Page 2 of Silver Player

“I…” I can’t seem to find words, so she spears me with a few more.

“Yeah, I can’t either,” she states as if she read my thoughts. “And an absentee dad on top of that. You win father of the year, Billy Harrington. Not.”

With that, she raps her knuckles on the bar, hops off the stool, and sashays her black-jeaned ass out of my bar.

No joke.

2

No joke

[Billy]

“Boss, there’s a woman here to see you.” A déjà vu and a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me moment arrest me as I sit at my desk with my hands over my face, and Clyde gives me a second declaration that someone is looking for me.

I’m your daughter.

It just isn’t possible, right? If I’m a baby daddy, she’d be a…baby…not a teenager. That girl looked all of fifteen or sixteen. If I count back in my head to who, when, where—and won’t be able to remember any of those answers—I’d certainly know the why and how of sixteen years ago.

My wife left me.

Blue Ridge is a small town. The youth pool is mainly those who go to the local schools, and Rachel and I were like Blue Ridge High School royalty. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and legs for miles, she was every teen’s wet dream. Horny and ornery, my high school years were enhanced by her teasing nature and a swollen dick every time she was near me. Look on the internet for erection lasting more than four hours without relief, and there’s an image of my lower appendage and my name engraved underneath. I didn’t fault Rachel, though. I thought she was just holding out on me.

As high school sweethearts, we went to the same college where we had an up and down relationship but married upon her graduation. I had dropped out. I loved her. She loved me. I never knew we were so disconnected until she left eight years later. Afterward, sex became my sole focus—sex, sex, and more sex—to validate me as a man. It wasn’t that women didn’t like my dick. It was only my wife who didn’t. I didn’t mind the reputation I garnered afterward. But sometimes, I wondered if that reputation held me back from something bigger. Something amazing.

When I went on my sexspree, I was vigilantly protective and preventative, which is why this new development didn’t make sense.

“Boss?” Clyde’s voice waffles through the room like a haze over hot pavement. He witnessed the conversation with the girl in the bar but graciously ignored me as I walked back to my office. Now, he’s holding out for an answer after telling me another woman’s waiting to speak with me.

“I’m busy,” I say, not recognizing my own voice.

“The hell he is,” screeches a female accent I’d know anywhere. Two small hands grip Clyde’s bulging bicep and yank him to the side, revealing my nemesis who is pushing her way into my office.

Roxanne McAllister.

Great. She’s the last thing I need today.

“Get out,” I spitefully snap. Clyde ducks his head, steps back into the hallway, and disappears. Of course, I wasn’t speaking to him. I’m addressing Roxie. This is our thing. We hate one another, and we don’t mince words when we’re around each other. She’s the cock-blocking bookstore owner across the street who I was complaining about to my sister only an hour ago.

The first time I met Roxanne McAllister, she called the cops on me.

“Billy Harrington, what did you do?” she snaps at me, placing her hands on her hips, a million bracelets jingling down her bare arm. Roxanne has broad hips, accentuated by the gypsy-looking skirt she’s wearing, which looks like an oversized bandana. Her waves of silvery hair flow wildly over her shoulders where she wears a simple white T-shirt that clings to her large breasts. She’d be my curvy fantasy, if the reality wasn’t, she’s my worst nightmare.

“I don’t have time for your hullabaloo today,” I bark, wiggling my fingers and flicking my wrist to dismiss her. Roxanne is a bit eccentric, and I can’t handle her brand of voodoo on a good day. This woman knows when I’m down on my knees, and that’s when she comes out to poke the bear. It’s spooky, actually. I stand to my full height, vibrating in irritation at her presence, ready to dismiss her again when she speaks.

“What did you say to her?”

“Who?” I snap, falling into Roxanne’s trap. Don’t engage, I warn myself too late and instead raise a hand. “You know what? Don’t answer that. Get out, like I asked.” My arm swings outward, and a finger points at the open door. Roxanne crosses her arms, enhancing the swell of her breasts, and narrows her dark eyes at me.

Narrowed glare. Something familiar.

The hand I raised to dismiss her comes to my forehead and rubs in frustration.

“I don’t recall you asking.” She pauses. “Politely.”

My temper flares. “Leave. Please.”

Her eyes narrow to near slits, and her fingers dig into her paisley-covered hips. “What did you do?”