Dirty Player: A Rough Riders Novel (21 page)

Chapter SIXTEEN

SHANNON

I turned off the electric handsaw and rubbed my eyes, squeezing them closed. It was late and I knew I’d been in my workroom for hours, but I couldn’t stop working.

I had to stay busy. After the festival had ended, I’d packed everything up and closed down. I should have been grateful for the amount of sales and new contacts I’d made, and I was, but I was also still thinking of the moment Oliver had turned to me, a distance in eyes like he didn’t really see me, and then walked away. He’d hurried after his ex-wife, followed her like he still wanted her.

It stung more than it should have. I was trying to trust a man who not only had a reputation of being a huge player, a man who tossed aside women after only one night, but after I’d been cheated on.

My trust in men was shaky at best.

I had turned off my phone hours earlier, choosing to avoid the possibility of a reality that I didn’t want to face.

Immature? Yes.

Necessary to my mental health? Most definitely.

I had a pair of pliers in my hand, twisting a braided copper design around another wide, dark-chocolate-colored leather band, when a loud bang sounded from the front of my building. 

I jumped and turned toward my closed office door, dropping the pliers, before I moved to the counter and grabbed my phone.

As I turned it on, another thump hit the door, quickly followed by another. 

I cursed and stared at my phone, willing it to restart faster in case I needed it, only to have it begin blowing up with texts and missed calls.

Almost all of them from Oliver. Three voicemails. Four missed calls. Seven text messages, each one becoming increasingly irritated.

Want to talk. Call me when you can.

Where are you? Tried calling. Call me back.

Damn it, Shan. Call me.

Then there was one from Beaux.

Hey, fucking call Oliver. He’s trying to reach you and now I’m worried. Where are you?

Dread sank into my gut as the pounding increased. I opened the door to my office only to hear my name being bellowed.

The sight of Oliver forced my breath to stall in my chest like it always did. His one hand fisted and pounded on my front door while he shouted my name, looking into my building.

It wasn’t his rage that I caught in his eyes first. That came after I couldn’t help but notice the way he was dressed so casually. Khaki gray shorts hung fitted on trim hips and curved around his muscled thighs. Leather flip-flop sandals showed off perfect calves and feet, and a red-and-blue Captain America T-shirt, faded with that vintage look, stretched across rolling pecs and abs. A frayed black hat pulled down low over his eyes so I could just barely see the wisps of his dirty blond hair peeking out from beneath it as he pounded on my building window beneath the street light.

“Where the hell have you been?” he shouted as he saw me frozen in my spot in the hallway. 

Two perfectly arched brows disappeared beneath the bill of his hat. 

Adrenaline buzzed in my ears as I became unstuck and hurried to the front door, unlocking it.

“What do you want?” It was snippier than intended, less rude than it could have been. Irritation couldn’t be hidden at the way he’d lit up my phone, angry that I would have the nerve to avoid him after the crap he’d pulled earlier.

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Why?” A small head tilt, a very brief look of confusion flashed through his eyes. “I said we’d talk later. That I wanted to see you.”

My eyes went wide. The urge to slam the door in his face was strong. I withheld it, barely. “How was Serena?”

“Shit.” His face scrunched up, and with one hand he removed his hat, smoothed back his hair unnecessarily, and flopped the cap back on his head. “I’d like to talk to you. But don’t avoid me like that. It made me worried.”

His eyes narrowed, as if the admission came before he meant it to, as if he wasn’t used to giving a crap about people.

Perhaps he wasn’t. He was great in bed. Fun to talk to. He was also strung tight and intense and not what anyone would ever call laid back, despite his current appearance.

“I would think by the way I didn’t answer calls or texts earlier, you’d get the hint I didn’t want that to happen. That doesn’t give you the right to come down here and bang on my door.”

His jaw tightened. “I was worried. When Beaux didn’t know where you were…” Another hat-removal-hand-swipe. 

A sense of disgust rolled through me. Immaturity wasn’t the way I wanted to deal with obstacles. Neither was running. But staying had never worked out so great for me in the past, either. In all honesty, I didn’t think I’d hear from him at all.

“Come on in.” I relented and moved back, allowing him access to Stamped. Like the first time, he wandered to the display cases, most of them empty since I’d sold so much. The more expensive pieces were on display because I didn’t think they would do well at a street fair. People tended to like less expensive things they could pick up while they wandered, so I’d left the larger, more elegant and intricate designs in their cases, showing them in photographs in a display book.

I was taking them the next day—the last day of the show. I’d had too much interest.

“Have you been working all night?” he asked, dragging his eyes to mine. They lacked the anger he had carried in them earlier, and now he looked tired.

Dark circles under his eyes, a slight slump to his shoulders. The man looked like he needed to go to sleep at least four hours ago.

Remorse for my behavior flickered down my spine.

“I can’t get over how talented you are.”

His praise washed over me like a gentle caress. “I’m sorry about my phone. I turned it off, but I shouldn’t have done that.” I waved it in the air. “At the very least, it’s not safe.”

“And you were pissed because I took off after Serena.”

He laid it out there straight, no hesitancy, like he had nothing to hide.

“We’d been talking before you came up. You hadn’t ever mentioned her, although Beaux told me some. I was waiting for you to bring her up, though. It seemed like something you’d share with someone...”

My voice trailed. I had no idea how to finish that thought. Three weeks before, we were strangers; a week before, we’d ended a ridiculous timeline. Now…I had no idea what we were except great fuck-buddies and maybe friends. 

