Silver Player: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge

by L. B. Dunbar

  “It just isn’t fair.” Jordan’s words bring me up short, and I sit taller in my seat.

  “I’m not shirking my responsibility or treating this lightly. I just don’t want to get ahead of myself. I’m not certain I’m the father, and I think it’s important to establish one thing at a time.”

  Jordan nods in agreement, his shoulders falling in relief as he returns to his computer. “I’ll need to schedule an appointment for Sadie, too.”

  I exhale in relief myself but need to break the tension between us.

  “Looks like I’ll be having my first father-daughter date.” At a medical clinic for a paternity test.

  + + +

  I’m back at Roxanne’s bookstore. Only this time, I’m at the back entrance staring up the outside staircase to the apartment above the shop. Most of the buildings down Main Street have a second floor, several of which are residential rentals. Over the brew pub, we had to overcome all kinds of zoning issues when we turned the second floor into a private party room.

  “See anything interesting up there?” The gravelly feminine voice behind me sends a shiver down my spine.

  Roxanne. My, how this woman can grate on my nerves, but I admit for the second time this week, I need her. I close my eyes and inhale, steeling my resolve as I spin to face her.

  “Roxanne,” I drag out her name. “How wonderful to see you again.”

  She stares at me a long moment, those piercing eyes doing things to my belly at the same time as they make me want to cover the family jewels.

  Should have covered them before because she might be family. The thought strikes me as inappropriate and possible. Roxanne wouldn’t be direct family, though. More like baby mama’s sister. And as for coverage, it had to have been faulty prophylactics because I haven’t been uncovered with someone since my ex-wife.

  “Cut the bullshit, William. What are you doing creeping on my staircase?” She carries a grocery bag in each hand, and I reach for them, not allowing her to refuse me. We struggle for a moment as I slip the bags from her wrists, and she slaps at my quick reflexes.

  “What the…?” She stops swatting at me and puts her hands on her hips. “Are you going to try to shove my groceries down your pants this time?” Her eyes lower for my zipper region, and then they leap upward, meeting mine. I wiggle one brow, making my eye dance, until she says, “I suppose zucchini might be an improvement.”

  My mouth falls open. Is she kidding me? “More like an eggplant.” I snort.

  Her lips separate, a soft gasp escaping. Why is that making my belly flip? Then she starts to laugh.

  “I mean, I’m more comparable to an eggplant,” I explain, my face heating.

  Her nose scrunches up, and her lips sneer. “Ouch.”

  It’s my turn to chuckle. Why are we comparing my junk to vegetables? I’m all protein down there.

  “Anyway,” I draw out and tip my head in the direction of her stairs.

  “What are you doing?” she questions.

  “Inviting myself to dinner,” I say, lifting the bags I now hold in my hands. “Truce, Roxie. For five minutes, I’m waving a white flag.” I give her my best pouty face and puppy dog eyes, and Roxanne shakes her head while I hold my ground. Finally, she acquiesces and passes me. I follow her, taking my time, telling myself I shouldn’t be admiring her backside as she climbs ahead of me, but my eyes have a will of their own. Roxanne’s ass is perfectly tight under another flowing skirt in a swirling pattern which hits above her knees. Her hips sashay in this sexy way, side to side, with each step she takes. If I pause a few steps below her, I might get a peek up her skirt, and that makes me feel like a pervert. It reminds me of my twelve-year-old self hoping to catch a glimpse under the uniform of Tara Lou Perry.

  “It’s red,” Roxanne says, while my eyes roam up the back of her knee-high boots and swallow at the exposed skin behind her knees.

  “What?” I choke.

  “My underwear. It’s red.” Her monotone voice is dry, even bored sounding. Did she just tell me what color her underwear is? “I know you’re looking.”

  I snort, trying to cover the lie. “You wish.”

  “I wish you’d see my underwear?” she questions, and it’s just too much of an opening.

  “So, you admit you do wish I would see it?” I tease. She stops short, and I practically run into her from a step below her. This means my face comes level with her fine ass, except she abruptly turns to me and now I’m eye level with …

  “Eyes up here, William.”

