Page 2 of Holiday Power Play

My new neighbor stands there, helmet tucked under an arm, his leather jacket hooked at the end of his fingers and strewn across one shoulder– bright amber-colored eyes look up at me.

His hair is a light brown that looks like he’s spent a lot of time in the sun, and of course he’s handsome as all get out. A squared jaw like that is hard to come by. It’s just my luck that a guy I can’t stand would move in next door and he also looks like…wait, why does he look so familiar?

“Hi,” he says with a smile. The man has dimples. Again, just my luck.

“Is there a reason you’re banging on my door?” I say, skipping the pleasantries.

“Yes,” he says. “There’s been some kind of misunderstanding with the parking, it seems.” He motions toward my car.

“There sure is,” I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest, leaning against my doorframe.

“It’s mine,” we both say to each other.

I push off the doorframe. “Look, Mr…”

“Sincaid,” he says, almost reluctantly. “Trevor Sincaid.”

Trevor Sinc—oh my freakin’ god! Of course he looks familiar. He’s all this city has been talking about for days. I’ve seen the social media posts. And the fan-sightings. It’s become quite the game around town to post a picture of the humiliated player anytime he’s been spotted out in public.

“As in the rookie defenseman for the Houston Heatwave?” I ask, just to be sure.

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth in a look that says“You caught me.”

“Well, Trevor Sincaid, I don’t care how famous you are. You can’t park in my parking spot.”

“Mmm, see that’s the thing, Ms….”

Now he waits for me to introduce myself.

“MacDonald,” I say, just as reluctantly.

He pauses, quickly assessing me from head to toe and narrows his eyes.

“Any relation to Vance MacDonald?” he asks.

“You mean my brother who plays on your team. Yeah… some relation.”

“No shit! You’re Mick’s sister?” His eyes rove me up and down again, and I pull my robe tighter across my body.

When I just stare back at him blankly, he continues, “Well, you see Ms. MacDonald, the realtor who sold me the place said that I got the reserved parking in front of my house.”

“Well, that’s funny because there is no reserved parking in front of your house. It’s in front of our houses which means it doesn’t belong to any one of them. It’s been first come, first serve ever since I moved in.”

He just stands there, shifting from one foot to the other. “That’s great and all, except… it’s mine. It came with the house.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Sincaid. Your realtor lied to you.”

“Mm, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have bought the place if it didn’t come with it’s own parking.”

“Well,” I say, leaning in further. “That sounds like a problem that you should take up with your realtor.”

“Move your car,” he says sternly.

“No,” I scoff. “You just got here. You can’t go around throwing your name around like it holds any weight around here.”

He takes in a deep breath. “Move your car or I’ll call the city to remove it for you.”

I step out onto my porch. “Are you threatening to have it towed?”

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