Page 4 of Faking it With the Player Next Door

Chapter Four

Van

I knew Hunter was heading to the house when we left the tavern a few hours ago, and I didn’t want to get in the middle of the sibling drama about why Taylor hadn’t mentioned she was returning home.

Hunter and I spent a couple of hours eating, having a few beers, and talking about my vision for the non-profit foundation for local kids. He had schooling and had been a chief marketing officer and marketing guru for a variety of charitable companies and firms over the years, so he was my first choice to discuss my thoughts.

After we finished our meal, and I signed a half dozen autographs and took some pictures with the tavern staff and some customers, Hunter and I got down to business. I gave him what I had in mind, and he began scribbling on paper napkins.

By the time we were done, Hunter had at least ten napkins in his hands. He folded them, slipped them into his pocket, and we made our way out of the tavern. We chatted for a few minutes more in the parking lot.

He climbed into his truck and began the trek back to his Gram’s house, as I straddled my motorcycle and slipped my riding gloves on my hands. I sat on my bike for a few minutes and conjured up the images of Taylor from this morning.

Her blonde hair piled up on her head, and I assumed it was long and lush. Her long, curled tendrils flowed down her neck, stopping just above her chest.

Sighing, I reached for my aviator sunglasses, slipped them on my face, and turned the key to start the motorcycle. Revving up the throttle, I pulled away from the bar. I decided to take a longer way back home, to give Hunter and Taylor a few extra minutes, and turned in the opposite direction that Hunter had gone.

Driving down the road, I saw Hunter’s truck sitting in the driveway. As I approached the house, I saw no sign of either Hunter or Taylor. I assumed they were still inside talking, so I pulled into my driveway.

I’d wait until Hunter left then I could go over, and have a proper conversation with Taylor.

Parking my motorcycle in the garage, I removed my sunglasses and riding gloves. Instead of going through the back door, which was the normal entrance into the house, I decided to circle around and use the front door.

This would allow me to see if Hunter’s truck was still there without being too obvious. Not that I should care, but Mrs. Peterson, across the road, was a gossip, and she could make something out of nothing.

Was it nothing? If not, what was it then?

Old friends talking, and sharing laughs and memories.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Willis,” I grumbled when I turned the corner of the lawn and headed for the front porch.

The first thing I noticed was that Hunter’s black pickup truck was no longer next door. It had backed out of the driveway and was heading down the road. I saw two people sitting inside the cab and knew Taylor was with him.

“Well,” I sighed. “ I guess I’ll go over later.”

Stomping up the front steps, I unlocked the front door and went inside. I placed my sunglasses and gloves on the table in the foyer, then headed to the kitchen for a bottle of beer. I decided I’d sit out on the back deck while I waited for Taylor’s return.

Twisting the bottle cap off the beer, I dropped it on the patio table then raised the long neck to my lips and took a healthy swallow. Strolling to the edge of the deck, I leaned against the railing and took another sip of beer.

The cold refreshing drink slid down my throat, and I sighed. During the regular season, I rarely drank, and having the freedom to indulge in a few beers was heavenly. From March until October, I was on a strict diet regimen, and alcohol was a limited commodity for me.

Draining the remainder of the amber brew, I set the empty bottle on the ledge of the deck railing and placed my hands on the side of the green bottle. Turning my head, I glanced at the Miller house and wondered where Hunter and Taylor had gone so abruptly.

It didn’t matter too much. I had nowhere to be, and no one to meet. I’d forgotten how peaceful, laid-back, and slower-paced life could be. With my days filled with practices, pregame events, and then the season itself, I had little time to relax, and really enjoy life. But being back home made it come to the forefront.

I missed the lazy evenings, sitting outside with my parents before I was drafted to the league, riding shotgun alongside Hunter as we cruised the back roads, or headed to town to see who was hanging out at the Dairy-Q drive-in restaurant.

We had no set plans on any given Friday or Saturday night, but we always found something to do. We rarely caused trouble, but always had the best times.

Especially on Friday nights after the baseball games in the spring and beginning of summer, and again in the autumn after the varsity football games. Everyone would meet at what we called the Farmer’s Field, an overgrown orchard at the end of a dirt road north of town.