  “Roxie,” I breathe against her skirt near my face. Her hand cups my chin and tugs my attention upward. Narrowed eyes glare down at me.

  “What are you staring at?”

  Damn, her hand on my jaw feels good. Why does that feel good? What’s happening to me?

  I swallow under her gaze. Is her thumb stroking my jaw? It takes a moment for me to realize that it is. As my chin rests in the palm of her hand, the pad of her thumb slowly glides over the edge of my face, scraping against the scruff.

  “What are you staring at?” I ask, my voice cracking like the twelve-year-old me as I drag my eyes up her body. She’s bent forward and more than a hint of cleavage presses against the V-neck of her shirt.

  “It’s soft,” she mutters, her voice dropping as the pressure of her thumb increases. Is her head lowering? My eyes fall to her lips, and she rolls them inward, then out before her tongue slips along the seam.

  “I’m soft,” I stutter although I’m anything but. With her tender touch on me, my body is overreacting, and I’m hard. So hard. I lift a hand, going for her cheek in hopes to bring her mouth to mine, forgetting about the grocery bag in my fingers until it rattles something inside, and Roxanne instantly releases my face. Standing to her full height, she returns her hands to her hips. I blink.

  What the hell was happening?

  I…I almost kissed her. Kissed Roxanne.

  But the way she touched my jaw, the unexpected tenderness after years of snapping at each other, I just…wasn’t thinking.

  “Dinner?” I question, jiggling the bag in my hand, reminding us both why we’re standing on these steps when I want to forget dinner and just kiss the daylights out of her.

  “Dinner,” she whispers, turning around and hustling up the final steps, which only makes my mouth water more and it’s not for a meal.

  7

  Dinner plans

  [Roxanne]

  I don’t know why I touched his face, but that stubble…my fingers twitched, and I had to know if it was soft or prickly. The direction of my thumb determined the texture. Soft. Prickly. Soft.

  I’m soft, he said. Did he mean his…Is sex the only thing this man thinks about? Then again, was he not affected by me? Is this why he’s never hit on me? Not that I want to be another one of many—I definitely do not want to be a notch on his bedpost—but I want to understand. Am I that unattractive to him?

  What happened to you? The question returns to my mind. Your sister was so pretty. Meaning, I’m not. I’d like to think I’m woman enough to accept that not every man will be attracted to me, and I do accept that knowledge, but when a known player seems turned on by every freaking woman in the town, what is it about me that turns him off?

  With these thoughts rattling around in my head, I enter the back door into my kitchen, and meet Sadie’s eyes in greeting until hers drift to the man behind me.

  “What’s he doing here?” she spits.

  “Sadie,” I warn. “Manners.”

  Sadie clamps her lips closed while Billy puts the bags on the counter. He swipes his hands down his jeans-covered thighs and then rubs a hand along his throat. My mouth waters, and I lick my lips like I did while looking down at him. When his face was near my…

  “Aunt Roxie, what’s going on?” Sadie’s suspicious eyes narrow, and for a moment, I see her mother, the uptight boss woman she became after having a child.

  “Billy would like to join us for dinner.”

  Billy hastily s
teps forward, offering a hand to my niece who stares at his palm. “Billy Harrington,” he states as if he’s at a business meeting instead of making the acquaintance of his child.

  “Sadie McAllister,” Sadie huffs, crossing her arms and refusing to touch Billy. Billy flinches at her full name, and I suppose if he gets his name on the certificate, he might want her last name changed to Harrington. Something about that makes me sad until I notice the stance of my sister’s daughter.

  “Sadie,” I drone, tipping my head in the direction of Billy. She reaches out for his hand and shakes it once.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” Billy offers, his tone scratchy as he withdraws his hand. The three of us stand in awkward silence for a moment, and then Billy claps his hands so loudly Sadie and I both jump. “So what’s for dinner?”

  “Since you invited yourself, I thought you were cooking,” I mutter under my breath, stepping over to the counter and removing the contents of my bags. “Spaghetti is on the menu this evening.”

