The Player Next Door: A Novel

by K. A. Tucker

  Every person in this goddamn restaurant knows it.

  But most of them don’t know the man beyond what they see up there. I do. I know what he looks like beneath that fancy outfit. I know how his wavy hair falls when he first wakes. I know the way his eyes dance with mere mention of his son, and all the ways he swallows his pride and sacrifices his own happiness to keep Cody happy. I know how he suffered an enormous loss and chose a noble path, helping others. I spent years convinced Shane was an arrogant player. Now, I watch him on that stage and I know he’s there not for ego or accolades, but simply because his heart is genuinely good.

  He’s everything I want.

  A deep ache pangs in my chest as I accept that he’s no longer mine.

  “This hero needs no introduction, but I’ll give you one anyway. Shane Beckett is none other than …” I barely listen to Mike, too busy gaping at a man I am undoubtedly in love with standing under the bright lights.

  He catches my eye and flashes one of his secretive smiles that he knows I love, before shifting his attention back to the crowd. He struts across the front of the stage, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Should we bother starting at fifty?” Mike bellows with a grin. “Nah. Do I hear two hundred dollars?”

  Paddles wave wildly.

  “And sold, for a record amount, to the stunning redhead in the black dress.” Mike points to the table where Penelope sits with a group I don’t recognize.

  “Pretty, but psycho,” Justine sings under her breath, eyeing my childhood nemesis. “Kind of weird to buy a date with your baby daddy, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a write-off for her company,” I say, even as I’m pondering what Penelope’s angle is. She always has an angle. Is this her way of still claiming Shane?

  She turns then, as if sensing us talking about her. One perfect eyebrow arches in challenge, followed by a smile of satisfaction.

  Yeah, the Red Devil’s still in there.

  “And that is a wrap! Thank you, everyone, for your incredible generosity!” Mike bows before a standing ovation and, with a salute to the crowd, strolls off the stage. Shane disappears behind the curtain, much to my chagrin.

  Just like that, the night is over. It’s time to go home, back to my daily life that no longer includes Shane. A wave of discontent hits me.

  “Scarlet, have you seen this?” my mother asks.

  “Seen what?” I turn to find her studying Justine’s copy of the calendar with amusement.

  She thrusts it in front of my face.

  “Ho-ly fuck,” Justine hisses, leaning in over my shoulder to spy Mr. July.

  I gape at the picture—Shane, posed with his bare back to the camera, against the fire engine with his arms and legs spread, as if awaiting a pat down before an arrest. The pants of his uniform sit at the hump of his ass, just enough to tease without being labeled indecent. But it’s not the pose or the flesh that’s shocking.

  It’s the sooty writing across his skin.

  The big, bold letters that read “Property of Scarlet Reed.”

  My heart pounds in my ears. “Oh my God, he did not.”

  “Oh yes, he did!” Justine cackles. “And they sell over a thousand of these things every year, the lady at the table told me.”

  The session with the photographer wasn’t until the week after Cody’s accident, which means he did this after we broke up.

  “If that isn’t a declaration, I don’t know what is,” my mother murmurs and I can’t help but note a hint of pride in her voice.

  I’m speechless. This is simultaneously the most embarrassing and overtly romantic gesture any man has ever made in my life. I don’t know whether to scream or cry or laugh.

  I sense a person looming over our table. I look up to find Penelope. “Cheesy, right?” she says, and there’s a glimmer of something unreadable in her eyes.

  She knew about the calendar. She knew what Shane had done. He must have told her he was doing it. Was it in warning?

  In any case, she doesn’t look ready to club me over the head with her paddle.

  I swallow. “It’s appalling, but it’s all for the children.”

  Her nostrils flare with her deep breath. A calming technique, perhaps. “Yes. For the children.” Her rapturous gaze cuts to my mother—there is still disdain there, no doubt—before shifting back to me. She sets her winning paddle on the table and then struts off without another word.

  Justine gasps. “You know what that means, right?”

  “No?”

