Page 2 of Faking it With the Player Next Door

Chapter Two

Van

“ O h, come on,” I groaned as the cold water sluiced over my body from the overhead shower. Placing my hands on the wet tile in front of me, I bowed my head so the water could trickle down my chest and onto my back.

Closing my eyes, I conjured up the image of Taylor standing on the back deck, the oversized tee shirt billowed in the afternoon breeze, and teased my body with a glimpse of her upper thighs. I felt a twinge in my groin, then and now in the shower.

As soon as she disappeared inside the house, I couldn’t finish my workout. My heart was beating way too fast, beads of sweat dripped down my chest and I was at a loss for words. My mind was too distracted with Taylor’s appearance, and I decided to call it a day with my physical therapy workout.

Wonder why Hunter didn’t tell me about Taylor’s arrival?

I opened my eyes, and raised my head.

Hunter, Taylor’s older brother, and my best friend, would have known that his younger sister was coming home, and he surely would’ve told me, right? After all, Hunter told me about all of Taylor’s life since she moved away.

I knew about her relationship with Travis, when he had proposed to her, and how they were planning their wedding.

But the one tidbit that really stuck with me was when I was first recovering from my ulnar collateral ligament surgery a few months ago, and Hunter was furious. He rarely got this angry. When I asked what was up, he finally told me that Taylor had broken off her engagement to that Travis character, and that she wouldn’t tell him why. He could only guess that it had to be something pretty damaging for good-hearted Taylor to bow out of marrying the guy.

All I knew was that that Travis guy needed his butt kicked into the next century. I had a feeling that Travis had done something beyond forgiveness, and that pissed me off. Even though I still harbored feelings for Taylor from years ago, and I wanted no one else to be in her life romantically, it infuriated me that someone could hurt her to this level.

Taylor Miller was the most caring, understanding, and forgiving person I knew.

After I felt as if my body was water-logged from the extended shower, I turned the faucet handles off and let my body drip free of water for a few minutes.

Not a day in the last five years has passed without me thinking about Taylor, but more so since I returned home over a week ago to continue my rehab from surgery and finish my physical therapy during the off-season.

Seven years ago, I’d been recruited by the Los Angeles Stars Major League Baseball team as a starting pitcher, and shortly before Taylor graduated from high school with the highest honors, I was packing my bags for spring training in Texas.

The hardest part about leaving Coleman was knowing I wouldn’t be able to see Taylor daily. During the two years I was away at college, I made sure to come home every weekend I could, and I spent the holidays nestled in my parents’ house, right beside Hunter and Taylor’s.

I saw Taylor for every holiday, most of my summer breaks, and at every opportunity. No matter how bad of a mood I was in, all I had to do was see her, and my spirits were lifted.

Like that time when I was home for Christmas break, feeling so low about not being recruited to an MLB team, and Taylor told me to suck it up and stop being so negative. She added that I was the best baseball pitcher she’d ever seen, not that I asked how many major league games she’d watched, but it felt wonderful having her boost me up.

By the time I headed back to college a few days after the New Year, I was so full of myself and ready to conquer the world. It also didn’t hurt that during that school break, Taylor and I shared our first kiss.

The memory of that kiss lived rent-free in my head all this time, and to this day, it was the most perfect moment in my life.

Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist. Standing in front of the sink, I wiped the condensation off the mirror and glanced at my reflection. Raising a hand to my chin, I held my head back and decided I could go another day without shaving.

While I preferred to be clean-shaven, I was fine with having some stubble for a few days during the off-season. I was out of the limelight, and the paparazzi weren’t hovering; not that I cared what pictures they published. But I had the clean image, whereas many professional sports players had the bad boy image, and I preferred to be the good boy.

I stopped working out about half an hour ago and came inside to shower as I had planned on strolling next door to see Taylor. When I saw her from a distance standing on the back deck, after I got my heart rate under control, I decided I’d clean up and stop over for a visit.

All I had to do was get dressed and saunter over the fence line. Smiling at myself in the mirror, I turned and headed into my bedroom to get dressed. As I was buttoning my jeans, my cell phone jingled, announcing a new message had come through.

Grabbing the device off my nightstand, I saw it was from Hunter. He invited me to meet him at the local tavern just outside of town for an early dinner and a few drinks. I began typing back to turn him down, but then decided I’d find out why he hadn’t mentioned Taylor’s arrival.

Sure, I could walk forty feet and ask Taylor, but I wanted to know why Hunter kept this from me.

‘See you there in twenty. I have something to ask you.’