  “Spaghetti,” Billy moans, his smile tight. “My favorite.”

  I sigh as my eyes leap to Sadie. This is one of her favorites as well.

  I make quick work of filling a pot with water and turning on the oven for garlic toast. “I don’t have beer,” I mutter to Billy as I don’t drink it. “But I have sweet tea, lemonade, water…”

  “Water works,” Billy says still remaining statue-still behind me near the opposite counter. Sadie continues to stand as well, returning her arms to her chest.

  “Why don’t you tell Billy about your new school?”

  “School sucks,” Sadie says, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. It hasn’t been ideal for Sadie to lose her mother, leave her home, and go to a new school, but my store is here, and owning a business isn’t like transferring jobs.

  “Yeah, I wasn’t always a fan of school either,” Billy says, his voice curt and sharp. He’s suddenly talking too loud.

  “Why don’t you both sit down?” You’re each making me nervous. I’m struggling with the spaghetti jar, straining and grunting in my attempts to twist the lid. I even have it clutched between my breasts, hoping the placement will give me additional leverage. Billy reaches for the jar, tugging the container forward, and pops the lid with one flick of his wrist. Men.

  “I loosened it up for you,” I mumble.

  “I’d like to loosen something else,” he mutters under his breath, and my eyes leap to his and then over his shoulder to Sadie. Billy straightens as if he’s quickly forgotten a teenager stands among us. His eyes lower, and he bows his head a second. Turning on his heels, he faces Sadie.

  “Tell me more of what you don’t like about school.” He pulls out a chair and helps himself to a seat at the table. Sadie’s struggling. I can see the hesitation in her eyes, like a deer trapped in headlights. She wants to plop down across from him and open up while at the same time she’s keeping her walls securely in place. I don’t blame her. Having Billy Harrington in my kitchen is a bit unnerving.

  Sadie speaks but with minimal word answers until she mentions Mrs. Pritchard.

  “She’s still teaching?” Billy snorts. “She must be a hundred. She used to let me copy off Katlyn Reiss although she didn’t know she was doing it. Here Billy, look at Katlyn’s paper for help,” he mocks in feminine imitation. “Help it was. Got an A in her class thanks to Katlyn.”

  I bet that’s not all he scored with Katlyn Reiss near him, but Sadie smiles, just a little, enough so her eyes sparkle a rich deep golden tone.

  “I think she single-handedly made me hate reading,” Billy adds, and I gasp.

  “You hate to read? Blasphemy,” I mock, placing a hand on my chest.

  “That just proves we can’t be related, as I love to read,” Sadie states, the wall returning to its full height.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Reading’s important; I just couldn’t do it.” Billy sits a little straighter, staring down at his hands clenched together on my wooden table. “I have dyslexia, which wasn’t diagnosed until I was out of high school.” He inhales, and adds, “Do you have anything like that?”

  My brows pinch at the genuine concern in his voice. He’s worried she struggles because he has dyslexia, and as his child, she might as well. But he owns a business where he must be able to read, and he’s proven he’s successful despite any challenges to him.

  “I’m not dumb, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sadie says, her tone defiant, and I glare at my niece. Admitting this struggle must have taken courage from Billy, and the least she can do is be sensitive. She doesn’t have any learning disabilities like he’s just admitted, but she doesn’t need to be a little snot about it.

  “Sadie Wilhelmina. That’s enough.” She’s just being rude. She has enough sense to blink down at the table, her body language the only sign of her chagrin.

  “Wilhelmina? What kind of name is that?” Billy chuckles softly.

  “Apparently, my father’s name in feminine form.” With that, Sadie stands and leaves the room.

  “Shit,” Billy mumbles into his hand which covers his mouth. “I’m doing so bad at this.”

  My heart skips another beat of compassion. It’s difficult for all of us, and I’ve known this secret for sixteen years.

  “It takes time. You’ll get the hang of it.”

  “She hates me.” Billy sighs.

  “She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t know you. Once she does, then she’ll really hate you,” I tease.

