorway. Because it wasn’t Marcy in my bedroom—it was my ex-husband!!! (Chad, The Cheating Slime-ball.)
His eyes immediately got lost in a dreamy daze when he saw me in the towel.
But my eyes narrowed into tiny little slits seeing him in my house, going through my drawers. I knew what he was looking for—no way could he have it. Only … the cheating slime-ball already had it in his cheating, slimy hands.
“You can’t just break into my house and steal things,” I informed him, beyond mad. (I mean, the man was beyond nervy—breaking into my house—while I was in it!)
I ground my teeth. “Put my shirt back and get out of my house—right now—or I’m calling the police.”
He smirked. “Good. Call the police. Tell them I’m stealing the shirt you stole from me.”
I growled. “You know I love that shirt!”
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, you know I love you. Guess knowing stuff doesn’t mean much, does it, Faith?”
I rolled my eyes, but refused to get into another conversation about his so-called “love” for me (he CHEATED on me!!!) I ground out through gritted teeth, “Give me back my shirt, and get out of my house.”
“It’s my shirt,” he said.
Since I was blocking my bedroom door, he walked backwards to the window (from whence he had broken in—apparently). He faced me the whole time he was making his exit, like he was hoping I’d come after him—since I was in a towel.
With a smug look, he stayed facing me the whole time he climbed out my window. Looking soooo smug since, you know, he had the shirt and was getting away.
I would have just let him do it—get away with the shirt—if it weren’t for the satisfied look on his face. (I needed to knock it off.) (I mentioned he cheated on me, right?)
So, I growled (audibly) (LOUD) as he disappeared out the window.
In a flash, I raced down the stairs to get to him before he could get to his fancy car and drive away. Because I couldn’t let him take the shirt. I just couldn’t. He stomped on my heart, massacred my dreams, ruined mine and my little boy’s future—but he could not have the shirt.
So (gasp!) yes, I ran outside in my towel.
To be fair, I wasn’t really thinking as I did it—obviously. I just needed to … win. Get my shirt back. The jerk had looked sooo beyond smug. I couldn’t let him have the shirt.
I raced through my yard at top speed.
Only, man! He leapt into his car and slammed the door shut just as I reached him.
He laughed, looking soo smug I just wanted to slug him. Again. (Already did that once) (I mentioned he cheated on me, right?)
Through his slightly open window he informed me, “If you ever forgive me and give me another chance, I’ll give you back the shirt. Otherwise, I’m keeping it until the day I die—I’ll be buried in it.”
Just because I had to get the shirt back (and not because I believed it was true) I threatened, “If you don’t give me the shirt back, right this second, I’m going to have my next-door neighbor pound your face in—again.”
Just to be clear, my next-door neighbor (whose name is Justin, by the way) is not someone I voluntarily associate with. Not that he isn’t gorgeous—or Christian, or a wonderful single father to his son, or charming, or …. Okay, okay, the list could go on and on, but despite all of that, I don’t voluntarily associate with Justin. For reasons. (aka: I don’t want to get into it right now.) However, despite my avoiding Justin like the plague, he beat up Chad once for me, when Chad was howling drunk outside of my house, upsetting my son. (Well, Justin didn’t so much beat him up, as just threatened to. But Justin is a big (masculine) guy. A professional hockey player—well was. So, Chad had scurried away—quite afraid.
However, Chad grunted at my threat, like he didn’t believe me. Couldn’t believe I’d actually do that to him—sic Justin on him. (Though the dude just broke into my room, and—oh yeah: CHEATED on me.)
Chad paused, obviously thinking it over, negotiating in his head if I’d really do it; yet all the while frightened Justin would love an excuse to pulverize him. Finally, Chad sighed with clear resign and rolled down the window a tiny bit more. He went to throw the shirt at me—I could tell he was going to (unwillingly as all mankind—but he was going to) but THEN—instead, he started crying.
Crying!!!
Big, tough Chad crying. (!!!)
One minute he was looking all defiant, the next bawling his eyes out.
“Just forgive me, Faith,” he sobbed/begged/whimpered.
I drew out a breath. He had done so many horrible things to me since the divorce, there was no way I was even tempted. No tears on earth would let that man back into my life—I just wished I could keep him out of my son’s.
I sighed, “Just give me the shirt, Chad.”
“No—that’s all you care about. I can’t give you the shirt. You want the shirt, but you don’t want me. WELL, YOU CAN’T HAVE THE SHIRT!”
I groaned.
Well, at least now he couldn’t feel so smug about taking it from me. I mean, he was bawling!
“Fine,” I muttered. “Take the shirt.”
“Fine. I’m going to!” He threw it in his backseat, giving me a look that said I was heartless. But well, he cheated on me, and then moved in with the lurid woman he cheated with—no songs he writes, or shirts he steals are going to change those facts, so I give him a cold look back. Or, okay, a ‘heartless’ one (since he’s crying and everything) but sorry, I don’t feel pity for him. I just feel betrayed. (And mad.)
