Page 1 of Faking it With the Player Next Door

Chapter One

Taylor

“Goodness gracious, is that really Van?” I held a hand to my chest, gasping.

Watching my neighbor, Donovan Willis, known to millions around the world as Van Willis, work out in his backyard under the afternoon hazy sunshine caused my stomach to flutter, a slight line of sweat to develop on my forehead, and my heart to skip a beat or two.

He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose athletic shorts that sat low on his narrow hips. The shorts, similar to what basketball players wore, hung down to the middle of his thighs, their fabric moving with his every movement. The upper half of his body was bare except for a few tattoos on his chest and rightforearm. When my eyes traveled down to his abdomen, to say I was impressed by the six-pack abs I saw was an understatement.

I’d never seen a man’s body so fit. Not an ounce of fat seemed obvious to me, and I was smitten.

I couldn’t recall ever being so entranced by a man’s physique, and the Van I saw standing about a hundred feet from where I stood on my grandma’s back deck wasnotthe same as I last saw about half a decade ago.

My tongue shot out, licking my bottom lip.

Oh, no, he has changed so much from the teenage boy I once knew.

I haven’t returned home since the day I left shortly after my high school graduation. I had big dreams of becoming a successful physical therapist and sports medicine specialist. Five years later, four of which were in college, earning multiple certificates, I held a Master’s degree as a Physiotherapist and had a decent job outside Washington D.C.

I worked mainly with veterans, military personnel, and law enforcement, helping them after an injury or relapse to get them back on their feet and recover. It was rewarding work, and I was happy with the results for almost every patient I was lucky to work with.

The only downside to working at Fredrickson’s Therapy was the current CEO and my now ex-fiancé, Travis Fredrickson.

Four months ago, Travis and I were set to get married in four days. But that all changed when I caught him in a compromising position in his office one night after hours.

It wasn’t the normal type of catching him in the act that one would think of.If only he had cheated on me.

My steps practically bounced down the hallway to his office, my fingers still tingling from the delicate lace of my wedding dress. I couldn’t wait to tell him how the fitting had gone. As Ipushed open his door, the words were already forming on my lips.

But they died there.

My hand stayed frozen on the doorknob, my body half-in, half-out of the threshold as I tried to make sense of the scene before me.

Travis had his back towards the door, he was hunched over his desk. Standing next to him, but facing the door and me, was a tall, hulk of a man. Tattoos decorated both of the man’s forearms, and his head was void of hair. He almost reminded me of that cleaning guy I’d see singing and promoting lemon cleaner in commercials from my childhood.

The man reached over, nudged Travis’ shoulder and nodded in my direction. When Travis turned to see what the man was motioning to, my mouth gaped open and I gasped. Below Travis’ nose was a white powder, and before I knew it, his hand raised up and he wiped away the excess with his fingers.

Not waiting for an explanation, or to see what happened next, I spun and ran down the hallway of the office towards the exit. The image of Travis partaking in illegal activity was more than I could deal with, and I’d never forget the look on his face.

The next day, I called off the wedding.

Shuddering, and lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize I’d caught Van’s attention, and when I came out of my daze, my eyes connected with him. His chestnut brown eyes were surprised to see me standing on the back deck wearing an oversized tee shirt that barely covered my upper thighs and my uncombed blonde tendrils fluttering in the morning breeze.

Realizing how scantily I was dressed, my cheeks grew warm, and I immediately tried to pull the cotton fabric lower on my legs. Grinning, in an awkward way, I back stepped until I bumped into the door leading to Gram’s kitchen, and fumbled with the knob to open the door.

His eyes never left me, and I didn’t have the willpower to glance away. It was as if I had no control over my body functions. Or he had some superpower to keep me in his vision and refused to let me leave his presence.

Opening the back door, I slipped inside Gram’s house and closed both doors in my wake. I didn’t want Van to see me as I laid my forehead against the door jam and closed my eyes.

Less than ten hours after returning to Coleman, and my cover was already blown. The town—a speck on the map of West Virginia where even the dust seemed a hundred years old—was supposed to be my hiding place. Not even my older brother, and Van’s best friend since childhood, Hunter, knew I’d hightailed it home months after my broken engagement because I couldn’t deal with my ex-fiancé, Travis, being in my face every day.

I’d slip into town, traveling down a deserted main street in the middle of the night, and quietly stow my SUV in the little attached garage to Gram’s old farmhouse, and my childhood home. I didn’t even bother unloading my bags, boxes, and what little I’d packed to make my getaway from Travis and the city.

I wanted a few days of privacy, quiet and whereabouts being unknown, but here I am, just before noon, exposed to the last person I wanted to run into. Well, maybe the third previous person. Travis obviously being first, and Hunter being a close second.

I’d submitted a letter to the Human Resources department of Fredrickson’s Therapy, both as a physical copy on their desk and via email. In this letter, I informed them I would be taking a leave of absence for at least 30 days. I specifically requested privacy and asked not to be contacted during this time.

I was certain that by now, Travis had been informed about my absence. I could easily imagine that he was furious about this development. However, I no longer cared about his reaction. His feelings were no longer my responsibility or concern.

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