  Billy’s lips part as if he has a retort, but when he sees the crooked smile on my face, he relaxes back in his seat.

  “I’m an acquired taste.”

  “I bet,” I huff as my face heats. I turn back to the stove, adding the pasta to the boiling water. I shouldn’t think about tasting Billy. Not those lips that look like they wanted a sip of me on the back stairs. Not his neck just under the hairline of that soft scruff. And definitely not any other parts of his anatomy.

  Eggplant? I internally snort.

  “What about you? Are you an acquired taste?” His voice is at my ear, and his presence behind me sends more heat rushing through my entire body, forcing latent parts to ignite into long-suppressed flames.

  This is not good. I cannot be turned on by him.

  “You’ll never know,” I mock while stirring the pot of spaghetti before me.

  “We’ll see,” Billy hisses, his hand coming to my hip for a second. My body trembles at the intimate touch. He’s playing with me, but I’m not about to be played. The oven beeps for the garlic bread, and I step back, forcing Billy to release me. He chuckles as he returns to his seat.

  “How am I going to win her over?” he asks, his tone turning serious.

  “She isn’t a prize, William. She’s a gift. They aren’t the same thing.”

  When he’s silent a moment, I crane my neck to look at him over my shoulder. His head is lowered once again as he stares at his feet.

  “Should I bring her presents?” He’s concentrating on his scuffed boots.

  “You can’t buy her either. For now, just be present. Be here. She’s struggling with everything. Losing her mom. The move. Leaving her friends. She needs all the support we can offer.”

  “We?” His head springs upward.

  “Well, yes. I’m her aunt. Her family. But you’re her father, and while she gets to know you, I think we should present a united front.”

  His eyes shift to the front of my T-shirt and linger a second. “Not that front.”

  “I’d still like to unite fronts,” he flirts.

  Good God, he’s impossible, but I laugh all the same.

  Eventually, I call Sadie back to the kitchen. Dinner passes with the same unease as when Sadie was present earlier, only this time awkward silence fills the spaces between. It’s awful. And then Billy drops the bomb.

  “So I made a date for us. An appointment to be tested.”

  Holy what?

  “What?” I stammer while Sadie looks from Billy to me.r />
  “I have school,” Sadie adds.

  “We can go afterward,” Billy continues. “There’s a lab right here in Blue Ridge that will do a legal test. They are open until five. In roughly three days, we’ll know for sure.”

  “For sure, that you’re the sperm donor?”

  “Hey,” Billy snaps. Sadie’s really pushing it tonight, and I admit her comment crosses another line, but he can’t raise his voice to her. He doesn’t have the right. Not yet.

  “William,” I hiss under my breath.

  “Look, this isn’t easy for me either,” he states, his voice still louder than necessary. “And I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

  “Well, don’t do me any favors,” Sadie yells again, setting her fork down with a clatter.

  “Maybe I’m doing this for me,” he retorts, and instantly, I can see he’s lost Sadie. She shuts down completely and turns to me.

  “May I be excused?”

  “Sure, baby.” My heart aches for her, and I’m ready to spout off at Billy until I turn to him and read the horror on his cheeks.

  “How am I the bad guy?” he questions. “This is new to me.”

  “It’s new to her, too,” I offer, sympathizing with both of them.

  “I went too far.” His voice lowers as his shoulders sink.

  “You did.” I want to reach out and comfort him, touch him, but I don’t think it’s best.

  “I didn’t mean it how it sounded.”

  “You never do,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

  “Meaning?”

  I only shake my head. I don’t have the energy to keep sparring with Billy, and I can’t coach him on parenting. He needs to figure out this minefield on his own.

  My phone rings, and I reach for it on the kitchen counter. It’s Grace, reminding me she needs to leave early, which means I need to get down to the store.

  “I need to head downstairs,” I tell Billy, standing from the table although his plate remains relatively full. He hasn’t eaten much I notice. I’m not a gourmet cook, but I’ve been trying to incorporate kid-friendly foods into my menu and keep a scheduled dinnertime for Sadie. She needs stability and repetition.