Glaring at me, Chad started to drive away. His eyes only then looking at the road.
That’s when I discovered my towel must have gotten stuck in his car door when he slammed it shut.
Because as he drove away—whoosh! There went my towel.
Bye-bye!
It flew off down the street with his car.
Um … !!!!!!!
I’m … naked!!!!!
CHAPTER 2
Not only am I naked, I’m locked out of my house!!!!
My heart pounding so loud it seems like it’s going to alarm the whole neighborhood, I finally stop trying to turn the locked doorknob. (Useless!) Instead, I quickly dash behind a bush and try to formulate a plan.
I always keep the bottom floor windows locked, so I know my options are … well, not there. I’m basically sunk. I mean, I can’t climb up to my window—obviously. (Just the thought makes me shudder.)
My nine-year-old son is at his grandparent’s house. So, my only hope is my next-door neighbor’s aunt, who I happen to know is visiting him. (We live in a duplex. Our walls are paper-thin, so I know everything going on at that house.) (Drea
my sigh.)
The lights are on at my neighbor’s, so I know the sweet lady is already up—thank goodness. Frantically, I look for a rock to throw at the front window to alert her that someone is in need of her attention (but can’t go to the door because their naked).
As I look around the ground near me, the first thing I see is a brick. That’s a little drastic—I realize (really, I do)—but if I get any more desperate than I already am right this second, sanity be slaughtered, I’m so going to use that brick. I’ll pay for the window repair. Fine. Whatever. The thing is, people are going to start waking up soon. I’d like to be in my house before that.
I throw a pebble at the front window. Then another.
But then—yikes! I quickly duck back behind the bush and almost have a heart attack. Because it’s not Justin’s aunt that looked out the window, but Justin himself. Holy heaven!!! I’d thought for sure he’d left for hockey practice by now. The man plays for our Christian hockey team now that he is injured and can no longer play professionally. He’s a hockey-oholic. He’s very seldom home unless his son is visiting … and his son isn’t visiting. (I know because I didn’t hear a story last night.) (I love Justin’s stories.) (Adore getting to hear them as much as his son.) (I hear them through the wall as I drift off to sleep.)
My heart is pounding wild because after my last pebble throw, Justin had looked out the window, then his eyebrows rose. That’s when I ducked.
Now my heart is pounding like a jackhammer. I have no idea what he saw.
I hear his front door creak open and I cringe behind the hedge, pretty much wanting to die (only not naked!)
I can hear the bewilderment in Justin’s voice as he calls from his open doorway, “Faith, are you naked??”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yes.”
“Why??”
I sigh.
“It’s a long story,” I tell him.
“I bet,” he says, still sounding bewildered, though yes—amused as well. Definitely.
I groan. Then gulp. “Listen, I’m locked out of my house.”
I can hear the laughter in his voice, “Wow. Your day is actually worse than mine. I was just complaining to God, then I hear a rock at my window. It’s like He’s telling me—Justin, at least you’re not naked and locked out of your house.”
Heat rips through me.
“Yeah. I’m an answer to a prayer,” I mutter.
I squeak out, “Now can you be one to mine? Will you climb through my bedroom window?—and then unlock the front door for me?” I squeeze my eyes shut hating to beg—especially to him, since we have a past (sort of). Still I add the word, “Please?”
He breathes out a soft laugh. “Well since you’re saying I’ll be an answer to a prayer. Definitely can’t pass that up. I need all the blessings I can get.”
Well, thank goodness for that.
I guess.
Holding my breath, I watch him get a ladder from his garage, then climb to my window.
I wish I didn’t have a crush on him. Like I said, we have a painful past. I wish I disliked him. I really, really wish that. But instead it’s the total opposite. Sigh.
The sad truth is: He really had seemed like an answer to my prayers. When I first moved in here, it was right after my divorce. I’d lost all faith in men. But hearing him through the walls …
It was like God was telling me, Don’t give up, Faith. Not all men are like your disloyal, dishonest husband. Look what I’m giving you as proof: the perfect male species.
It really had seemed like Justin was.
I’d hear him through the walls as he talked to his son, Drew, about his mom that died of cancer. He would tell his son, “Now your beautiful angelic mom is in heaven, with the angels. She’s watching over you, kiddo. So don’t you worry, just because you can’t see her anymore doesn’t mean she can’t see you. She’s watching over you every second. And you’ll see her again too. When you get to heaven—you’ll see her.”
Hearing him say that always filled me with a warmth I can’t express. Big, tough Justin—telling his son about heaven and angels. Some nights I’d cry with emotion.
But, you see, Justin had been my kindergarten boyfriend. Actually, my all through elementary school boyfriend. But then he dumped me and broke my heart, and then went on to make a career of it—breaking girls’ hearts.