We had no idea who owned the property, but we didn’t care. It was a place for all of us kids to congregate, share the highlights of the game, maybe sneak a few beers from whoever could get their hands on some, and even have the pleasure of sharing a first kiss.

I know I shared my first real kiss there.

I didn’t consider the kiss under the slide in primary school with Katie Baugher my first real kiss. No, I thought of the one I shared with Taylor as the official first kiss that would stay in my memory forever.

We’d just arrived at the field, and Taylor was sitting in the backseat of Hunter’s old Chevy sedan behind me in the passenger seat. Hunter was driving, and when he slammed on the brakes, Taylor flew forward, banging her head on the headrest of my seat.

She cursed at her brother and got furious with him when he laughed. She kicked the back of my seat out of frustration and then pushed her way out of his car. I chuckled slightly but didn’t let her hear.

For some reason, I wanted to keep the humor out of the scenario, and not upset Taylor any more than Hunter had. I lumbered my tall frame out of the confined area and followed Taylor across the field. She stomped across the open area, stumbling every so often on the tall weeds and overgrown bush.

I caught up to her just before she got to the bonfire, and I grabbed her wrist, spinning her around to face me.

“Hey,” she tried to free herself from my grip, and I tightened my fingers. “He’s just being a jerk…”

“Well, I get tired of being tormented by him,” she stopped, and I let go of her wrist. She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring over my shoulder; where I assumed Hunter ambled across the field towards the group of kids partying and having fun at the bonfire. “He’s such a jerk.”

“We all are,” I replied, lumping all men together; more to appease Taylor’s mood than grouping men in a category of being idiots. “Forget about it, and let’s have fun.”

Taylor opened her mouth to reply, then clamped it shut and nodded.

“Agreed,” she sighed. “I’m not going to let him ruin my night.”

She spun on her heels and began traipsing towards the bonfire. I slowly followed and caught myself watching as her hips swaggered, and I was mesmerized. She was wearing a pair of cut-off denim shorts, frayed on the edges, that encased her hips and butt, and I growled.

She had on a light pink tank top, that emphasized the beginning of her summer tan, which was very form-fitting and would cause any man to become entranced by her. Her long blonde hair pulled away from her face in a high ponytail gave an admirer a glimpse of her slender neck.

Over the last few months, I noticed myself drawn to Taylor in more of a potential romance than as the friends we’ve been for most of our lives. I was abnormally jealous when she was dating Derek Richardson, the captain of the wrestling team, and relieved when they broke up a few weeks before that Friday evening.

A door slamming nearby broke me from my memory, and I glanced over my shoulder towards Taylor’s and saw her sitting at the patio table on the back deck. She was sipping on a glass of lemonade and hadn’t seen me yet.

I remained perfectly still and watched as she raised her legs, setting her feet on the chair opposite her. She laid her head back and I’m sure she closed her eyes to enjoy the evening sun.

Pressing my hands on the railing harder, I felt my right arm tense up and scowled. It’s been a few days since my arm gave me too much trouble, and my eyes traveled away from Taylor down to the scar on my forearm and my elbow.

It’s been two months since my surgery, and recovery has been going well, but since I’ve returned home, I’ve been more relaxed with my exercises and physical therapy. When I worked out earlier in the day, I thought I may have overdone it, hence the soreness I felt now.

Rubbing my elbow, I turned back to Taylor, who had noticed me. Her head tilted, and she stared blankly at me. Her eyes moved to my right arm, and she frowned.

“You okay?” She asked, lowering her feet from the chair across from her.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Just a little sore.”

“You’re getting old,” she mumbled, but I still heard her.

“I’m not that old,“ I retorted.

“How’s your recovery going?” She sipped her lemonade, then held a hand to her forehead to block the lingering sun glare.

“Been better,” I shrugged. “Not that I have anything to compare it to.”

“I’m sorry,” she winced. “I can only imagine how it’s been on you.”

“Yeah, well, I have good and bad days,” I replied.

“Is it that sore?” She stood and strolled to the edge of her back deck. “I can massage it.”

“It’s okay,” I shrugged.

“If it hurts, I can help alleviate some of the discomfort,” she offered.

