Page 21 of Silver Player

“I don’t need help parenting,” I snip. Not to mention, reading some damn book about it when I told her the other evening reading takes effort for me.

“We all need help, William.” Her tone in that name restores my negative energy toward her.

“Not me,” I assure her, standing taller and crossing my arms, crushing the email against my chest. “I’m a one-man show.”

“You’re all show, that’s for sure,” she says, a chuckle lilting with her words.

“Meaning?”

“Oh.” Roxie holds her fingers up to her throat. “Don’t ask me for help explaining. You’re the one who’s got it all figured out, Mr. One-Man Show. More like a one-hit wonder,” she mutters.

“I am not a one-hit wonder.”

“I…” Roxanne closes those lips I wanted to savor moments ago but now want to vanquish in my anger. “I have no interest in discussing your sex life.”

I stare at her a second, slow to interpret what I think she’s saying. “Are you implying I’m a one-hit wonder in bed?” My voice rises an octave or two and practically cracks on the last words.

“Given your track record of women, and the misfortunate way Sadie came to be, I’d say one hit might be your thing.”

“And what else do you think you know about me and my sex life?”

“I know you like to pound into women up against the alley wall outside your pub.”

I stare at her. What in tarnation? “What the hell?”

“Exactly, it was hell watching your bare ass and you doing…” She points her finger at my zipper region. “…with whoever she was.”

“I…” I have no fucking idea what she’s talking about.

“In my limited sexpertise, as you call it, most women like more than one showing, William, more than a one-night stand, but since you know everything, I guess you don’t need me to mansplain these things.”

I’m so startled by her words, I’m tongue-tied, but I don’t get the chance to think, to speak. Roxanne steps back and reaches for her landline, pressing a button and answering the call waiting for her. It’s clear she’s dismissing me, no explanation needed.

9

Close calls aren’t close enough

[Roxanne]

“Roxanne?” A familiar voice carries through the line when I pick up the handset. I’m visibly shaking from the near miss—near kiss—with Billy Harrington. I watch him leave before I speak into the phone.

“Grace?” I question as her voice registers.

“It sounded pretty heated in there, and I thought I’d rescue you.”

My shoulders relax as I realize Grace did rescue me.

Then why do I feel deflated about being saved?

“Thanks, Grace,” I say. “Everything’s okay back here.”

I can’t believe I admitted to seeing him. His I know what I’m doing attitude, and I just blurted out what I saw because he had to act all uppity about his sex life.

I hate that he has a sex life.

And I hate that I feel like he was about to kiss me.

I shouldn’t want him to kiss me. I’m the last person Billy wants to kiss, and that’s the crux. He’s probably kissed most of the eligible women in this town and, I don’t doubt a handful of women before they were ineligible, but not me. It’s like I’m the only woman he hasn’t kissed, and I should be grateful, but some days, I wonder what’s wrong with me. He flirts. He teases. I don’t understand why I’m not good enough.