“Seriously, knock it off, Faith.”
Finally, I pulled away from astonished Justin. He reluctantly let me go with a tiny groan of disappointment, like he wanted me to continue on with my bizarre charade forever.
“Nice show,” Chad growled through gritted teeth, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Not a show,” I said breathlessly, “—and you haven’t seen nothing yet.”
Justin’s eyes sparked. A huge grin grew on his lips. He seemed delighted by those nonsensical words, and was all for our ‘show’ continuing. In fact, he smiled epically huge, looking quite ready.
However, I quickly went on, “But the next show is a private viewing, and you aren’t invited Chad. Because we’re through—completely over. I was just making it clear, since you seemed woefully misinformed—a man will go near me. And, in fact, he goes near me quite often—”
“—and eagerly,” Justin interjected with a grin, obviously enjoying this game with Chad, even if he wasn’t quite up on it. Still, he apparently got the gist. And was all for it.
“So, if you’ll excuse us,” I said to stunned Chad, snatching Justin’s rough (warm) hand.
Wobbling, I led the huge gorgeous hockey player toward his car.
With a gigantic grin plastered on his astonished face, Justin silently let me lead away with a little chuckle.
“Are we really going to have a private show?” he asked with an amused grin when I actually hopped into his car.
“No,” I squeaked, just now realizing I was in his car—player extraordinaire (on and off the ice)—Justin Hanson, Mr. Heartbreaker himself. Not only that, I’d actually kissed those amazing lips of his. Kissed them. Me. Faith Cooper who doesn’t do anything daring. Yet I’d just dared to kiss Handsome Heartbreaker Hanson. Meeee!!!
“No,” I said again, my head still spinning and my heart slamming hard against my heaving chest. “We’re not going to do a private show. You’re going to drive me to my mom’s and I’m going to pay you a million dollars for letting me just do that—thank you.”
His eyes lit with amusement. “No—thank you.”
His grin quirked adorably as he dreamily traced his recently attacked-by-me lips. “Man, I should pay you a million dollars, Faith. Where did you learn to kiss like that?—and please don’t tell me from Chad. Man, please don’t tell me that.”
I gave a half-laugh, completely drunk on his compliment—and kiss. Whimsically (and drunk, mind you) I blathered, “No, I was just born a fabulous kisser. Plus being betrayed and tricked kind of motivated the magnificence of my mouth—so you can thank Chad for that.”
“Oh, I will,” Justin said. “I’ll send a fruit basket. And my condolences, since he no longer has that—the magnificence of your mouth.”
“Yep. His loss, right?”
“Big time,” Justin said, eyeing me with lit eyes, probably just noticing me for the first time since elementary school, though now, you know, he’s my next-door neighbor. However, he has droves of women lining up to date him and leave him casseroles and baked goods practically every hour of the day (and they’re always dressed in sexy stuff) (really sexy stuff), so you know, my existence probably didn’t dawn on him much—well, until I attacked him with my mouth just now.
But believe me, he was noticing me now. His eyes were glued on me.
“So, I should take you to your mom’s?” he asked, sounding reluctant to do so.
“Yes, please. And then I’ll pay you.”
I owed him anyway. Not just for this—this huge favor of not ratting me out to Chad but instead being so eager and willing (and spectacular) that I was still swooning and breathless from it. But that wasn’t all I owed him for. I owed him because my sweet young son, Toby, said hockey celebrity Justin Hanson had stopped the mean kids in Toby’s new beginner’s hockey class from picking on him (which boys have a tendency to do—pick on my son. Constantly.) But Justin had taken Toby under his wing and gave him hockey tips, right in front of all the awed boys, making Toby feel spectacularly special, and like he had a private tutor … and a friend.
Toby was in awe of Justin, always wanting me to invite him over, or at least accept Justin’s many offers to come over to his house and help him eat the casseroles the neighborhood—and not so neighborhood—ladies were always leaving him.
But tell me, who wants to do that? Eat the food solely intended to seduce the dreamy guy you yourself dream about kissing. Eagerly.
