Page 6 of Players Like Us (Reunion Gap #7)

Neal Alexander?

No, please no. Of all the men standing a few feet away, why did it have to be this one—too good-looking, too confident, too everything?

Black-haired, blue-eyed, tall and lean with a look that could burn right through a woman’s defenses and a smile that could make her agree to just about anything.

Dangerous. Mesmerizing. Much too irresistible.

She’d seen that look, known that heat... wanted it...

And he’d said no.

He was the kind that didn’t promise to call the next day or remember she liked dark chocolate and sugar-dusted raspberries.

Why would he when he didn’t have to do anything other than breathe air and enjoy what was offered?

Memories of that hot summer night all those years ago in the back seat of his car smothered her. She’d offered him whatever he wanted...

And he’d said no.

The throat clearing pulled her back. “Rachel, this is Neal Alexander.” Simon moved closer to her, looped his arm through hers. “Neal and I have known each other a long time.”

“Indeed we have.” No warmth in those words, no smile. “Probably too long.” Neal Alexander shifted his attention to Rachel. “Rachel’s a beautiful name.” Those blue eyes settled on her, turned smoky. “It suits you.” He extended a hand, his grip firm yet gentle.

“Thank you.” Was this a game? Pretend he didn’t remember her?

Yes, she’d changed from the girl with the tie-dyed T-shirts and faded jeans to a more sophisticated look that included cashmere, silk, pearls, and designer heels.

And the long braid and sneakers had disappeared years ago, but did he truly not remember her?

Remember how she’d invited him to Goose Creek?

It hadn’t been necessary to tell him what she wanted to do there because everybody knew it was a makeout place.

Goodness, she’d even stolen her father’s bottle of whiskey, and then she’d climbed into the back seat of Neal Alexander’s car. ..and then...

“You look familiar...” The man she hoped did not remember her rubbed his jaw. “Definitely familiar.” His voice dipped. “Have we met before?”

Rachel gripped her wine glass, sipped air.

What to say to that? Simon’s laughter danced between the three of them, ended in a sigh.

“If that’s the line you’re using these days, you better find a new one.

” Another laugh, followed by a shake of his blonde head.

“Do you not realize you’ve insulted this beautiful woman by suggesting you might have met her before and not remembered?

” Simon’s voice dipped. “There’s no forgetting Rachel. ”

Neal Alexander’s blue eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “True, she’d prove unforgettable.” Pause and a soft “No doubt about that.” His features softened as he continued to study her. “Do you live in McLean?”

“I do.” Rachel forced a smile, wished she could get away from him and his questions.

She’d been very careful to create a backstory that was not only believable, but captivating.

Who didn’t love the tale of a person who honed her skills in various cities, following the next opportunity, willing to do the work as each job pushed her forward.

..? Toss in I’m doing this on my own without help and a person could garner sympathy, compassion, and a helping hand.

It wasn’t that she was trying to be deceitful, but she couldn’t just be Rachel Reese from small-town USA.

If she wanted to impress the people who could grant her an opportunity to see her work, she had to look and act like somebody.

Yes, she had a job to do and “pretending” was part of the job.

And Neal Alexander was not going to destroy her chance.

“Neal can’t decide where he calls home.” Simon laughed, saluted him. “McLean, Dallas, LA.” A grin, followed by a healthy swallow of scotch. “Wherever his next ‘interest’—” he winked at Rachel “—takes him. And by interest, I’m referring to the long-legged ones in stilettos.”

Of course. Women. Scores of them. Blondes, brunettes, redheads.

They’d followed him in high school, anxious for a whiff of attention, and Neal Alexander did not discriminate.

No, he enjoyed all of them: the cheerleaders, the math and science lovers, the editor of the school newspaper.

Everyone but Rachel. Her, he hadn’t wanted.

After that mortifying night of rejection, she’d avoided him, but the tales of his exploits continued when he left for college, the retelling growing wilder and more “adventuresome”.

She’d heard snippets of gossip over the years, tales that started and finished with the many reasons the younger Alexander male would never settle down, would probably never marry, and would certainly never return to Reunion Gap.

She hazarded a quick glance at him, caught him studying her with those ocean-blue eyes.

Assessing. Analyzing. Seeing too much? She looked away, steadied her breathing.

The teenage version of this man had been carefree, determined to bend and re-create the rules.

But the grown-up version? This one was definitely more calculating, less transparent. Much more dangerous.

“How long have you lived here?”

Pause and a stiff “Three months. I’m still settling in.” And if she didn’t land a design job soon, she’d have to take on another job to take care of rent and groceries.

“Ah, settling in.” He nodded. “Are you working?”

The raised brow and the look implied she might or might not have employment.

“I’m an interior designer,” she blurted out before she could consider the ramifications of making such a statement.

While she might have a degree in that field, she’d never actually worked in it other than as a receptionist and file clerk.

Oh, but she’d believed her previous employers when they spoke of hard work and paying dues to secure an opportunity in the field.

Hardly. She’d scrubbed staging areas, painted walls, even sewn draperies for show rooms, all in an attempt to gain “an opportunity,” as the employers called it.

From San Diego, to Dallas, to Nashville, and Boston.

Picking up lunches, creating spreadsheets, sewing chair coverings, working long hours, giving up weekends.

.. Doing whatever was necessary, and yet always coming up short.

Budget cuts , one told her. You do understand, don’t you?

I’m sorry... the person I chose is my best friend’s niece. I have to give her a chance.

Don’t give up. You’ve got talent. You just need to keep at it. It took me eight years for an opportunity, but when it came my way, I was ready.

Too bad you don’t have any influential friends who might vouch for you. Do you have someone?

Anyone?