  “She might have bid on him, but you’ve won!” She waves the paddle in the air to emphasize her point.

  Is that what this is? A peace offering?

  “Go and talk to him!” Becca urges, practically bouncing in her seat.

  “But he went behind the curtain.”

  “So what? He’s not the Wizard of Oz. And he did that!” Justine stabs at the calendar with her index finger.

  She’s right, of course. I need to talk to him.

  With a mixture of trepidation and excitement, I scurry onto the stage and fumble with the thick material until the separation appears. I find Shane and Dean standing on the patio beneath the heat lamp, savoring their beers. “How are you fine American gigolos feeling tonight?” I ask, clearing my throat against the slight tremble in my voice.

  Dean grins. “She could have had me for five bucks.”

  “Who are you kidding? She could have had you for free.”

  His grin grows wider. “Still can. And I hear she’s single.”

  “And brokenhearted,” I warn him in a severe tone.

  “Not for long.” Dean slaps Shane on the shoulder and, with a wink at me, he leaves to go inside, his bulky frame rearranging the curtains as he fumbles through.

  Shane smiles. “Don’t worry, I think he’s too intimidated by her to try anything.”

  I step closer and inhale deeply. He smells heavenly tonight. “I’m not worried. She’s all talk. He doesn’t have a chance in hell with her.” I stare up into his eyes, a deep, rich amber that sparkle in this moment. “Are you crazy?”

  “In love with you?” The corner of his mouth curls. “Completely.”

  I take a few long moments to calm my erratic pulse. Shane Beckett just told me he’s in love with me. He basically told all of Polson Falls and the surrounding area too. “Everyone will know.”

  He studies my lips intently. “Good. I want everyone to know.”

  I shake my head at his antics, but I can’t keep the grin from emerging as I hold up the paddle. “Penelope gave me this.”

  “Huh.” He sets his beer on a nearby table. “I guess she bought us a night out then.” Wrapping his arms round my waist, he pulls me into his chest. “She’s never going to be an angel, and she won’t always be easy. But she’s starting to come around. Slowly.” He leans in to settle his forehead against mine. “If you want to wait until next summer when Cody’s out of your class, we can wait. I’m not going anywhere, Scar. Ever.”

  I smooth my palm over his lapel, savoring his strength beneath my fingertips as an overwhelming sense of calm washes over me. Is this the moment? The one I’ll remember years from now, as the moment I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this man?

  He catches my lips with his. God, it’s been a long month apart. I allow it, enjoying the feel of them again.

  He pulls away to whisper, “You own me so completely, it’s kind of pathetic.”

  “I won’t hold it against you,” I tease, playfully smacking his ass with the paddle. “Hey, does this thing actually mean I get a night out with a hunky hero?”

  He chuckles. “It does. If you still want it.”

  I twist my lips in a mock grimace. “I don’t know. I heard you guys don’t put out.”

  Thirty-Two

  June 2021

  * * *

  I toss the dandelion into the yard waste bag and move on to the next. I don’t remember so many weeds riddling this garden when the Rutshacks owned the place, but I
was young and focused on the flowers.

  The front door creaks open next door, drawing my attention to the tall, handsome man strolling out in his running gear, his arms stretched over his head.

  “Took you long enough,” I holler, tossing my gloves and trowel to the dirt and easing up. I warmed up twenty minutes ago.

  “Someone kept me up late last night playing video games.”

  “You didn’t have to stay up. Cody and I were fine on our own.” We meet halfway by the white picket fence that forms what now seems like an arbitrary line between our properties. The two houses may as well be joined for all the shuffling back and forth.

  “Good morning.” He leans in to steal a tender kiss but slides in a hint of tongue that he knows will always get a soft moan out of me.

  “Is he still sleeping?”

  “Yup. Let’s get going so we have time to go back to your place for a quick shower.”

  I smirk. Our showers are never quick. “Justine will bitch that we used all the hot water,” I warn.

  “I don’t care. I needed you this morning and you weren’t there.” He emphasizes that point by pulling me into his body so I can feel his erection against my stomach.