So, no. I never accepted Justin’s offers, and felt kind of like they were a slap in the face. “Please help me eat the food given to me by my many fan-ladies, and while you’re at it, you can be one of them too—just get in the very long line and wait your turn.”
Yeah, no thanks.
And though those weren’t his exact words, they still equated to about the same thing, so I’d grunt and say “no thanks” and—for some reason—act like I didn’t like him. I guess it was because that was how I’d always treated him in high school. I mean, the boy had broken my heart—smashed it to bits—and then had acted like he didn’t even know me, for years. And he had called me “frumpy!” Frumpy!! (I wasn’t frumpy! My best friend, Rachel, had just died. I was sad. In mourning.) Then suddenly, senior year, I’d feel his eyes on me all the time—but he’d always have a girl hanging on him. So, no. I didn’t let on that I had longed for us to be friends again. However, I did long for it—all through high school. Because he had been a dear friend to me all through elementary school. Well, until he broke my heart.
But the dude had gone on to break many, many girl’s hearts. So, I held on to mine, and didn’t look at him all through high school. Well, tried not to. Just like I did now that we were neighbors. Tried not to notice him, or like him. Because in reality he was no different than in high school—he was a heartbreaker. The only difference was, now I’d had my heart broken many times.
No way would I let that happen to me again. Especially not by Heartbreaker Hanson.
Though okay, I knew the memory of his kiss was going to keep me up nights. But hey, just hearing his sweet bedtime stories to his son through the walls did that to me anyway—made me toss and turn and long for Justin Hanson to be different. To not be Heartbreaker Hanson, but be … mine.
CHAPTER 9
Faith Cooper
Faith Cooper
When I got home from my mom’s house, after the kiss—well, unexpected things happened. I don’t want to mention them—and I certainly didn’t mention them to my mom when she called that night. However, when I picked up Toby from her house after the kiss, I’d complained up a blue-streak to her about Chad showing up at the focus group. Complained on and on about it. But I kept my mouth shut about Justin.
Even when Mom said, “I know you’re mad, dear. But darling, you’re absolutely glowing.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it. I had no words. None.
But Toby did.
He spoke up excitedly, “It’s because hockey playing Justin gave her a ride here.”
I gaped at him, stunned.
Yet Toby went on, “I saw him through your window, grandma. He tried holding mom’s hand like he is in love with her, but she snatched it away—yet when I saw her come in the door, she was smiling gigantically huge.”
“I was not smiling! That was not a smile. That was—that was me trying to keep happy thoughts even when I was under distress!”
Mom smiled, actually beamed. “Justin Hanson gave you a ride here?”
Did she not hear the distress part? Probably not. (My mom has selective hearing—especially when it comes to my complaints about Justin. They make her smile. Smile!!)
I groaned. “Yes, he gave me a ride.”
Mom’s smile grew. “And held your hand?”
“No! Well, yes, but not for any reasons you’re thinking.”
Yes, he had (tried) holding my hand—but only in jest. He was teasing me about now being my boyfriend (since I’d, you know, told Chad that he was) (Groan.)
Mom smiled at my evasion tactic
s. “What reason did he hold your hand?”
“No. No reason—just because that’s him: a tease. And a flirt.”
Toby piped in, “He’s always inviting us over to eat his food.”
Before Mom’s smile could explode her face, I quickly said, “Come on, Toby. Time to go home, we have church tomorrow morning.”
“Uh, nu-uh, mom. Dad’s taking me to play put-put golf tomorrow and to meet some lady. His new “lady-friend.”
My heart sank. Usually—well, sometimes—Chad would let me take Toby to church even on the days Chad was supposed to have him. Guess not tomorrow. Probably punishment for kissing Justin in front of him.
I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing so badly Chad could actually think about Toby instead of vendetta. “You could play putt-putt after church,” I suggested hopefully to Toby.
“That’s what I told Dad. But he said ‘no.’”
Of course he did.
I drove us home feeling pretty low. But THEN I got to my house and—well, no. I’m not going to mention the rest of the night—my encounter(s) with Justin. (But swoon!) (And be still my heart.)
