Dave glances back at her as she’s chatting with her friends across the crowded school hallway.
“I don’t know,” he says squinting his eyes, like to make them be more judicious (and less enraptured) (for a moment). He muses, “I think she lost a lot of weight.”
I shake my head slightly. “That’s not it.”
I don’t remember her being bigger. Plus, I usually don’t like it when girls lose weight. I like a bigger girl, and their beautiful curves seem to be the first thing to go when they lose weight. Faith still has all hers. (Thank goodness.)
Still, as she starts to walk by us, I put my arm out, stopping her, ‘cause I can’t resist. I back her against the wall, ‘cause I can’t resist that either (and also it seems to be the only way to get her to stay).
“Hi Faith,” I flash her the slow smile that made me rich this summer—made all the rich ladies’ eyes spark, and helped me rake in huge tips. (I guess I have a nice smile.) (My bank account says so, anyway.) (Okay, and so do lots of girls.) (Just sayin.’)
I look into Faith’s eyes, enjoying it maybe more than I should. Well anyway, definitely more than I’d planned, since I’d just planned to do it for effect … but it’s affecting me. Big time.
“Did you lose weight?” I ask her conversationally, still trying to figure it out—what’s changed about her. Made me take a second look at her, when I vowed back in elementary never to do that again—give her a second look.
“No. I gained like five pounds,” she informs me through gritted teeth.
I eye her closer. “That’s what I thought.”
She growls, like I said something mean. (Did I?—I’m not even sure what I said, actually.) My brain is not really attached to my mouth—or any part of me—at the moment.
She informs me crisply (through gritted teeth, I might add), “What I lost was my braces, glasses, and a ponytail.”
She’s also lost her temper.
And social skills—apparently.
Her face flushes the tiniest bit. It’s kind of adorable. It makes my lips part slightly and my heart pound crazily. Hey, she was my kindergarten girlfriend. First love—it’s hard to shake, even when you try your hardest. Apparently.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, her face a little blotchy. Like she’s kind of embarrassed that she snapped at me.
I nod slightly at her apology. Hey, I’m easy. Plus, she still has those beautiful eyes I always adored … but they still look a little mad.
“Sorry,” she mumbles again. Then she adds (sort of growls, actually), “But you haven’t even talked to me in seven years, so I’m a little annoyed at your ogling.”
I grin slightly, “To be fair, I wasn’t around for three of those years.”
I’d moved away for a while—from seventh to ninth grade. But it’s true. We haven’t spoken since elementary school. I hadn’t even been sure she remembered me, but she’d been my first girlfriend (my kindergarten girlfriend) and my first love and first kiss.
In kindergarten we took naps together during naptime all that year, even though our teacher had moved our mats to the opposite sides of the classroom from each other. I’d sneak over to her mat every time our teacher wasn’t looking.
I grin about that now. Me having been unable to resist my little girlfriend.
“But I’m talking to you now,” I point out, “—and I’d like to make up for lost time.” I stare deeply into her beautiful eyes, being completely sincere, though I can tell she doubts my every word. I edge closer to her, “I want to talk to you a lot.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk to you,” she informs me. “You broke my heart and went on to break tons of girls’ hearts. So keep your eyes and lines to yourself.”
After spatting out her passionate (though, okay, somewhat bitter) words she stomps away from me.
Whoa. I sure got her spun up. Unfortunately, not the way I intended though.
I blink after her, mystified.
Highly amused, Dave playfully nudges me with a smirk. “Can’t win them all, man.”
I’m still watching her go and pretty much ignoring Dave’s words, yet I hear him say as he scratches his chin, “Though I don’t remember you ever getting shot down before, dude.”
That’s because I haven’t. Ever.
We get interrupted by a blond cheerleader.
“Hi Justin,” she calls to me, loud from across the hallway.
I nod at her, but my eyes immediately go back to my kindergarten girlfriend. Man, I’d loved her—Sweet Faith.
Dave nudges me again, this time with admiration since the blond is hot. And a cheerleader. Dave has a thing for hot cheerleaders.