“Huh? What?” I frowned.

“I am a sports medicine specialist, you know,” she smiled, and seeing her lips turn upward caused me to moan. “I can give you a massage to help loosen up the tense muscles.”

“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” I walked across the deck.

“Come on over,” she waved to me. “I’ll see what I can do. I promise I won’t bite.”

I opened my mouth to reply but thought better of it. I nodded and walked to the back door.

“Where are you going?” Taylor called out. “Did I scare you away?”

“Ha!” I shouted. “Just going to get another beer. I’ll be right over.”

Opening the door, I stepped inside and smiled. Practically gliding across the floor, I opened the refrigerator, grabbed another bottle of beer and headed back outside. Instead of walking down the driveway to loop around the property, I strolled to the edge of the deck and climbed over the chain link fence into Taylor’s backyard.

“Still got it, Willis,” Taylor giggled when I landed on her side of the fence.

“Yeah, well,” I chuckled. “Climbing a four-foot fence comes naturally to me.”

“And didn’t hurt your arm?” She raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms over her chest; which drew my attention, and I almost groaned.

“Uhm…” I grimaced. “I used my good arm.”

“Yeah, the one not holding your beer,“ she responded. “The one not giving you pain.“ She shook her head and walked to stand behind one of the patio chairs.

I strode to stand in front of the chair, holding her gaze the entire time. Her green eyes sparkled in the evening sunlight, and I felt my mouth grow dry. Absent-mindedly, I popped open my beer and swallowed half the contents.

“Uhm,” she murmured. “Have a seat and let me have a look at your arm.” She stepped back from the chair and held out a hand for me.

“You don’t have to,” I whispered. “It’s fine.”

“Not from where I was sitting,” she tilted her head. “Seemed to be kind of painful.”

“It has its moments,” I nodded.

“Then sit,” she patted the back of the chair, and I circled the table.

Placing the beer bottle on the table in front of me, I sat in the chair. As soon as I inhaled, I picked up on a light floral and sweet scent and knew it was Taylor—either her shampoo, a spritz of light perfume, or, my personal preference, her natural essence.

“What’s the goofy grin all about?” Taylor furrowed her forehead.

“Just nice to have you back home,” I admitted.

“Yeah, it is nice to be back here,” she grinned. “I always swore I’d never come back, but here I am…”

“Here you are,” I whispered.

“So…” She murmured. “Where’s it hurt?” She sidestepped to stand beside me.

“Huh?’ I frowned.

“Your arm,” she shook her head. “Where’s the pain the worst?”

“Oh, my arm,” I nodded. “Yeah, the elbow mainly.”

Taylor squatted down, and when her fingers slid over my skin, I shifted in the chair—just having her so close and touching me excited me.

“Sit still,” Taylor scolded. “Wow,” she murmured. “I didn’t realize how big your scar was.”

“I really have no idea,’ I replied. “Hard to see from my angle.”

“I suppose so,” she said. “What kind of pain are you experiencing?”

“Sharp jabbing along the incision, but it feels like it’s under my skin,” I replied. “Every so often a slow throbbing pain.”

“Seems typical after the surgery you had,” Taylor replied, glimpsing up at me. Her green eyes, with dark brown speckles spattered throughout the irises, were the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.

“Uhm,” I reached for my beer, more for something to do than for being thirsty, and when I did that, I must’ve thrown Taylor off balance.

She tried to stand up but seemed to lose her footing from her squatting position, causing her arms to flail outwardly. I reached my arms out to catch her but instead of steadying her on her feet, she ended up on my lap.

My arms were wrapped around her waist, and her hands were splayed on my bicep and chest. Our faces were within inches of one another, and I could feel her warm breath as it wafted across my cheek.

“Sorry,” she murmured, licking her lips and our eyes held one another’s.

“I’m not,” I murmured.

“No…” She whispered, lowering her head and as soon as our lips met, I placed a hand behind her head and pulled her closer to me.

Taylor wrapped her arms around my neck, shifting on my lap and our kiss deepened. Her fingers opened, and she gently entwined them around my longer than usual curls. Moving my left hand, I cupped her chin and was just about to part our lips to say something when Hunter’s booming voice broke us up.