“Someone I’m in a relationship with?”

He took a step toward me, but my eyes stayed fixed on where he’d just been. If he was expecting me to put that out there, I was too vulnerable. Too afraid.

“Shannon.”

It was just a word, rolling off luscious lips that could be firm and sweet, soft and gentle, and hard and demanding. It sounded like a song.

“What?”

“I was going to tell you about her. I didn’t know how. She’s not someone I talk about—like to think about, for that matter.”

He tugged off his hat again, another swipe of his hair. Unable to help myself, I hid a smile. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who played with their hair when they were nervous.

I made it easier for him, stepping aside like I always did. “You don’t owe me anything, or any explanations. It’s not your fault it hurt me when you walked away like that.”

Looking so lost, like he just had to be with her.

“That’s not it. It’s not at all, but the story is long and twisted. Are you done here?”

“Yeah.” I wanted to know. I had to know before anything could move forward, if that was the direction we were heading.

Plus, I’d been killing time in my determination to avoid him.

My phone buzzed in my hand and I glanced down. It was Beaux.

You don’t fucking tell me you’re not battered and beaten behind the alley in two minutes and I’m calling the cops or kicking your ass.

I’m alive.

I quickly texted back.

Oliver is here. Stand down, cowboy.

Don’t do that to me again. Was worried sick about you, Sis.

I glanced up at Oliver. His eyes still on mine. “Sorry. That was Beaux. You made him worried.”

“Glad someone else was.”

It was sick and twisted. I liked knowing he cared enough to worry. When I went out with girlfriends, I would always text Patrick to let him know when I was coming home. He’d go out with friends and I’d never hear from him.

Some nights he wouldn’t come home at all. But had he been alone those nights?

I shook the errant thought away and sighed.

“Sorry. Again. It was immature and not me—I was just angry. And confused that I didn’t have the right to be.”

“Of course you do.” His voice tightened and his words clipped staccato sounds. “Fucking hell, Shannon. I’ve been fucking you for weeks. Don’t you think that entitles you to at least some honesty?”

I would figure. I was also new to the fuck-buddy, dating-rebound stage.

“Fine. Serena then.”

He glanced around the building and cringed. “You might need to sit for this.”

“Fine. We can go upstairs.”

“To your place? I haven’t seen it yet.”

“Don’t be impressed. I’ve got a bed and a couch.”

“Two of my favorite things.” He walked straight to me and pressed his hand to my check. “I’m sorry I pissed you off and hurt you.”

Only honesty shone in his eyes.

I nodded. “Let me lock up and we’ll talk.”

***

“Don’t say a thing about the place,” I warned him as I unlocked the upstairs door. It was beautiful—had the potential to be beautiful, anyway. But at that time, I hadn’t bought anything new for it and I was waiting to get everything from the movers the following week. The only thing I’d stocked was the fridge with snacks while I was working, paper plates, and bottles of water. “I haven’t done a thing with it yet.”

I was planning on painting walls the next week, before the furniture showed up, so there were paint samples taped all over the walls. 

Oliver’s eyes went to those first, and he pressed his lips together at the empty space. 

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, walking into the open area, shock in his features. “You didn’t mention the kitchen table, but there really is only a couch.”

“Bed’s in one of the rooms.”

He shot me a look that curled my toes. 

“Do you want some water? It’s all I have. I’ve got snacks, too, if you’re hungry, but not much.”

“No.” He walked toward me and reached for my hand. It was in his palm before I could pull it back. “Stop blabbering. This isn’t bad.”

He laughed softly and pulled me toward the couch. I’d draped a sheet over it—something I pilfered from Beaux’s place because the couch was old and gross. Oliver gave me a look before sitting on it, and I laughed harder.

“I know. It’s nasty. My things are coming next week, though. Then I’ll be all moved in.” I spread my arms out to the open living space. The exposed brick walls and ductwork made it seem more like a loft-style building, but I loved the character. The doorways were wide and curved, and all the baseboards and wood floors were original and after a polishing would be in excellent condition.

“I like it. It suits you.”

I was too nervous to ask what he meant by that.

He took his hat off and tossed it to the floor, then leaned to the side so he could face me fully before he let my hand go.

“Serena,” he said with a groan and wiped his hand over his mouth. “God, I don’t know where to begin. I haven’t talked about her in so long with anyone but my lawyers.”

“Beaux told me you’d loved her. That you didn’t start acting like a dick until she left you.”

“Yeah, well,” he huffed. “That’s what happens when the woman you think you’ll be with forever walks out on you.” 

I gave him time and excused myself to get some water. I came back carrying two bottles, and when he didn’t seem to notice I was offering one to him, I set it on the floor.

“We were high school sweethearts. Started dating when we were fifteen. Seems like forever ago and yesterday at the same time, you know?” He didn’t look at me, didn’t seem like he really wanted a response, and he continued talking before I could, so it didn’t matter. His eyes glazed over and he stared at his hands when he wasn’t running them through his hair or down his face.

 “We grew up in a small town outside Savannah. All we wanted was to go to college and get out of that town and make something of ourselves. She wanted to see the world and I wanted to play football. And I loved her. God, I loved her. She has this energy, this wild and frantic energy that pulls you to her immediately. I was wrapped up in her, wrapped up in football, and she swore she’d follow me anywhere. Worse, I believed her. I proposed to her the night I was drafted, after we got back to the hotel, and we were married in my parents’ backyard before I had to start the season.”