“Daisy won’t shoot you down,” he says.
“Right, but I’ve got my eye on another girl at the moment.”
“Yeah, I see that,” Dave laughs, waving his hand in front of my face, trying to break my spell that angry sweet Faith has put me under.
But it’s not happening.
‘Cause I remember those eyes of hers now. They had always been on me. We’d wake from our kindergarten naps and her eyes would immediately go to mine. They’d always look so full of love.
I want them to look at me that way again.
CHAPTER 7
Justin Hanson
Justin Hanson
It didn’t happen though. Faith’s eyes refused to look at me. Ever. Maybe it was because she had a boyfriend by then. Or because girls kept attaching themselves to me. Or both those things, probably.
In any case, I didn’t get a chance to talk to her again until I became her next-door neighbor many, many years later. The thing is though, my senior year of high school I had a crazy mean girlfriend that was really cruel to Faith. I didn’t know it back then though. I mean, the girl had been really nice to me. So … I’d just thought she was nice. I was kind of blind (and stupid) back then. But in any case, because of my cruel girlfriend—who apparently led Faith to believe I was in on her cruelness (her name was Sabrina Davis, by the way—my cruel old girlfriend)—but so, it left Faith with a big chip on her shoulder about me. I’ve been trying to knock that chip off, but it’s been very difficult. What with her guard up about men—since her boyfriend in high school ended up cheating on her, and then her husband cheated on her too. (She hasn’t had much luck in the guy department, obviously, but it’s made it hard for a guy to get through to her—any guy. Though I’m a little grateful for that; that other guys aren’t able to swoop in and steal her away from me before I even get a chance to make her see I’m an okay guy. (Hey, I am. Or at least was. I was a pro hockey player, and a faithful, adoring husband, and a great dad, if I do say so myself—which I do. I love my son. And okay, the hockey career and wife are gone, but that’s not my fault. Believe me, I wish so bad that things were different. But when I laid eyes on Faith again, at least I had some hope. She was finally for once single, and she’d grown into a beautiful, fantastic woman. I wanted her.
Wanted her in my life. Wanted her in my son’s life. It’s just too bad she didn’t seem to want us in her life. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me.
… only, I couldn’t just drag her into a relationship, right? Right?! I wasn’t sure how to proceed with her. I’d been married for ten years, and since moving back here, I’d had women throwing themselves at me left and right (Sabrina Davis being one of them), but, you see, I didn’t want those women. I was quite focused on the one woman I wanted—well, in my head. I didn’t get many actual conversations with her, and they mostly consisted of grunts and growls. You might think this would put me off, but it was kind of cute—grunts and growls from sweet Faith. Also, I could hear her sweet beauty and awesomeness through my walls. So … I was in love.
I wanted her.
It left me frustrated—and playing hockey constantly, any time my son wasn’t around, I was on the ice, or preparing to go on the ice. I may have shot my chance to play it professionally anymore, but I was still a force to be reckoned with … well, on the Christian Hockey team I was on
, anyway. Also, like I said, I now coached the game. It was still my life—that, and my son, that’s all I had. Well, and now a dream—sweet Faith.
CHAPTER 8
Faith Cooper
Faith Cooper
Yes, okay. I was a kook. Avoiding the man I longed for. In fact, being somewhat rude to him. Always. I know it was ludicrous. But, you see, I had to protect my heart. And my son. I couldn’t go getting myself tangled up in something that I knew would end in heartbreak. After all, my heart was already in shambles, trying to heal from my last devastating heartbreak (divorce). I was sadly certain it would never even heal from that. Ever. So, I couldn’t add another heartbreak to it—especially from a man that had already broken my heart so thoroughly that it was already scared (and scarred) for life.
So this seemed wiser—avoiding the heartbreaker. Especially because every woman in town seemed to be doing the opposite.
So, yes. My mission was to avoid Justin.
But then something shocking happened.