However, I was strong and rebuffed his every move. (It helped that women kept showing up during his player maneuvers.) Otherwise, I probably would have crumbled. Melted like butter. (Which I pretty much did anyway, though no way would I let him know that. (I mentioned the other women, right?)
Then, the next morning, which was Sunday—oh my gosh!!
Justin was at my church.
Justin!!
At my church!!
He was wearing a suit and looking absolutely gorgeous. When I saw him walk in, my heart ricocheted off my ribcage, then exploded. I had to hold on to a pew to keep from toppling over. Holy smokes! What a sight! Justin in a suit—at my church. It was too much. I gripped the pew for dear life.
Of course my parents mobbed him once they saw him, spouting things like, “Justin, it’s so good to see you!” “My, don’t you look handsome?” “Remember when you and Faith went out on your little dates? She couldn’t stop talking about you—not for one second.”
Ugh! We hadn’t gone out on “dates.” It was elementary school, for heaven’s sake! I mean, okay, I had called them dates—but only in my head—and to my friends. But we had simply gone miniature golfing together while his parents did their taxes at their accountant’s office next to the putt-putt place. Then Justin had bought me a milkshake … that we had shared, because he only had enough money for one—things like that. We did them as often as we could.
Mom beamed at Justin now, like she knew he would come back to church someday (never mind that it took him fifteen years).
“Would you like to come to dinner?” Mom invited.
Justin grinned, giving me a sideways glance as I gritted my teeth. “I would love that, Mrs. Cooper.”
His grin grew, since I kept shaking my head like it was going to fall off. It just made him breathe out a small laugh as he turned his gaze back to my mom. “Thank you for the kind offer, Mrs. Cooper—I accept wholeheartedly. Thank you.”
“No,” I interrupted quickly. “He can’t come, mom—he has a date.”
Justin’s eyes twinkled. I turned red as a beet, since I probably shouldn’t know that, right? Only I did, because I heard through the foyer wall. A woman had knocked on his door last night and invited him to dinner at her house. (A sexy woman.) (Okay, I might have peeked out of my window.)
Justin said, “I’m willing to make new plans.”
Then he gave me a tiny wink as he added, “Since my mouth has been craving more of that treat it got from you yesterday.”
My mom smiled pleased as punch. “Oh, did you give him a treat, Faith?”
“No—I certainly did not,” I told her, glaring at Justin, though my skin was on fire from embarrassment—and okay, the memory of that kiss.
… and also from the way he was looking at me.
My, it’s hot in here.
“She did give me a treat,” Justin told my mom. “Before I dropped her off at your house yesterday, where I assumed she was picking up Toby. Where is the little guy, anyway? I promised him a hockey pointer every time he could get his mom to talk to me—which she did yesterday—for once. No grunts or growls or anything—just sweet treats for my mouth … and my ears—her sweet voice, no grunts or growls,” he teasingly put a hand over his heart, “—pure heaven.”
Well, I was ready to grunt now. And growl loud enough for the whole congregation to hear. I gave him a treat for his mouth yesterday, really? Well, swell. I’m sure Miss Sexy Lady at his door had planned to give him a treat for his mouth as well. And also the lady that “stopped by” his house earlier this morning too. He had treats for his mouth galore. Just like in high school, when he’d be kissing a girl, but looking at me. It had made me hold on tighter to my boyfriend’s hand back then. Now I didn’t have a boyfriend, or any friend to hold on to. I was on my own. So, I had to be strong, I tell you.
“Toby is at his father’s house,” I informed Justin weakly. “His father doesn’t go to church anymore. Or bring Toby when he has him for the weekend.”
“Yeah, that guy’s a real champ,” Justin said sympathetically. Yet I heard: ‘Boy, you really know how to pick them, Faith.’
But let’s not forget: I had picked Justin as well—and he’d done the same to my heart as any of the other men I’d been involved with—shattered it. So, I grunted. Which made him laugh.
“Where’s your son, Justin?” my mom asked.