She’d told them she didn’t know anyone, even though that wasn’t true.

Daniel would have made introductions, even supplemented her income until she got going.

Her brother might even have set her up with a storefront and enough money to open her own interior design business.

But she was not doing that, because there would be strings.

Several, in fact, and they would all start with a lecture on what constituted a decent career that paid the bills.

As if he’d know. Making bowls was considered art and everybody knew artists did not get the “starving” part attached to their name for the heck of it.

Of course, her overprotective brother would just scowl and tell her not to follow his choices.

What did he know? He’d done okay for himself, found happiness, success, a woman he loved, and he hadn’t had to compromise himself or his art to do it.

Rachel bet he didn’t have people offering him a chance to showcase his talent while semi-dressed or wearing no clothing.

Ugh. All she needed was a chance and McLean, Virginia, was her last hope.

She’d chosen the location because one of the potential employers who turned her down said McLean was booming and there was big money here.

If she failed in this city, she’d have to rethink her goals and, dread of all dreads, either borrow money from her brother or move back to Reunion Gap.

“So, interior design. What’s your specialty?”

Neal Alexander’s voice pulled her back from thoughts of disaster and moving home.

“Specialty?” Interior design was about utilizing function and space through a creative lens, and she’d only done that in the classroom.

Rachel’s past jobs were more aligned with the broader definition of interior decorating, but even that was a stretch.

The only designs she’d created since graduation had been repurposed outfits with the help of a second-hand sewing machine.

She loved re-imagining new looks from items that had been tossed aside as dated and useless.

Plus, she was good at it. A few women even asked where she’d purchased her clothing, especially the evening attire.

There’s a unique style that’s compelling , one said.

Another handed her a business card and smiled.

Have your designer call me. I have an event coming up, and I could really use a new look.

No way would Rachel admit she was the clothing designer, not when that might lead to more questions, ones she didn’t want to answer. Oh, she could hear it all.

Didn’t you say you were an interior designer?

How do you find the time to make dresses?

And then there would be eye narrowing and pinched lips, seconds before the snooty Are you an interior designer?

And there it was... The unspoken question that would once again reveal her lack of experience and absence of clients.

These people utilized the services of designers—fashion and interior—and they had a decent idea what that involved and especially, what it did not involve.

As in a woman who admitted to creating her own clothing with vintage items from second-hand stores, was most definitely not a designer of anything worthwhile.

In fact, the “creations” were made out of necessity and not artistic passion.

“No specialty?” Neal Alexander’s words pinged her brain, pulled her back to the room and his intense stare. “Still feeling your way around?”

“Exactly.” She forced a smile, held it in place until her cheeks hurt.

“I like the dress.” His gaze slid from the deep neckline of her cocktail dress to the jeweled embellishments on her shoulders, shifted to the asymmetrical hemline three inches above her knees. “Do your design capabilities extend to clothing as well?”

Before she could answer, Simon interrupted. “Get your own date, Alexander. This one’s mine.”

The man who’d stolen too many hearts and women’s reputations eyed his friend. “She’s yours for the evening?” Pause and then “Or something more?”

“Too soon to tell.” Simon sipped his drink, finished with a bland “But don’t all relationships begin with a memorable evening?”

“Depends on your definition of relationship. Just make sure she knows what you’re offering.

” Neal Alexander turned to Rachel, the lips that undoubtedly had tasted too many women pulled into a smile.

No warmth. No charm. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.

” He lifted his glass in salute, then turned away and blended into the crowd.

Simon dragged a hand through his perfect hair, muttered, “That man can be a real nuisance.”

She thought the two were friends but now she wondered if adversaries might be a better term. Whatever they were to one another, it was definitely none of her business, and yet, curiosity won out. “You’re not friends?”

A cold laugh, followed by a harsh “That depends on your definition of the word. We’ve known each other a while, shared similar.

..interests.” A faint blush crept over his cheeks, implying the sharing was not limited to events but might also include women.

“He used to be more fun, but these past few years he’s just different. Odd.”

“Odd?” Neal Alexander was a lot of things, a heartbreaker, a seducer, a jokester, a tease.

..but odd? No, she’d never call him that.

Memories of high school and junior literature flashed through her mind.

When he approached her one afternoon, she had to suck in several breaths before she faced him.

He leaned against the locker next to hers, smiled.

So close she could make out the tiny gold flecks in his blue eyes. .. And the smile? Mesmerizing.

How can you tell the difference between a plot and a theme? The smile spread, the dimple on the right side of his cheek deepened. I’m barely reading chapter books.

She’d laughed, more a howl which is what she did when she was nervous and who wouldn’t be nervous around the hottest guy in school? What could he possibly want with her?

Seconds later, she found out.

So, since I’m horrible with plots and themes, and you’re obviously stellar at it...

Yes? He wanted her to help him! That meant spending time together...in close proximity...so close...

How much would you charge to write my papers?

Of course, she flat-out refused him. He tried again the next year, and this time she accepted.

However, she’d had an entire year to think about what she’d say if he ever offered again and when he did, she was ready for him.

The request to “hang out” as payment, surprised and maybe even embarrassed him because his tanned face paled, then burst bright pink.

Still, he agreed, shook her hand, and told her to name the date.

Perhaps she should have been more specific about exactly what she wanted from him, but a drive to a secluded area of Goose Creek that included a back seat and a bottle of her father’s whiskey, should have given him a clue.

Besides, Neal Alexander’s reputation pegged him as a guy who didn’t need an invitation or a playbook where a female was concerned and he was interested in all females.

Just not her.

She’d prayed she’d never see him again, never have to relive the mortification and humiliation of that night. Maybe deep down that’s why she always picked the wrong guy and dumped them before they could dump her.