I’d been at a focus group for the high school I substitute at. The group was being held at this woman, Joyce Sharp’s home. Things were going okay, I suppose, though none of the women in the group were really what I’d consider “friends.” My ex-husband, Chad, is the football coach at the high school. Has been for years. The ladies at the school love him—well, the single ones—which this group interestingly mostly consisted of. Not sure why.
In any case, the women in the group were at best my “frienemies.” But at least they weren’t right out “enemies” (I hoped). So, there was that.
“So Faith, you gave up writing?” Joyce asked me, finally saying a word to me. However, it was across the table of our large group.
All eyes landed on me, like hungry vultures, hoping to hear I failed. (Sorry, I have a bitter outlook towards most of them, due to their treatment of me since the divorce.)
I cleared my throat. “No. Not at all, it’s just since the divorce my creative juices have dwindled a bit, due to stress.” From having to deal with the man you all seem to adore.
I didn’t add that last bit, though it was the truth.
Instead, I admitted, “Also, it’s good to get out of the house a bit—converse with more than just the characters in my head.”
However, what I didn’t admit to them was since the stress of the divorce made it almost impossible to write these days, my income was slipping. That’s partly why I was here, uncomfortably trying to get more involved with these women, since they were full-time staff at the school and they chose their long-term substitutes when they had things like maternity leave or surgery recovery leave or any type of leave that was longer than normal, so I needed to get on their “chummy” side.
Also, as I said, since the divorce I’ve found I need to get out more. I’m not ready to date yet—shudder. Probably I never will be, since every experience I’ve ever had with a man has turned out completely horrible, to a nightmare degree. In any case, I need a job and social life, so here I am—socializing. (Well, sort of.) Giving it my best shot, anyway.
So, I was grateful that these cliquey women invited me to be part of their group tonight, and I didn’t even mind chipping in five bucks for the pizza they ordered, though I was low on funds and had already eaten.
Still, it was worth it to me.
But THEN, my ex-husband, Chad, showed up at Joyce’s house—to be part of the group.
I inwardly groaned when I saw him come through the door. Then outwardly groaned (loudly) when he smiled at me all friendly-like, saying: “Hi Faith—glad to see you made it.”
He gave me a wink as he said it, letting me know he was the reason I’d suddenly been invited to the stuck-up clique’s group. It wasn’t to ‘Get to know me better’ as Joyce had told me (aka: lied) when she astonishingly invited me to the group. No, of course not. It was because sneaky, conniving Chad was trying to wheedle his way back into my life. I should have known. No way would Joyce and her snooty friends invite me on their own. They were too snooty for that.
The thing was: Chad was popular with these women. Like I said, he was the high school football coach (and didn’t come to these groups to “focus” on making the school better, that’s for sure. I certainly wouldn’t have come if I’d for a second thought he’d be here. But it didn’t even cross my mind, since Chad blows off school events of any kind that aren’t mandatory and mandated.) But I knew he wasn’t here for the event. Chad was used to getting what he wanted. Right now, he was wanting to get me back—as his wife. But for once he wasn’t going to get his way. I mean, no way. As I said, the man cheated on me—numerous times—and he wasn’t really the world’s most awesome husband or dad before I discovered that fact. However, after I discovered it—like I said: No way.
It baffled me why he even wanted to get back together so bad. I think it had more to do with his ego than anything else. I mean, surely he didn’t long for me as much as he professed (right?). Face it: he’d had me—yet the jerk cheated on me—numerous times. So his continual stalking was … baffling. And painful. And no. I wasn’t getting back together with the dirt-wad. No matter how many baffling schemes and manipulating stunts he pulled.
Seeing him enter Joyce’s, and finally putting it all together—why I was finally being accepted and invited to Joyce’s closed focus group—I hopped up from my seat in disgust.
“I guess I’ll be leaving,” I growled, feeling tricked and betrayed. And embarrassed that I’d fallen for it.
“Aw, come on, stay Faith,” Chad said. “Pizza has already been ordered, right? You chipped in five bucks.”
