Page 6 of Faking it With the Player Next Door

“How did you know I was…” I stopped when I heard the rumble of a motorcycle coming down the road. “Van…”

“Yeah, Van,” Hunter spun around to face me. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” I shrugged and slipped my phone and keys into my purse.

As the motorcycle noise grew closer, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Van going past the house. As he drove by, he turned his head and glanced in our direction, and I felt my stomach flip-flop.

“Taylor?” Hunter’s commanding voice cut through pulling me back from my thoughts.

“Huh?” I shook my head, my fingers nervously holding on to my purse.

“I said,” he sighed, his exhale carrying the weight of older-brother concern. “When did you get here?”

“Early this morning,” I replied as the motorcycle engine in the distance fell silent. “I left late last night.”

“Left the city? Left Travis for good? Left your job?” Each question landed like a stone in the pit of my stomach.

“All of them, sort of,” I mumbled. My shoulders curved inward, as if I could physically shrink from the weight of my decisions.

“Explain,” Hunter frowned.

I took the next few minutes telling him how I needed some separation from work, Travis, and time to figure out what was next for me. Ever since I broke off the engagement and called off the wedding, Travis hadn’t been in the office much, and I had a feeling it had to do with his father, the founder of the company.

Duncan Fredrickson was a whirlwind to be reckoned with, and father and son didn’t see eye to eye too often. I’d been a witness to their encounters at the office and in their personal lives, so I imagine Duncan told his son to stay away from the office until the situation calmed down.

Travis has returned after months away, and even though we don’t interact, I’m still uncomfortable seeing him every day.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Hunter continued after my explanation. “I could’ve opened up the house, and got you some groceries.”

“Which reminds me,” I shrugged. “That’s where I was off to just now.”

“I can go with you,” Hunter offered, and I immediately rejected his kindness.

I wanted to go next door and see Van. I needed to squash any and all thoughts of the man who had infiltrated my thoughts all these years. With Hunter hanging around, I felt a little uneasy about visiting my neighbor.

I am still trying to understand why. They were best friends, and I was usually included in their shenanigans when we were younger, but for some reason, I wanted a few private moments with Van. We were friends, and it didn’t mean anything if I went for a visit.

“Why not?” Hunter narrowed his eyes. “Got some hot date you don’t want me to know about?”

“Yeah, right,” I snorted and pulled my car keys out of my purse. “Just need food. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.”

“Well, let’s go then,” Hunter stepped back, held the door for me, and I smiled.

“Sure, why not,” I shrugged and followed him onto the porch.

As we strolled down the short sidewalk to his truck, my eyes darted to Van’s place, and I wondered if he’d come around the corner of his house just in time for me to catch a glimpse of him.

But alas, Van never appeared, and I climbed into my brother’s pickup truck. As I slammed the door, my eyes remained on the house next door. Sighing, I bit my lower lip and made a plan to go next door after I returned from the grocery store.

“I went to the tavern with Van earlier,” Hunter said as he backed out of the driveway.

“You did?” I tried my best not to sound too surprised, but I failed miserably. “And?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged as he drove down the road. “He was talking about being home for a few months during the off-season, and he asked me to help him with a charitable foundation he wants to start up.”

“A charitable foundation? For what?” My interest was piqued, and I shifted in my seat.

“He wants to have a non-profit for kids from low-income areas in the state, where they can get the supplies, equipment, and other things for baseball,” Hunter replied, turning his truck onto the main road leading to town.

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