Page 28 of Faking it With the Player Next Door

She yanked her hand away from me and pushed her chair back. She stood and placed her napkin on the table, still holding my gaze. “And this is why I wanted to drive myself. In case something happened that I needed to get away from.”

She picked up her purse and phone, which had been sitting on the table beside her water glass, and turned, almost bumping into one of the women.

“He’s all yours, ladies,” she quipped, and with one final glimpse at me, she strode away.

I watched as her hips swayed, side to side, and she exited the restaurant. I stood to follow her, but two of the women were already standing beside me, blocking my way, while the third woman gently pushed me back in my chair.

“Where are you going?” The third woman giggled. “You can’t just leave your biggest fans…” She smiled, offering a dazzling white smile, and fluttered her eyelashes.

Five minutes later, by the time I signed a few autographs and slipped three new phone numbers written on a napkin into my pants’ front pocket, I raced out to the parking lot. But Taylor was already gone.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I stomped on the asphalt and ran a hand through my hair.

I should’ve left as soon as Taylor did, ignored the women, and told Taylor how I felt about her. I could’ve taken her in my arms and told her that I had fallen in love with her…years agoand wanted a real relationship with her, not just one that satisfies Hunter and his values.

Trudging off to my car, I climbed inside, but instead of starting the engine and leaving the restaurant’s parking lot, I rested my head on the steering wheel. Slamming my right hand onto the dash, I instantly regretted not restraining my anger.

Pain shot through my hand to my elbow, and I cursed.

That’s gonna hurt later, so I started my car and drove home slowly. There is no sense in getting there with hopes of Taylor speaking to me. I knew I had blown it. I may have still had a chance to redeem myself if I had shunned the women away, or gone after Taylor immediately, but that time had come and gone.

Chapter Eleven

Taylor

Isat in the dark living room. Tears stained my cheeks, and I wiped them away. It’s been a few hours since I stormed out of the restaurant where I’d met Van, and I was trying my best to forget the beautiful women who came over to gush over him.

Seeing Van in this element of his life caused me to rethink everything I’ve been contemplating since he lied to Hunter about our kiss.

Was Van really interested in me at all? Or was he playing with me?

Thinking about Ellie, and how I’d seen them together twice now, made me lean towards him being a player. Casanova. Romeo. Cheater.

He was back home, no one was around, and hiswomancame to find him. But in the meantime, Van had to quench a thirst, and I was the water.

I hated beingthatperson.

I didn’t appreciate being manipulated, deceived, or kept in ignorance. I learned that the hard way, as my mind drifted to Travis. He lied to me, hid his addiction from me, and had never loved me. He just dated me, asked me to marry him, and stayed engaged to me because if he didn’t, he’d lose his inheritance. I found out about the inheritance after I called off the wedding.

“I hope things worked out well for you, Travis,” I said, sniffling and wiping my nose with a tissue. Van kept occupying my thoughts.

Did he really expect me not to notice? Did he believe I was that naïve?

“Well, I’m not,” I grumbled, staring out the living room window.

The moon was high, lighting outside and filtering into the house. I stood and walked to the side window. The window faced the Willis house. I could see the light upstairs. The kitchen had a light on as well.

This signaled that Van was awake, and I hoped he felt bad. Suddenly, a thought struck me.

What if he brought one of those women home with him?

“Oh, snap,” I murmured and felt the tears falling again. “Why, Van? Why?”

I ran to the staircase leading to the second floor and raced up to my bedroom. Flinging myself onto my bed, I let the tears fall and wrapped myself up in the quilt that Gram had made for me when I was a little girl, which had always comforted me.

Maybe the pink lambs frolicking in a farm pasture or the extra stuffing Gram added made it the fluffiest quilt I’d seen. Eitherway, curling up with this old, fluffy quilt seemed to help take away my worries and dry up my tears.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled and tried to push aside images of Van, and how handsome he looked tonight.

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