I squinted at him, astonished.
He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. I’d been keeping tabs on you. Joyce kept me informed. I waited until you actually staked a reason to stay—pizza and cold hard cash: two true motivators for you, right Faith?”
I grunted. “I’m willing to forgo them both to not be in the same room as you.”
He blocked my way as I tried to huff out of the house. “Just give it up, Faith. You can’t fight me. I’m the town’s hero—bringing their football team to state four years in a row. Your social-life is literally in my hands. No man is going to go near you knowing you’re still mine.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m not ‘still yours,’ Chad. I’m so not still yours that the thought is hilarious.”
“No, what is hilarious is that you’re even bothering to fight it. Like I said—you’re mine, Faith. Until I say otherwise, no man will come near you.”
Sadly, in a way, that seemed to be true. As he pointed out, he was the town hero—and huge—all the men at my church were afraid of him. Not that I really cared. As I said, I was in no way wanting to “date.” Still, I hated his smug smirk with a fiery passion and wished so bad I could knock it off. I guess that’s why I lied. In any case, lie I did. It just spewed out of my mouth. “No man will go near me, huh?” I shuddered my eyelids at him, like Oh pl-ease, dork! Then I informed him/lied my head off, “I already have a boyfriend, Chad.”
Chad’s eyebrows rose, and a smirk soared across his smug lips—like he totally didn’t believe me and this sad flat-out lie amused him to no end.
As I painfully endured watching that—his smug smirk grow to epic proportions, the doorbell rang. Though it was completely crazy, I blurted out inanely, “That’s probably him right now.”
“Oh yeah?” Chad’s smirk grew. He sounded incredulous and smugly entertained by my obvious blatant lie.
I squared my shoulders (though, yeah, it was pathetic and sad to keep up the bizarre charade) yet I said defiantly, “Yeah.”
Then I raced to the door like I fully expected it to be my new boyfriend.
Chad chuckled, following at my heels, “This I’ve got to see—your new ‘boyfriend.’”
I opened the door—to find the pizza guy.
Groan.
Though, really, okay, it wasn’t a “pizza guy.”
It was worse.
It was the school hockey coach—Justin.
Apparently, he brought the pizzas for the group. He was wearing a name-tag that said, “Pizza Guy.” Probably one of the flirty, single women here gave him the designated nametag—probably Joyce. (Grrreat.)
Seeing Justin at the door, my heart slammed against my chest. For a moment, I was just stunned (and enraptured), my heart pounding wild, and my brain flying off to La-la Land. But then I remembered where I was, and the situation, and that Chad was standing right behind me with his irritating smirk plastered on his face.
… and okay, I went a little crazy.
Because as I stared flabbergasted at Justin a light bulb illuminated in my frazzled brain, and suddenly it occurred to me that Justin was coach of the HOCKEY team, and so not afraid of the football coach. Probably the only man in our whole town who wasn’t. So, how convenient that he was here right this minute—at the door.
It was like an answer to my silent prayer.
So, I swallowed and just went with it, because I was just that crazed. Crazy enough to keep up the crazy charade, even though it was ABSOLUTELY crazy. Crazy beyond belief; since, face it: Justin Hanson was a heartbreaker with a capital H. And I was gun-shy with a capital “yikes!” Yet I did it—I spouted out to Chad, “Yes, here he is—my boyfriend!”
Justin blinked, stunned.
Then blinked again as I grabbed him by his collar and brought my lips to his. Any fear I had that he would rat me out, and push me away, vanished instantly. He tossed the pizza on the ground and kissed me back like there was no tomorrow.
YOWZA!!!
The steamy kiss went on and on.
Chad was stamping his foot and protesting through the whole thing, saying—“Yeah, right. You’re conveniently dating the totally player hockey coach. Whatever. You can knock the crazy charade off any second now, Faith.” But his voice was getting more shrill and anxious as our kiss went on and on. In fact, toward the end he sounded ready to cry.
The Heartbreaker Next Door (The Hockey Team Book 1) Page 2