The Player Next Door: A Novel

by K. A. Tucker

  “That’s Shane Beckett. He went to Polson Falls Elementary.” It was many years ago and he’s an adult now, but she must remember him.

  A small puddle of melted ice cream is quickly forming beneath the upturned cone. I reach for a wad of napkins from the dispenser on our table to clean it up, disappointed. I may have declined the cone at first, but I was enjoying it. Though maybe it’s for the best. I couldn’t very well savor it while the witch of Polson Falls hovers over me.

  “It’s nice to see you two out for dinner.” She wields the word nice as if it means something entirely different. Something not nice.

  I force a smile. “It is! We’re finally catching up on life, now that we’re neighbors. Of course, we’ve been friends for years.” Minus that brief thirteen-year period where I wanted to crush his balls with a hammer.

  “His son is in your class, isn’t he?” she asks lightly, and I can see from the glint in her eye that she knows damn well he is.

  I feel my smile shift from fake polite to fuck you. “Cody Rhodes. Yes.”

  “Hmm.” Such a simple sound, and yet it tells me all I need to know—Bott doesn’t buy my story and doesn’t approve. If she were anyone but the woman who interrogated a nine-year-old student in search of evidence of her husband’s philandering, I might feel guilty about lying.

  Regardless, it doesn’t matter what she believes or approves of, I remind myself, because Shane and I are old friends and neighbors. Anything else is none of her—or anyone else’s—business.

  “Order number thirty-one!” the cashier hollers, holding up a brown paper bag with the Patty Shack’s logo across it.

  There’s no one else waiting for takeout so I assume it’s hers, but Bott doesn’t so much as twitch, staring so intently at me, it’s like she’s staring through me.

  I feel like I’m nine and squirming in the corner of room 128 all over again.

  Shane’s reappearance abruptly breaks her trance.

  “Shane Beckett.” She loves using people’s full names.

  “Madame Bott. Sorry, I think it’s Parish now, right? Good to see you again.” He flashes that sexy smile.

  She dips her chin but offers no smile in return, as if immune to his charms. “You as well.”

  Speak for yourselves. If she doesn’t leave soon, I’m worried I’m going to break out in hives.

  “Number thirty-one!” the cashier calls out a second time, and now she’s glaring at Bott’s back, an impatient twitch to her face.

  “I think your order’s ready.” Can she hear the wish for her to leave in my voice?

  “Yes. I think so.” Bott’s penetrating eyes linger on me another moment, her hand clasped over that odd talisman necklace, her thumb and index finger dragging over the beaded surface. “Enjoy your night catching up.” Under her breath, she adds softly, “Careful, Scarlet.” Her heavy black skirt swirls as she glides to the counter to collect the brown paper bag, and then she’s gone, the ding of the bell above the door announcing her departure.

  Shane watches her pass along the sidewalk. “What was that about?”

  “Nothing.” Is it nothing, though? Is Bott going to be a problem? Will she say something to Wendy about her suspicions that I’m dating my student’s father? Should I be worried about what Wendy will say? Should I care?

  We’re both adults and we’re not breaking any official rules.

  Shane frowns at the melted mess on the table and then at my hands that are covered in melted ice cream. “What happened?”

  I sigh heavily, hoping the act will help shake the cloud of unease Bott left behind. “I dropped it.”

  Amusement takes over his face. “You know, Cody dropped his ice-cream cone once too. He was five. He cried and I had to buy him a new one. Do you need a new one?”

  Now he’s just teasing me. “Do you need me to have a new one?”

  “I think I’m probably better off this way.”

  “That was an embarrassingly fast jerk-off, even for an old pro like yourself.”

  “I didn’t—” He burst with laughter, showing those intoxicating dimples that make him even more attractive. “Go wash your sticky hands while I settle the bill. We have somewhere to be, and you’re not allowed in my car like that.”

  I frown curiously. “Where are we going?”

  His eyes sparkle with excitement. “A place you love.”

  Shane’s car is an attention whore.

