The Neighbor #3 (The Neighbor Romance Series - Book #3) by Adams Claire

Author:Adams, Claire [Adams, Claire]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-11-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

I woke up early on Sunday. I was still pissed at my mother for not telling me about Ryder sooner. My relationship with her could not compare to what was going on with him. I decided to accept her the way she was and make nice.

I was going to the country club, so I dressed accordingly. I wore a pair of khakis and a pink, sleeveless polo. I lay in bed for fifteen minutes with cucumbers on my eyes to reduce any evidence that I had been crying. The 3-4 tumblers of cheap wine I’d had did not help me look refreshed.

I found my mother at the kitchen table.

“Good morning, Mom. You were out late last night,” I commented.

“Keeping tabs on me?”

“Just returning the favor, Mom. Hope you know everything about Claude Simmons. You never know. The man could be an ax murderer, or worse: he could be hiding a wife and kids,” I joked.

My mother ignored the comment and returned to her crossword puzzle.

“I am going to run errands, stop at the country club on Pelican Island, and return to school. Have a great week. I’ll let you know my plans for next weekend.” I grabbed my things and headed out the door.

****

I had no errands to run, so I ended up driving around before hitting the country. I was nervous about seeming like some crazy stalker type woman. I had a life to lead and I had to fix the Ryder bullshit before moving on. Moving on was not what I wanted, but it was the only choice given the circumstances. I thought dating my professor was scandalous. Hooking up with a married man took it to another level.

I parked my car next to Ryder’s Lexus. Of course, I peaked in the vehicle. Crumpled on the seat were a number of fast food wrappers. I told him a good diet was common sense, especially for a person with cancer, but he obviously wasn’t listening. The usual golf tees and spare golf gloves were scattered on the floor. Standing out like a sore thumb were two baseball mitts. One for Ryder and, presumably, one for the kid.

A leather case sat on the front seat. Embroidered on the thing were the initials SHC. A tingle coursed up my spine. The woman must have been the mysterious Samantha or Sammy. Shit. I slammed my hand on Ryder’s car. It could not be more obvious. He mentioned Sammy on several occasions and other people in the club had mentioned her. I imagined the S was for Samantha and the C stood for Curran. Ryder could not have been more obvious. Everyone else knew about Sammy, making me look like a fool.

Armed with this knowledge, Ryder had no option but to tell me the truth. I walked into the lounge, as I knew Ryder would enjoy a ceremonial draft after his round. He always sat by the large window so I would choose the bar. I did not want to embarrass him in front of his friends.

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