Justin ducked his head slightly. “He’s with his grandparents. They’re my wife’s parents—uh, my wife is deceased,” he added, like he wasn’t sure if they knew that. He went on with a note of vulnerability in his voice, which he gets whenever he has to talk about the passing of his beloved wife. “Her parents relocated here when I moved back here with my son. They wanted to be near their grandson—but they don’t particularly like being near me, I don’t think. I think they are under the impression I’m getting involved with wild women—and that it’s not a good example for my son.”
Mom gaped a little, not sure what to say. I could tell she was suddenly wondering, IS he getting involved with wild women?
“I’m not,” Justin said, like to answer her unasked question.
Though he said it to her, his eyes went to me. “I’m not getting involved with wild women—and I am a good example to my son.”
“I’m sure you are,” Mom said.
“I am, and I hope I can start proving it to you at dinner tonight—that I’m a decent guy, and enjoyed the treat your daughter gave me yesterday more than I can express.”
I go up in flames. He’s teasing again, so I mutter, “Yeah, okay, go to dinner at my parents’—knock yourself out. Fine. I won’t be there anyway. I have to help at the faculty luncheon this afternoon.”
My dad looked puzzled. “I thought you told them no. You said the ladies attending betrayed you.”
I nodded slightly. “Yeah, I did say that. But I’m going to go anyway. I need to make friends with these ladies—I need the hours they can hand me.”
I started to march away to find a seat for my family in the crowded chapel.
Justin followed me, still smiling—since my parents obviously adored him. Even after his “treat” crack, which they obviously didn’t get. Or apparently even hear properly over their pounding, crushing hearts for Justin.
He grinned. “Wow, you’d go to that nightmare luncheon just to get out of eating with me?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’d do a lot more than that.”
“Faith …” His voice lost all of its teasing. He took my hand in his warm palm, linked his fingers through mine. It sent my heart skyrocketing. Earnestly he said, “You know I’m here for you, right? I came here to prove to you that I’m not whatever it is you mistakenly think I am.”
I think you’re a heartbreaker. In fact, I know you are. Since he’d had two different ladies on his doorstep in less than twenty-four hours, and yet here he was, p
laying another—me.
I snatched my hand away from him, trying to be an ice queen. Trying to ignore my pounding, stupid heart. “You can’t do that at church,” I told him bitterly. “You can’t hold my hand, and you can’t tell me lies—this is church.”
He jutted his chin. “Why are you like this?” He stared into my eyes challengingly. “You know I’m not lying.”
“No. What I ‘know’ is I can’t trust you—not with my heart.”
He crinkled his brow. “Is this about elementary school?” He said it incredulously, as though he couldn’t believe it was, then he bit his lip, his eyes completely earnest. “How can I change your mind, Faith? How can I get you to trust me?”
“You can’t,” I told him honestly, though not at all harshly. Just sadly.
His eyes looked completely defeated.
I took a deep breath, trying to stay firm and not melt into a puddle. “Look, Justin, no more stalking, okay?”
He had left me a dozen roses on my doorstep last night, which I found when I had finally managed to drive home from my mom’s house yesterday. It had taken quite a while for me to feel competent to do that, since I was deliriously dizzy and wound up from actually kissing Justin Hanson. Justin Hanson!! After years and years of being married, my first kiss had been with The Heartbreaker. It wasn’t fair. No guy would ever be able to compete with that kiss—ever. And now I was stuck dreaming about it: for eternity.
So, seeing the roses on my doorstep had filled me with mixed emotions. On the one hand, fireworks ignited through my heart when I read the card and realized the roses were indeed from Justin. On the other hand, I was left with a sadness, knowing though I longed and craved for the man, I wasn’t anything special to him. I mean, he made it seem as though I was special to him, but that’s what players do, right? They play. Get a woman’s heart all stirred up and mushy, then they move on to another woman to do the same thing—play with their hearts. It’s all a game to them. One I don’t understand, and I definitely don’t want to be part of. So, as much as I was delighted to get the roses, I’d wished he hadn’t given them to me.
The Heartbreaker Next Door (The Hockey Team Book 1) Page 3