  I watch people gawk as we drive along Main Street. It’s been that way since we pulled out of his driveway in this vintage beast. I can’t blame them—you don’t see too many classics on the road anymore, outside of a car show. Before this, the oldest car I remember ever riding in was my mother’s ’86 Ford Tempo, and there’s no one in a rush to restore those metal shitcans.

  I’m no ’67 Chevy Impala expert but Shane seems to have taken great care in bringing this one back to its original splendor. The black tufted-leather bench seats have all been reupholstered, the interior has been scrubbed spotless, and voices still croon from the AM/FM radio in the dash. But my favorite thing about the car is the engine’s deep rumble vibrating through my limbs. That, and how utterly sexy Shane looks behind the wheel, his elbow propped against the open window, his hand gripping the steering wheel lazily at the six o’clock position.

  “You get three guesses.” Shane pulls into the left lane. The turn signal makes a loud, fast click-click-click, distracting me for a moment.

  Maybe we’re doing drinks after dinner. “Route Sixty-Six?”

  “That’s back that way.” He juts a thumb behind us as he makes the turn.

  “Oh, yeah.” And it’s obvious we’re leaving downtown Polson Falls. “Home Depot?”

  “I said I was taking you somewhere you love.” He frowns at me. “Are you saying you love Home Depot?”

  “No, but I do need a new fire extinguisher.”

  “You do,” he agrees with a smirk. “But they’re closing soon anyway. We can do that this weekend. Guess again.”

  I tamp down the delight that comes with the idea that Shane is making plans with me for this weekend—that he’s assuming, rightfully so, I’d want to spend more time with him. I search the stretch of road ahead of us. There really isn’t anywhere I love in Polson Falls.

  Besides my home, that is.

  Is this his covert way of saying he’s taking us back to my place for sex?

  God, I hope so.

  The engine roars as he makes a right turn, away from Hickory Street and my bed, and I’m left clueless again.

  A familiar bell tower looms ahead. “The fire station?”

  He shakes his head. “You’re terrible at this game.”

  “Give me a hint!” What’s there to do in Polson Falls on a Tuesday night?

  “I did already. I can’t believe you don’t remember.” He sounds put out, but I know it’s a facade.

  “Maybe that summer wasn’t as memorable for me after all,” I throw back dryly.

  The corner of his mouth twitches as he reaches across the leather bench seat and slips his fingers through mine, giving them a squeeze.

  We coast along the street in silence, hand in hand. I’m still clueless but I’m too focused on the way his calloused thumb is drawing circles over my palm, the same way it did over my body last Saturday, to care where he’s taking me. It’s been forever since something as innocent as a man’s hand in mine could be so enthralling.

  Up ahead, a steady line of cars is turning into the Galaxy Drive-In parking lot.

  “Figured it out yet?” he taunts.

  “Are you kidding me?” I laugh. “I hated this place!”

  He affords a quick glance away from the road to look at me in disbelief. “You did not hate this place.”

  “I worked here for two summers.” I haven’t stepped foot on the property since my last shift shoveling popcorn and pouring fountain drinks.

  “Fine, but you didn’t hate it when you were here with me.”

  “True,” I admit begrudgingly
. Being an employee meant I could get us in for half price—and sometimes free, depending on who was working the gate. We came here every week on my nights off that summer, to lounge in the back of Dean’s truck, inhaling Dr. Pepper—sometimes laced with alcohol—and make out. It was being with Shane that I loved, not Galaxy Drive-In. “Since when are they open on a Tuesday in September?” They only ever played movies throughout the week during the summer.

  “I think they’ve been hurting for cash so they started opening up for cheap nights, playing older movies. A last money grab before they close next month.” Shane pays the young male attendant at the gate and coasts in.

  The place is busier than I’d expect for an off-season Tuesday night. It’s a relic with its one screen, and yet it apparently hasn’t failed to still bring in a crowd. Several rows of cars are lined up as people settle in, filtering to and from the concession stand—a small blue shack that used to be yellow. It appears they even updated the dingy restroom unit. Somehow working the concession stand also earned me the job of cleaning those out at the end of the night. I’ve long since blocked the horrors of that task from my mind.

