Page 1

Chapter 1

Lana

S ometimes I wonder if men just get up in the morning, brush their teeth, look at their reflection in the mirror, and tell themselves, “Today, I’m going to be a gigantic dick. And nobody’s going to stop me.”

Or… maybe that’s just my new neighbor.

The engine on his motorcycle revs as he pulls into the street.

I wonder when he’ll notice that I’m, once again, occupying the parking spot that he’s deemed to be his since moving into the empty townhome next door last week.

You see, I drive a small electric vehicle whose carbon footprint is nearly non-existent. I actually care about things like the environment and global warming and doing my part in leaving a healthy planet for future generations.

It doesn’t make me a better person, by any means. But if it’s a competition between who deserves the prime parking spot of the neighborhood–I think there’s an obvious winner.

The prime spot sits between our two townhomes and just so happens to fit only two types of vehicles: a small electric car like mine. Or a motorcycle, like his. But I was here first, which means–I get to call dibs.

I peek out the corner of the blinds just above my bed and watch as he puts his bike into park across the street in a very inconvenient location. His movements are abrupt as he dismounts from the bike, tossing his leg over the side and yanking his gloves off his hands as he takes long strides up the sidewalk toward his house.

No wait… toward my house.

I try not to make any sudden movements that might alert him to my peeping Tom ways. I make sure the light stays off when I move the tiny sliver of the blind to try to catch him taking off his helmet before he enters his house at night. But he never does.

It’s been nearly five days since the cocky guy moved in, replacing my sweet elderly neighbor whose family decided to move her into a nursing home due to a recent fall.

For her, I gladly parked across the street every day just so that she could have a more convenient parking spot to unload her groceries.

But this jerk–the one who revs his motorcycle at all hours of the night and blasts music that makes my walls vibrate and has a mouth that has no idea what an indoor voice sounds like when he’s shouting at whatever game he and his dumb friends play–he deserves no such treatment.

I have no idea what the guy even looks like. I keep missing him when he leaves at random times during the day. And I’ve only been able to catch him coming back with a full-face helmet in place. Not that it makes any difference to me because I don’t like him.

There’s a loud knock at my door, and my heart nearly leaps into my throat.

Shit. It’s him.

I melt off my bed and onto my floor, crawling on my hands and knees into the closet and hoping he’ll just disappear. It’s late. The sun is down. This would be a reasonable hour to assume that I’m in bed, not an hour to be knocking on your neighbor’s door. Rude.

I bring my knees up to my chest and reach for the skates next to me. At least if he tries to break in, I can use the blade as a weapon.

There’s another–more aggressive–knock. But I don’t make any moves. Surely he knows I’m home given that my car is quite literally parked right up front. So he’ll know I’m deliberately ignoring him.

But I could be in the shower. Or on a very important zoom meeting… or in the middle of the best sex of my life for all he knows, but instead he thinks he’s entitled to knocking on my door at whatever hour he deems suitable.

Entitled brat.

The doorbell rings.

God, he’s persistent. I suddenly regret not getting that doorbell camera on Black Friday like my brother insisted I should do. If I had it, I’d be able to just pick up my phone and tell him to go away because I’m busy.

But I’m not busy. I was just spying on him.

Another loud knock.

He’s not going away. It’s time to face this dick head-on. Besides, this isn’t me. I don’t shrink away from a fight. I might be living alone now, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a grown ass woman that can handle her shit.

I stand and pull the robe off the hanger next to the unruly, fluffy white dress that’s currently taking up most of the space in this closet. And as I make my way through the hall and down the stairs, I quickly palm my hair into submission before flipping on the porch light and opening the door with vigor.

“What do you want?” I hiss out, making sure not to hold back my disdain to him pounding on my door so late.

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—o h 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?”

“If that’s what it’ll take to get you to move it from my parking.”

“It isn’t your parking,” I almost scream out in frustration. But I keep my cool. Because this entitled, ridiculously handsome but very stupid boy will not win.

He shakes his head. “I was hoping we could do this the nice way.” He reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone. He looks up at me through dark lashes, “Last chance, neighbor.”

“I dare you to call them,” I grit out.

“Suit yourself.” He dials a number and brings the phone up to his ear as he turns around and gives me his back. It’s a nice back–strong and coiled muscles stretch out the shirt he’s currently wearing.

The guy obviously works out. Not that I haven’t noticed before. I’ve watched Trevor play. He’s really good. Especially at checking the other players into the boards and landing him a seat in the penalty box. His team loves his tenacity–I should know–my brother won’t stop talking about him, along with the rest of Houston.

But what I can’t stand is how cocky and entitled he is. Especially after the little stunt he pulled recently. A little stunt that I personally know the consequences for.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He turns to look at me from over his shoulder, but doesn’t stop. “Hello, yes. I’d like to report a vehicle illegally parked in a reserved parking.”

“You’re going to regret that,” I say, checking my nails as he continues.

“Uh yes, it’s an ugly silver sardine can on wheels with the license plate number…” he pauses to read the plate, then looks at me, before spelling out “I-C-E-Q-W-N.”

“It’s Ice Queen,” I say, remaining bored by his show of strength.

He shakes his head. “Yes, how long before you can get a truck out here?”

I roll my eyes. He probably didn’t even call anyone.

“That’s perfect. Thank you, John.” He hangs up and turns back to me.

“Hope you like walking,” he says with a wink, then steps onto the grassy patch between our two town homes and disappears into his house.

“What a knob,” I say to myself, shutting the door to my house and locking it. He didn’t call anyone.

I go back to my room where I pull out my phone to shoot a text to my brother. But he’s already beat me to it.

Vance

You all packed up for a Hallmark Christmas in the mountains?

