The Player Next Door: A Novel

by K. A. Tucker

  “Maybe.” I climb onto his body to straddle his hips. His lips are parted, and his eyelids are heavy. “Not if you’ll fall asleep on me,” I warn.

  A deep, throaty laugh escapes him. “Does this look like I’ll fall asleep?” He reaches down to stroke himself. He’s already thickening again.

  Meanwhile, my core is aching with the need for release.

  With a smirk, he fumbles for the condom he set on his nightstand.

  I savor the view of Shane tearing the packet and expertly sheathing himself in record time. With sturdy hands, he seizes my hips to reposition me. He may have stalled sex from happening before, but there’s no hesitation now. He guides me onto him, slowly filling me.

  A breathless cry slips for my lips as my body stretches around his size and my inner muscles clamp around him, and a heady fire spreads through my veins, igniting my body.

  “Hol-y fuck,” he growls. “I won’t last long if you keep making sounds like that.”

  I roll my hips, guiding him in those last few inches to fill me completely. “You’ll have to make up for it.” Given the tingling stir in my lower belly, I doubt I’ll be chasing my release for long.

  His fingers bite into my flesh as I ride him, his heady gaze dancing from my face to my swaying breasts to where we’re joined as if he can’t decide where to settle. His hips meet my body in measured thrusts. Between us, my body grows wet as I get lost in the intoxicating thrill of this intimacy, of being full and stretched by Shane.

  “Fuck … Scar, I need … ” He doesn’t finish that sentence before flipping me onto my back and overwhelming me with his substantial frame. His lips find mine in a fervent kiss as he drives into me with fast, deep, powerful thrusts. I coil my legs around his hips and let him dominate my body, content to tangle my fingers through his silky hair and savor his mouth as the bed’s headboard bangs against the wall over and over again.

  My orgasm hits suddenly, flooding me with warmth and rushing through me. I cry out as my inner muscles squeeze Shane, earning his curse and several harder, faster plunges. He lets out a deep, almost pained groan into my mouth and his hips still as he pulsates inside me.

  We fall into a contented silence for a long moment, our swollen lips grazing, our ragged breaths mingling, our chests heaving.

  “It’s a good thing we didn’t do that back in high school,” Shane whispers.

  I lay boneless beneath his weight. And utterly content. “Why is that?”

  His teeth find my earlobe, giving it a lazy nip. “Because we never would have gone anywhere.”

  A warm shiver courses through my body. “You’re probably right.” I trail my fingertips over his chiseled shoulders and back. His skin is burning hot and slick with sweat. “Speaking of which, what time do you want to leave for Route Sixty-Six?”

  His deep chuckle vibrates through my core. “Yeah, we’re not leaving this bed tonight.”

  Twenty-Four

  “Are you sure this is it?” I hold up the unimpressive rubber ring. “It looks like a weird elastic hair band.”

  “About fifty percent sure.” When Shane sees my scowl, he holds up his hands in surrender. “That toilet’s ancient.”

  I sigh with resignation. “Maybe we should just replace it, then.” My main-floor toilet started running last week and hasn’t stopped. If I don’t do something soon, I’ll be paying for a new toilet’s worth of wasted water.

  “Let’s try this, and if it doesn’t work, I’ll put in a new one for you next week.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  “I did my renos, remember?” He answers with far more patience than I probably deserve. “And if I need help, I’ll call a friend who owes me a favor and definitely knows what he’s doing. Either way, I’ll get this fixed up for you.”

  A gray-haired man with a wiry mustache and a fluorescent-orange staff vest shuffles up to us in the plumbing aisle, his steel-toe boots sliding against the concrete floor. “Can I help you two find something tonight?” He has a kind, grandfatherly face.

  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.

  I hold up the hardware bag. “I’m with you because you’re helping me fix my toilet.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” He sounds reluctant. “I don’t like lying to my kid, though.”

  “It isn’t a lie. But I get what you’re saying.” To a smart eleven-year-old boy, it will seem like a lie if and when we come clean about our relationship, something we agreed wouldn’t happen until next summer. But every minute we stand outside the store debating this, that kid is sitting in his house, listening to a fight that is bad enough it made him call his dad, crying. It’s a no-brainer. “Then we go and get him now.” I slip my fingers through Shane’s. “And we don’t lie.”

  After a long moment, he nods.

  Shane parks his truck behind Penelope’s silver Acura. Next to it is a black BMW. I assume that’s Travis’s.

  “Nice house,” I note, taking in the impressive two-story new build. It’s a cookie-cutter house with no character and nothing unique, save for the landscaping and the porch decor. To my left and right are houses nearly identical in size and style, in one of three brick color schemes, chosen by the builders with community aesthetics in mind.

  “They bought into the subdivision a year after it was built,” Shane explains, cutting the engine.

  At least my dilapidated little home has personality, I think to myself with petty satisfaction, recalling Penelope’s not-so-subtle dig. Plus, I have mature trees and a lot that could fit five of these tedious houses.

  “You should probably stay here.” Shane rubs my thigh with his palm, as if to soften the suggestion.

  I smother my urge to laugh. “You think?” I have no interest in adding myself to the volatile mix.

  “Be back in a minute.”

  Shane’s body is tense, his face stony, as he strolls up the interlock pathway, past a Japanese maple and life-sized Freddy Krueger to a steel-blue front door. I wish I could crawl inside his body for just a moment, to know exactly what he feels for the mother of his son, to understand what it’s like to share a human being you love fiercely with a woman you wish you could have nothing to do with for the rest of your life.

  Before Shane has a chance to ring the bell, the door flies open.