Face it: it’s not the best situation to be in—divorced and wounded and vulnerable—and living right next door to a heartbreaker.
… Plus, to make matters more miserable, he has every woman in town chasing him.
Meanwhile, I have my ex-husband stalking me.
Men—I want nothing to do with them. Any of them.
… well, I wish that were the case. (Darn that Justin!)
CHAPTER 3
Justin Hanson
Justin Hanson—ten minutes earlier
I was late for hockey practice. I was scurrying around, trying to be quiet because it was insanely early and my aunt was still asleep.
Then I hear this noise at the window. Like, someone’s throwing pebbles at it.
I look out the window, then I freeze. Well, my heart speeds up. But the rest of me freezes. Because holy smokes! I just saw my cute neighbor hide behind a bush—and I’m pretty sure she was … naked. I take a second look. Then a third. What the—??
When she explains to me that she’s locked out of her house, for a moment I can’t move. Because she’s naked. And I’m a guy. And not only that, I’m a guy that’s been having this very woman swimming around in my head ever since I moved here. And now here she is, in my yard, naked. So, you know, moving—no. It’s not what I want to do. Unless it’s towards her. Which isn’t what she wants. Pretty sure.
I’m not sure what she wants though ‘cause all my brain can do is focus on—Faith Cooper is behind that bush, naked.
CHAPTER 4
Justin Hanson
Justin Hanson
When Faith explained to me that she wanted me to go up to her window, I teased her. (Can’t be helped.)
I jutted my chin, “Be polite and stand up to ask me.”
I heard her growl. And I swear, she was going to throw a brick at me.
But I promise on stack of bibles, I was only kidding. After all, I was going to have to climb up to her window. If I saw her naked I’d never be able to move. Or breathe. So, as much as I wanted to tease her, I had to backpedal. Fast. I told her quickly, “I’m only teasing, Faith—let me get my ladder.”
Though now, for the rest of the day, I’m going to be stuck with that in my brain—beautiful Faith Cooper was behind my hedges: naked.
CHAPTER 5
Justin Hanson
Justin Hanson—Four hours later
See, I told you all I was going to be able to focus on was the fact Faith Cooper had been in my yard naked. It made me play lousy at hockey practice this morning, and made me stare blankly at the school’s door when I got there to coach. (That’s what I do these days, I coach high school hockey. People here don’t seem to realize I’m rich and don’t need to do it, but then in a way I do need to. Otherwise, I’d go crazy. I injured myself last year and now can’t play pro hockey anymore, but I gotta do something, right? Coaching the kids helps me feel useful. And I guess a guy needs that—to feel useful. Especially when his wife died not too long ago. My world caved in on me. Now I’m just trying to pick up the pieces. I’ve got to. I have a kid.
So after my wife died, it wasn’t long after that I decided to move back home. Well, I mean, back to the town I grew up in. I figured it was a good place for my son to grow up. I could have afforded any house—but I learned Faith was going to be moving into the duplex next to the one I was looking at, so I grabbed the house on the spot. I’d always had a thing for Faith. She’d been my kindergarten girlfriend, and I’d never stopped loving her, though I’d tried. Really hard. (It’s a long story.)
Anyway, now I’m staring at the door to the school’s hockey rink, longingly hoping Faith will enter it. It’s n
ot totally impossible. She now subs at the high school on occasion. A substitute teacher, as well as a full-time writer, and an excellent mom—that’s Faith. I want to get me some of that. Be a part of it—her life. But here’s the thing: she hates me. So, though it’s not likely she is going to come through the rink’s door, it’s even more unlikely that she’d actually smile if she did it. Which kind of jabs at my heart. In a big way. Sigh.
CHAPTER 6
Justin Hanson
Justin Hanson
For some reason I can’t get the only time I ever actually talked to Faith once we got to high school out of my head. I guess it’s because, well, I’d wanted to do it a lot back then … but I had this pride-thing that stopped me. (I was an idiot.)
This is how that day, senior year, had gone—
Me, senior year:
I’d spent the summer being a pool boy—and admired by rich ladies. Wasn’t bad. In fact, it was nice. The pay was good, and all I had to do was keep up the maintenance on rich people’s pools.
And yeah—I was admired by the ladies. A lot.
I’m not complaining.
How can I? Now that we’re back in school I find myself admiring someone. Faith Cooper. This is new, somewhat. I mean, I’ve tried my hardest not to even notice her presence since elementary school. Though Faith and I, we had an amazing thing once. But it was years ago, so she probably doesn’t remember.
But I’m remembering now. And it’s making me wonder how come I didn’t let myself think about that in so long—think about back when beautiful sweet Faith was mine.
I nudge my friend Dave. He blinks, taking his eyes off Faith. He seems as reluctant to do so as me.
“What’s different about Faith this year?” I ask him, since I usually try avoiding looking at her, so I’m not exactly sure what.
The Heartbreaker Next Door (The Hockey Team Book 1) Page 1