Me

Depends… were you ever going to tell me that your teammate moved in next door?

Vance:

???

Me

Don’t play dumb. I know you know.

Vance

I don’t keep track of all my teammates and their dwellings, Lana.

Me

You would if they were your favorite teammate. He’s a total dick, by the way. He just pretended to call a towing service to get me to move my car.

Vance

Did it work?

Me

No. I’m not an idiot. That’s my parking spot.

Vance

Of course it is.

You know what I don’t like his tone. I dial him.

“What?” Vance says in a huff.

“What do you mean of course it is ?”

“Look, I know you better than most people and you gotta admit, you can be a little…”

“Confident? Self-assured?”

“Confrontational,” he says.

I blow raspberries. “I can’t help it if I’m right about most things.”

“So you’re fighting with Sincaid?” he asks like he’s just been severely inconvenienced.

“He started it. He just moved in and he’s already walking around like he calls the shots,” I spit out.

“Sounds about right. Well, that’s just great.”

“Yeah, why’s that?”

I hear the sound of a truck beeping outside. There’s no way. I peek out the window and shit… it looks like I was wrong. He did call a tow truck.

Vance continues, “It’s just, he’s having kind of a rough time and I told him he could–”

“That dick!” I interrupt him.

“You okay?”

I scramble to slip on some shoes as I make my way down the stairs and to the front door. “Your precious teammate called a fucking towing company on me!”

“He actually did it?”

“Hey!” I call out to the guy already loading my car.

“Lana, calm down.” Vance says, “I’m sure it’s just a misunder–”

“I gotta go.” I hang up the call and wave my arms frantically at the truck driver. “Hey!”

I run up to him. “That’s my car! And this is my spot!” I tell him.

The guy is wearing a jumpsuit and looks me up and down and rolls his neck before answering me. “Look lady. I just do what I’m told. You have a problem. Take it up with the city.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a notepad, ripping the first page on it and hands it to me.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugs and moves to the cabin of his truck.

“You can’t take my car. I need my car.” I reach for the door handle and try to tug at it to try to open it. I remember reading somewhere that it’s illegal to tow a car if there’s somebody in it.

But it’s locked. I wonder if the same rules apply if I’m sitting on it.

I jump onto the hood and sit on it, my legs crisscrossed like I’m about to practice some yoga.

The driver looks at me. “Ma’am, the car’s already loaded. You want me to unload it? There’s a fee.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not paying you to unload it. I didn’t ask for it to be loaded in the first place!”

I watch the door to my neighbor’s house swing open. He’s no longer in jeans, boots and a leather jacket. Now he’s in cozy grey sweats and– fuck me –completely shirtless. The deep cut of the v of his abs is visible for all to see.

“Hey,” he waves to the tow truck operator. “You must be John. Is there a problem here?” His eyes flick over to me.

“Is there a problem here?” I mimic him. “Of course there’s a fucking problem here–you!”

John looks up at him and then does a double take when he sees who it is.

“Oh wow!” he laughs to himself. “I know you! You’re Trevor Sincaid!” The man’s bored face morphs into an excited expression much akin to a child on Christmas morning.

He can’t be serious right now? Does everyone love this jackass?

Trevor walks up to the front of my car and stuffs his hands into his pocket. “Yep, that’s me.”

“Unload my car at once!” I say to the driver, ignoring the obnoxious player, and waving a menacing finger.

Trevor looks at me with an amused smirk. “Don’t think that’s going to do much. Money talks, Ms. MacDonald.” Then he turns to the tow truck operator. “Isn’t that right, John?”

John, much to his surprise, seems to be elated that the professional hockey player remembered his name. “Tell you what, I’ll waive the fee if you’re willing to give me an autograph. My son’s a big fan.”

Trevor’s lips purse in consideration. “Hmm… I don’t know. How would my illegally parked neighbor learn her lesson?”

“Learn my lesson?” I yell at him from the hood of my car. “I lived here long before you ever did, you epic dickhead.”

Both men look at each other and shrug.

God, I can’t stand the male species. They do these ridiculous things to piss us off and then wonder why we’re so mad at them like we’re the crazy ones. They make us crazy. By doing shit like this.

“Maybe if she promises to keep her can of sardines out of my parking spot… I’ll consider rescuing her,” Trevor decides.

He has this look in his eye. A dare. One that says, what are you going to do now?

“I don’t need to be rescued. Especially not by a ridiculous, self-entitled, nepo baby.” I stay seated on my hood.

John shrugs. “Well then, I’m going to need you to get off the vehicle ma’am. I’d really like to just get home to my wife and kids if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, don’t do that, John. Don’t make it seem like I’m the bad guy here. It was your hockey hero that called you out here in the first place. If you want to put the blame on anyone–blame him.”

Trevor cocks his head at me. “I wouldn’t have had to call John, and keep him from his sweet family, if you would’ve just moved your car like I asked. Very nicely, might I add.”

“You call pounding on my door at eight ‘o clock at night asking nicely? You need your head checked.”

“Ma’am, if you don’t get off the hood of this vehicle–”

“My vehicle,” I stress. “It’s my vehicle, so I’ll sit on the hood whenever I damn well please. And I’ll park here whenvever I please, because it’s my parking spot. So no. I’m not moving.”

John gives Trevor a look. They’re communicating telepathically and I don’t appreciate it.

“You know what,” I say, making a decision. I jump off the car and land right between the two of them. “You want my car so bad, John. Just take it.”

I push past the defenseman and strut over to the front door of my house. I don’t need to turn around to know that Trevor’s looking at me, watching my every move.

And I hope he gets a good look, because he has no idea what’s coming for him.