  “You didn’t deal with that before you came out?” I scold.

  “I did. And then I saw you in these pants.” He kisses me again. “Five more days.”

  I chuckle. He’s been counting down the days like a kid at Christmas, until I’m officially not Cody’s teacher anymore, even though we reconciled the night of the auction and have been together ever since. There really was no point not to be, with that calendar stunt Shane pulled. Nobody would believe otherwise. And with Penelope backing off, I found myself no longer caring what the Karen Faros and Heidi Muellers and Madame Botts of the world thought.

  I only care about what Cody thinks, and he has been all smiles.

  But I’ve still refused to stay over at Shane’s when Cody’s there, not wanting to risk him hearing something late at night that no student of mine should hear. I’ve also set strict boundaries when his innocent—but not so innocent anymore—eyes are on us. Basically, Shane’s been relegated to holding my hand.

  And I’ve since learned that putting physical restrictions on Shane makes him especially horny. Case in point.

  “We don’t have time for that,” I remind Shane, tugging on his arm. “Remember? We’re meeting my mom and Griffin at the Patty Shack.” Pigs never started flying and fire and brimstone did not rain down from the sky, and yet the infamous Dottie Reed seems to have found herself in a committed relationship with a decent, respectable man. Mike, the bartender at Route Sixty-Six, actually pulled me aside to ask if she was okay since they hadn’t seen her in weeks.

  “Just what I want to do on my day off. Breakfast with my boss,” Shane says with a grimace.

  “Shut up. You love it.” I give his hard ass a slap and then take off.

  Knowing he’ll give chase.

  Sneak Peek - Forever Wild

  December

  * * *

  “She out there again?”

  “Not anymore. But there’re tracks.” I’ve watched the mama moose nibble on bush branches every morning for the past week. I even snapped a few serene photos of her that I posted on my Instagram.

  I sip my latte, savoring the warmth that flows down my throat as I admire the frozen, white expanse. A fresh coat of snow fell overnight, blanketing our little haven just outside the small town of Trapper’s Crossing.

  “I probably scared her away with the plow.” Jonah leans in to press a morning kiss against my neck, his scruffy beard tickling me.

  I close my eyes and dip my head to the side, to give him better access. “You were up early this morning.”

  “Yeah. It got cold last night. Wanted to make sure everything was running all right.”

  Jonah was up early because he was tossing and turning all night, again. I know it has nothing to do with the frigid temperature and everything to do with his mom and stepfather’s plane that lands in Anchorage today.

  “Everything will be fine,” I promise for the umpteenth time. “They’ll be all the way over there.” I gesture at the small cabin peeking out from the trees on the opposite side of our private lake. We hauled the last of the furniture in yesterday. “And my mom and Simon will be here in three days.” Excitement flares in my chest. I haven’t seen them since they dropped me off at the airport, almost a year ago now. “Plus, Agnes and Mabel come on the weekend, so there’s plenty of buffer between you and Bjørn. I promise, this Christmas will be perfect.”

  Jonah’s derisive snort says otherwise.

  Forever Wild: A Novella

  The Simple Wild series

  Coming December 1st, 2020.

  To preorder your copy, please visit katuckerbooks.com/foreverwild

  Sneak Peek - Sweet Mercy

  Enjoy this excerpt of Sweet Mercy, book one in the dark and sordid Dirty Empire series by K.A. Tucker writing as Nina West…

  Mercy

  * * *

  “Mercy Wheeler!”

  My body, already rigid, stiffens at the sound of my name on the guard’s tongue. I’ve been waiting in Fulcort Penitentiary’s visitor lounge for over two hours now, long enough to leave me doubting whether I’d ever be let in.

  Shutting my textbook, I collect my purse and rush for the counter with my stomach in my throat, afraid that any dallying could lose me my visit with my father.

  The guard staff changed over at some point, because the thin older gentleman with the kind smile who took down my information earlier has been replaced by a burly oaf with beady little eyes and an unfriendly face. His name tag reads Parker. “Who you here to see?” he demands in a gruff tone.

