The Player Next Door by Kathy Lyons

time he made it home—after tripping over the tool belt she’d left in the middle of her lawn—he’d decided he’d never bring those beers over to her house. She was a menace and not because she was a disaster at home improvement. He had just under three months to rehab his shoulder and get into playing shape for the season opener in September.
    Tori was a distraction, and he knew exactly how to deal with those: ball drills, free weights, and cold showers. And no more kisses. Ever.
    That worked for the first day. He’d injured his dominant shoulder which gave him the perfect reason to practice with his non-dominant hand. Sadly, that thought only worked in theory. There was no way he could shoot, dribble, or pass — even one-handed — without using his bad shoulder a little. It moved whenever he moved, even if his right side never touched the ball.
    Which is why Joey told him to go the fuck home. He hadn’t even realized the trainer was in the building, but the man walked onto the court, grabbed the ball, and spoke his mind. Complete with about seven curses per sentence.
    Day two was spent studying game footage and secretly listening for sounds of Tori up on her roof again. She didn’t go there until late afternoon and he spent a miserable couple hours surfing the internet while surreptitiously watching to see if she took a header. He’d made sure she got the right kind of rope and was tied off properly, so she wasn’t going to die, but the whole thing still gave him a headache.
    Which is why he called his uncle in the roofing business. That was the other draw to Chicago: he had family living here. By the next morning, he was up on her roof — via a real ladder — and using his good arm in ways that it hadn’t moved since high school. And yet it gave him great satisfaction to hammer nails while picturing Tori’s face when she saw what he had done. He could just see her beaming smile.
    About an hour into his work, he heard a car door slam. He was at an angle on the roof that he could see down into her driveway where Tori stepped out looking not at all like the Tori he’d met a few days ago.
    She was in heels and a sundress that showed off her tanned legs to perfection. Her blond hair fell in soft waves about her shoulders, and her face—when she looked up to see him—had makeup that made her eyes huge, and the sunshine gave them a glow-like blue fire. He’d known that she was a beauty, but right then she was dressed to impress. And he was. So much so that he barely noticed the other woman getting out of the rental car beside her.
    Then he grinned because Tori didn’t go inside but headed around the house to the backyard. He moved quickly around the roof, aiming for the ladder, way too excited to see her appreciate his work. It was roofing, for God’s sake. But he’d stayed away for almost three days and he was really looking forward to talking to her again.
    But she didn’t climb up the ladder. It took him a moment to realize she’d kicked off her sandals and was climbing up the tree.
    “You know, there’s a ladder right here…” he began, but then he took a look at her face. Oops. That was not the happy expression he was expecting but a pissed off woman face. “Um, Tori — ”
    “What the hell are you doing?”
    Shit. Conversational minefield, but there was no way he couldn’t answer. “Roofing.”
    “My house. My job. I don’t need your big manly hands fixing my problems, thank you very much.”
    He kept his voice level, but that didn’t stop the burn of anger in his gut. “I wasn’t fixing your problems—obviously. I was working on your roof.”
    “I didn’t ask you to.”
    “I was being helpful.”
    “I just want people to leave me the fuck alone!” She stomped over to his ladder and shoved it off so that it landed with a clatter on the bright pink boulder of her rock garden.
    Then she whirled on her heel and stomped to the locust tree. He could have grabbed her. Hell, he was