Next Door Player: friends-to-lovers close proximity single-mom football sports romance (The Rebel Players) by Clarissa McKay

Author:Clarissa McKay [McKay, Clarissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-04-16T16:00:00+00:00

13

DARIA

The hum of the engine of my car echoes subtly in the parking garage beneath the apartment building as I drive down the slope. Music plays in my car and a smile tugs at my mouth as I hear Elaine half mumbling, half babbling along to the lyrics. I drive around the space toward my spot, and as I slow down, my eyebrows pull together.

“What the—” I cut myself off by pressing my hand to the horn, frowning at the BMW in front of me that is trying to park in my assigned residential spot. The horn echoes shrilly in the garage and I roll my window down as the car’s break lights glow red.

The guy in the car rolls his own window down, throwing his arm out and calling out an annoyed, “What?!”

I don’t really recognize him, so I’m assuming he is a new resident. I keep my own annoyance out of my voice as I lean my head out the window and respond, “There are assigned spots, and you’re about to park in mine.” I refrain from adding on a sarcastic buddy at the end of that, my hand tight on the steering wheel.

I see the guy turn his head to look at the parking spot ahead, as if he is just now realizing the spots are assigned, which I doubt. He lets out an annoyed breath, turning his head over to look at me. “Sorry—” He doesn’t sound at all apologetic. “My wife is parked in our spot, and I was just trying to find a vacant spot for my car.”

I literally don’t care. But I just give him a close mouthed, tight smile and gesture towards the opposite end of the garage. “There are empty, free spots on the other side of the garage.”

He gives a single nod. “Thanks,” he mutters before pulling his head back inside his vehicle.

I wait, somewhat impatiently, as he backs out of the parking spot and then drives off, and I let out a breath and park in my rightful place. Once I park, I look at Elaine from the rearview mirror and tell her with raised eyebrows, “Never take something that isn’t yours, baby.”

Elaine nods seriously, like I’m giving her some intense life advice, and it just makes me smile. Getting out of the car, I help her out and grab my purse and her backpack, walking across the garage and inside the building. Before we head to the elevators, I grab my keys and walk over to the wall of mail lockers, checking the mail. Most of the envelopes are spam, unimportant promotions, but then I still when I see the handwriting on the last envelope.

More than that—it’s the return address and sender’s name in the top left corner that has my chest tightening up. Clenching my teeth, I tighten my grip on the mail in my hand, not entirely caring if I am crushing it, and take Elaine’s hand and bring us to the elevator. As we ride up, I’m acutely aware of the envelope in my hand, feeling as though it is burning my skin.

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