  “My dad.” I clear the wobble from my voice. “Duncan Wheeler. It should say that on the log?” It comes out as a question, though I can see my father’s name written in block letters next to the tip of this guy’s pen.

  “I like to double-check, is all.” He smirks, then recites a long string of numbers and letters. My father’s inmate ID number. “This is your first visit here?”

  “Yeah.” My father only began his sentence two weeks ago, and it took time to get me approved on his visitor list, which is bullshit. I’m the only person on his visitor list.

  Parker the guard takes a long, lingering scan of my plain, baggy T-shirt. That, along with my loosest pair of jeans, is what I carefully chose to comply with the prison’s visitor dress code policy. No tank tops, no shorts, no miniskirts. Nothing tight. Nothing to “provoke” the men serving time behind these bars.

  His eyes stall on my chest for far too long.

  I fight the urge to fidget under the lecherous gaze. He’s at least twenty years older than me and unappealing, to say the least. Just imagining what kinds of thoughts are churning in his dirty mind makes my skin crawl. Then again, everything in this place—the barbed wire fences, the heavily armed guards, the long and narrow hallways, the constant buzzing as door locks are released, the fact that I’m about to sit in a room with murderers, rapists, and God only knows who else—makes my skin crawl.

  “What’s your old man in for?” Parker finally asks.

  I hesitate. “Murder.” Are prison guards supposed to be asking these types of questions?

  “Yeah?” His gaze drops to my chest again, and he’s not trying to be discreet about it. “And who’d your daddy kill, sweetheart?”

  I’m not your goddamn sweetheart. My anger flares, at the invasion of my privacy, at the term he so casually tosses out, at the lustful stare. “Some asshole who wouldn’t take no for an answer from me.” A mechanic named Fleet who worked at the same auto repair shop where my dad worked, a slimy guy who smelled of motor oil and weed and apparently jerked off to cut-and-paste photos of my face atop porn mag bodies. Who cornered me one night with the full intention of experiencing the real thing.

  My father didn’t mean to kill him and yet here he is, serving twenty-two years because of a freak accident.
Because the prosecutor was convinced otherwise and decided to make an example of him. Because we hired the world’s most ineffective lawyer. It’s the first thing I dwell on when my eyelids crack every day and the heaviest thing on my shoulders when I drift off at night.

  I’m exhausted by guilt and anger, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to let up any time soon.

  Pervy Parker smirks. “Lock your things up in number seventeen and then head to security screening.” He slaps a key onto the counter with his meaty paw. “Phone, car keys, coins, belt. Don’t forget so much as a coin, unless you wanna get strip-searched.” His mouth curves into a salacious smile. “And you won’t get to say no to that if you ever wanna see your daddy again.”

  My face twists with horror before I can smother it. They wouldn’t actually strip-search me for forgetting to take out a penny from my pocket, would they?

  The prick laughs. “Welcome to Fulcort Penitentiary.”

  Who is she here to see? I wonder, watching the shriveled old lady fidget with her knuckles, her hair styled in tight gray curls, her wrinkled features touched with smears of pink and blue makeup. A husband? A son?

  I’ve kept my eyes forward and down since I passed through the airport-level security screening process and was led me to this long, narrow visitation room. I’ve set my jaw and ignored the hair-raising feel of lingering looks and the stifling tension that courses through the air. My father warned me against attracting attention, that having inmates knowing he has “such a beautiful daughter” would only make his life harder in here. While I rolled my eyes as he said that, I also decided to heed his warning the best way I can, so as not to ruin his life further.

  So, no makeup, no styled hair—I didn’t even brush it today—and minimal eye contact.

  Except this sweet-looking grandmother who sits at the cafeteria-style table across from me has caught my gaze and now I can’t help but occupy my mind with questions about her while I wait. Namely, how many Saturdays has she spent sitting at Fulcort waiting for a loved one, and what will I look like when I’m sitting in this chair twenty-two years from now?