  Shane parks in an empty spot in the back corner, leaving plenty of space between us and a Honda. The occupants—a man and his teenage son—turn to gawk at us.

  “Do you like the attention you earn in this beast?”

  “Honestly, I don’t notice anymore.” He cuts the engine and then shifts his body, stretching his arm across the back of the long bench seat. The move pulls his shirt tight over his chest as he turns to face me. “So?” He pushes a strand of hair off my forehead. “You up for this?”

  Up for what exactly?

  We spent a lot of time at the drive-in, not watching movies that summer. We’re parked back here, away from prying eyes. Was that strategic on his part?

  “What’s playing tonight?” I crane my neck but can’t read the marquee from here.

  “Saw.”

  I groan, letting my head fall back against the seat—and his arm. “This is going to be The Ring all over again, isn’t it?” I hate horror movies. I spent a good chunk of that night hiding my face in his neck.

  “I hope so.” Chuckling and giving my shoulder an affectionate squeeze, he unbuckles his seat belt. “Dr. Pepper?”

  “Sure, why not?” Burgers and milkshakes, now soda and popcorn. “I’m going to vomit before the end of the night.”

  “As long as you don’t do it in my car.” He slides out.

  I settle my arm where his was a moment ago, across the back of the seat. Resting my chin on my arm, I continue with my new favorite pastime—admiring Shane’s ass as he strolls away from me. Every square inch of that man is perfect.

  Including, I’m beginning to see, his heart.

  Five minutes later, Shane is trudging back, his arms loaded with the red tray they loan out to carry multiple concession purchases. “Didn’t know what you’d want,” he says, sliding the tray over the seat. He tucks the fountain drinks into a cup holder attachment off the dash—the only modern thing in here.

  “So, you bought everything.” Popcorn, licorice, three types of candy bars, and a box of Hot Tamales.

  “Basically.”

  Seriously, I’m going to be sick. But I smile and say thanks because he’s being so sweet and thoughtful.

  Shane fumbles with a lever and the trunk releases. He’s gone and back again within moments, this time with an arm full of blankets.

  “Do you always travel with those?” Not that I’m unappreciative. The fall evenings have grown chilly. But that wary voice in the back of my mind whispers questions. How many times has he done this exact thing with a date? How many women have curled up in this exact spot with those exact blankets?

  “I told you, I planned this whole night out.” He pauses long enough to flash me a dimpled smile before rearranging our snack bucket on the floor.

  And where exactly does the night end for us? Has he planned that far out too?

  “It’s perfect,” I say instead of asking, because sometimes you have to shush those suspicious little voices and just let things you want to happen, happen.

  Tonight feels like one of those nights where anything can happen between us.

  “I was thinking of taking the truck tonight but the great thing about these old cars”—he slides over to the center of the bench seat, smoothing the layer of blankets over us, covering our bodies from the waist down for warmth—“is that we can sit like this.” He stretches his arm along the back of the seat and then beckons, “Come here.”

  I shimmy over until I’m next to him, thigh to thigh, my shoulder wedged in against his side, his arm curling around my body.

  Careful, Scarlet.

  Bott’s warning lingers in my mind.

  “Is this a good idea? Us, out here in the open, I mean?” I’ve already dwelled on all the reasons why this might not be a good reason in general, and yet, here we are.

  “It’s dark and no one’s paying attention. And we’re all the way back here.” He nods at the Honda at least ten feet away from us. “You think those two care about anything but the psycho who sets death traps to murder people?”

  “So that’s what this movie is about.” Hesitating for only a beat, I burrow in closer, reveling in the heat from Shane’s hard body. I covertly inhale his cologne for the hundredth time.

  “See? Just two friends, hanging out, watching a scary movie.”

  “Is that all this is?” I mean it to be flippant.

  An index finger catches my chin and guides my face toward his, only inches away. Even in the dark, thanks to the movie screen ahead, I can see the warm amber of his eyes. Another wave of nostalgia hits me, calling back to a younger version of the man sitting next to me, to a younger, more enamored version of myself. “I want more than that with you.” His gaze drops to my lips. “You know that.”