  Travis storms out, scowling. He stalls a step when he sees Shane, as if startled, but recovers quickly. “Where’s the bro code, huh? Why didn’t you warn me that she’s batshit crazy!” I hear through the open driver’s side window. He doesn’t wait for Shane’s answer before marching to his car, keys dangling from his finger, a steady glower on his handsome face.

  Our gazes connect for a split second. “Oh, just fucking great. That’ll help things,” he mutters, then dives into his car. In seconds, the BMW is peeling out of the driveway and speeding off.

  Penelope is at the door now. I can only see her legs and her shoulder—Shane’s massive body effectively blocks my view.

  “He shouldn’t have called you,” she says crisply.

  “Well, he did, and now I’m here, so let me take him back to my place for the night.” Shane’s tone is deceptively calm. Beneath it, I hear his anger bubbling.

  “It’s my weekend with him.”

  There’s a long pause. I imagine him leveling her with a long, hard look. “He called me because he was scared. He was crying, Pen.” There’s a touch of pleading in Shane’s voice that claws at my chest. “Let me get him out of here until Sunday morning so you two can sort out your shit without him having to listen to it. That’s not fair to him.”

  After another long moment, I hear her say, “Fine.”

  Shane disappears inside, shutting the door behind him, leaving me alone in the driveway. I kill time by texting Justine and scrolling aimlessly through Instagram.

  They emerge a few minutes later. Cody has his backpack slung over his shoulder, his head bowed. Even still, I can make out his splotchy, red face.

  “Where’s my hug?” Penelope calls out.

  When he doesn’t respond, Shane stops him with a hand on his shoulder and coaxes him with, “Come on, buddy. Give your mom a hug goodbye.”

  Cody turns around and drags his feet all the way back. He embraces her with reluctant arms, pulling away before she has a chance to enclose him in hers. He darts back to Shane’s side as if seeking solace there.

  I don’t miss Penelope’s flinch at her son’s obvious preference. “I’ll see you on Sunday morning, okay?” she says in a light, shaky voice. “We can go shopping for your Halloween costume.”

  “I’m too old to go trick-or-treating,” Cody grumbles.

  With a gentle hand on the back of Cody’s neck, Shane guides his son down the path.

  “Thank you,” Penelope calls out, almost as an afterthought, her arms curled tightly around her body.

  In that moment, I feel a twinge of sympathy for the she-devil. She almost seems human—vulnerable, emotional, caring.

  Shane offers her a wane smile over his shoulder that she matches with her own.

  But it vanishes the moment she spots me in his truck. Even from here, I see the rage that ignites in her murky sage eyes. “Shane!” she barks, all semblance of gratitude gone. “Can I speak to you for a minute? Inside?” She’s back to using that snotty tone, the one that has always inspired my urge to punch her square in the face.

  Shane’s chest rises with a deep exhale. “Yup,” he hollers back, his expression stony again. He knows what this is about. He guides Cody to the extended cab. “You’re gonna hang out in here with Ms. Reed, okay?”

  Cody’s attention was glued to the ground up until now. With mention of me, his eyes snap to the passenger side and widen with surprise.

  I plaster on a cheerful smile. “Hi, Cody.”

  Shane pokes his head into the driver’s side window as his son clambers into the back seat. “Give me another five minutes, ’kay? Might as well deal with this now.” He looks as excited to step inside that house as I imagine he would going to the hospital for organ removal.

  “No worries. I’ll grill Cody on probability and complex fractions while we wait.”

  “Don’t torture the poor kid,” Shane says with a weak chuckle, heading back to face an irate Penelope.

  They disappear into the house, closing the door behind them. My ears burn with the knowledge that I’m to become the topic of conversation within those walls.

  Awkward silence fills the truck cab.

  “So, I heard you’re having a rough night,” I finally say.

  From the rearview mirror, I catch Cody’s nod as he discreetly brushes the back of his hand against his cheeks, likely to dry off the residue of old tears.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  A long pause is followed by a fierce head shake.

  “Fair enough. Just know I’m a pretty good listener if you need to talk. Okay?”

  Cody nods. A curious frown flickers across his face. What’s it like for an eleven-year-old boy to get picked up by his father and find his teacher in the front seat? His young mind must be s
pinning with questions.

  As if my thought prompted him, he asks, “How come you’re with my dad?”

  I shift in my seat to face him. “Because my toilet isn’t working, so we went to the hardware store together to find a part. That’s where we were when you called.” I hope that answer doesn’t sound scripted.

  He sweeps his hair off his forehead. “So, he’s helping you fix your house.” I can’t tell if that’s a question or a clarification for himself, as if he’s making sense of his thoughts out loud.

  “I hope so. Otherwise I have to hire someone and they’re not cheap.”

  After another long moment, Cody grins, and a replica of his father’s dimples appear. On Cody, they’re adorable. “He tried to fix my grandparents’ dishwasher last month and ended up making it worse. They had to buy a new one.”

  “Are you telling me I’m doomed?” I say playfully.

  I get a one-shoulder shrug in return. “You grew up around here too?”

  “I did.”

  “And you knew my parents when you were my age?”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “Did you and my father used to date?”

  I keep my smile in place, even as disquiet settles in my spine. Shane said he told Cody we were friends from high school, but nothing more. If Cody didn’t hear about it from his father, then who else besides Penelope? Has she been telling her son things about his teacher? I dread her version of the truth.

  I push the wariness that comes with that prospect aside. Shane doesn’t want to lie to his son, so I won’t start now. “Yes. For a summer, when we were seventeen.”

  Cody nods slowly. I get the impression that perhaps he’s validating information he’s overheard. Definitely not a good thing, given who his source of said information likely was. “Cool.”

  I hold my breath, dreading the next obvious question.