I hit the send button, slipped my black tee shirt over my head, and decided to ride my Harley Davidson Sportster S to the tavern. It was a beautiful sunny afternoon, and the freedom I felt when riding my bike always helped me clear my head.

Taylor’s unexpected return was causing me to ask too many questions.

***

“She’s what?” Hunter held his burger midway to his mouth as ketchup and mustard dripped onto his finger. “Taylor’s here? At Gram’s house?”

“Mm,” I murmured as I chewed my deluxe burger.

“She didn’t tell me,” Hunter frowned, setting his burger back onto his plate. He grabbed his draft beer, swallowed half the contents of the glass, and pursed his lips.

Luckily there was no band on stage playing, stifling our conversation, but across the room, the jukebox was blaring an eighties hair band song. By Hunter’s surprise reaction, I had a good suspicion he really didn’t know Taylor was back in Coleman.

“She says why she’s here?” Hunter picked up his phone that he’d laid on the table.

“Didn’t speak to her,”: I picked up a French fry and popped it in my mouth. “So, you really didn’t know?”

“No clue,” Hunter set his phone down. “I know a few months ago, I told her to come here and relax after…:” He paused. “Well, after the whole Travis fiasco…” He shrugged.

“And it’s obvious she didn’t,” I nodded.

“Maybe something’s happened,” he picked up his phone again. “Maybe I should call her.”

“Maybe,” I cocked my head. “I can stop by on my way home and find out for you.”

“Thanks,” Hunter nodded. “But I think I’ll follow you home and stop by myself. I haven’t been to Gram’s place in over a week. I have a feeling this will need to involve an in-person visit.”

Nodding, I listened to the jukebox change to a stadium love ballad from the same music era as the previous rock song. I picked up my burger and began eating while mulling over what had brought Taylor home now.

She had survived the breakup. She had rejected Hunter’s offer to come home and find refuge from her heartbreak. But now, something had caused her to hightail it back to Coleman finally, and the most suspicious piece of the puzzle was that Taylor didn’t tell her brother. Her only living relative.

Yeah, something was up .

Just as I was about to ask Hunter more about the Taylor and Travis situation, the waitress came up.

“Excuse me,” she giggled, and I glanced at her.

“Yes,” I smiled, and she waved her receipt book in front of her face and neck.

“Can I…” She giggled more, and I saw Hunter rolling his eyes across the table from me. “Are you Van Willis?”

“I am,” I continued smiling.

“Can I…” She reached into her little white apron, pulling out her pen. “Can I get your autograph? It’s not for me…” She held her hands to her bosom, and being a man, I couldn’t help but not notice how large her breasts were, especially when they were at eye level.

“It’s not for you?” I played into her mood. “Then who’s it for?”

“My little brother,” she gushed. “He just loves watching you play.”

“What’s his name?” I asked as I took the pen and her receipt book.

“Jason,” she smiled.

I began writing and she continued rattling on about how she had seen the game when I got injured, and I winced. I tried not to think about that day, but it seems to always invade my thoughts.

“And well, I hope you’ll be returning next season,” the waitress smiled, and when I glanced up at her to hand back her belongings, she winked at me.

“That’s the plan,” I replied, ignoring her flirting.

“Can I bother you for a picture?” She practically bounced, and I sighed.

This was one of the things I didn’t care for when it came to having notoriety. During the regular season I didn’t mind it too much, but when I was in the off-season and trying to enjoy life, I seemed to be bothered by these interruptions no matter how beautiful the women may be.

“Sure, I can take a picture,” I replied, and a split second later, she was bending down, chest in my face, and holding up her cell phone.

She leaned her head into mine, and when I inhaled, I could smell a floral scent, and for some reason it reminded me of Taylor.

“Smile!” The waitress exclaimed, and before my lips turned up, she took a picture. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” I blinked and glanced at Hunter, who had a silly smirk on his face. “What?” I narrowed my eyes, and he nodded behind me.

“Looks as if you got quite a local fan base.”

Turning around, I saw about a half dozen people standing behind me with grins on their faces, and their cell phones pointed towards me.

“It’s him,” one guy nudged another man standing beside him.

“No,” his friend shook his head. “Hey!” He called to me.

“Yeah?”

“Are you Van Willis?”

“He is,” Hunter replied before I had a chance to, and I whipped my head to glare at him.

He knew how much I despised these run-ins with fans, and he was just goading me on. Call it friendly teasing. Call it being a jerk. Either way, that was typical of Hunter.