  An electric current hangs in the air. Perhaps I’m no less enamored by Shane Beckett now than I was at seventeen. My stomach flutters as I wait expectantly for him to close those last few inches and kiss me.

  But instead, he turns back toward the screen and cranks the volume on the radio channel frequency that plays the audio for the movie. He shifts in his seat, splaying his legs as if he’s getting comfortable to watch. “Just so you know, this is a really fucked-up movie.”

  My dramatic sigh fills the car’s interior, a mask for the intense physical frustration I’m feeling. “Fantastic.”

  “Oh my God!” I cringe and bury my face in Shane’s neck as the woman with the bear trap affixed to her head repeatedly stabs the man. “Why did you pick this?”

  He chuckles as he dims the volume, minimizing the sound of the violent and grisly death. “Not like I had options. It’s the only one playing tonight.”

  “Well, you really know how to woo your dates,” I say dryly.

  My nose catches a hint of cherry licorice as he bites off a chunk, seemingly unbothered by the gore. “I don’t know. I’d say I have you right where I want you.”

  And I’m right where I want to be, my nose grazing the crook of his neck where it connects with his shoulder, my lips a hairbreadth away from tasting his skin. At some point, I kicked off my shoes and tucked my legs beneath me on the seat. Since then, I’ve been slowly inching closer to him. My hand has now found a permanent spot settled against his chest.

  “You smell really good.”

  “Yeah?”

  I pull away just enough to survey our dark surroundings. The occupants of the Honda are glued to the movie screen as Shane predicted, and we’re too far back for anyone else to see us. There aren’t any staff wandering through the lot, monitoring behavior. There never was when I worked here either. Mr. Duncan, the seventy-year-old owner, told us that as long as no one was overtly breaking the law and causing a disturbance, we were to leave the patrons alone. This is the same man who proudly admitted to fathering two of his sons in the back seat of his Buick during double-header Clint Eastwood nights, “Back in the heyday
of drive-ins.” I wonder if he’s still alive.

  “You looking for someone?” Shane asks.

  “Not really. I don’t know.”

  His face is inches away from me. “No one’s going to bother us here,” he says softly before leaning in to kiss me. His mouth tastes of red licorice, his lips still cold from the Coke he just sucked back. I’m hit with the most powerful wave of déjà vu I’ve felt yet.

  Except before, his affection was far less restrained. Maybe it was the wild teenage boy in him that kissed deeply from the start, his tongue always diving in to coax mine into a sultry dance. Now, he merely licks the seam of my mouth before he pulls back to rest his forehead against mine. “You’re worried about the school, aren’t you?”

  “A bit,” I admit. Despite how many times I tell myself I’m not breaking any rules. “What if Bott magically appears again tonight and sees this?” I’m only half joking.

  “I can’t see Bott coming out to the drive-in to watch Saw,” he says with a chuckle.

  “No, I guess not.” I smile sheepishly.

  His fingertips skate along my cheek. “But why don’t we save this for when we’re behind closed doors and just watch the movie.”

  In my peripheral version, I see blood-soaked hands. I cringe. “This is a horrific movie, Shane.”

  “Do you want to leave now?” he asks, and I see the sincerity on his face.

  Behind closed doors with Shane would be ideal, given the growing throb between my legs. But he did go to all the effort of planning this. “No, it’s okay. I like being here with you again. Plus, I think someone might kill you if you turn this beast on right now.”

  “Okay, how about this? Why don’t I watch and”—he gently guides my face back into the crook of his neck where it was moments ago—“you go back to hiding in here.”

  “I always did like it in here,” I purr, dragging the tip of my nose across his jawline.

  His breath hitches.

  I can’t help myself any longer. I brush my lips against that sexy ridge of his collarbone.

  He releases a shaky sigh that stirs my blood. “Yeah, I remember. Just don’t leave any marks on my neck like you used to, or I’ll never hear the end of it from the guys.”