by KB Winters
My eyebrow hitched up. “Bar? Impressive.”
She shrugged a single shoulder. “I haven’t passed yet. Or at least if I have, I don’t know yet. I’m still waiting for the results. They should be here any day now.”
“I’m sure you did,” I said, knowing it sounded stupid, considering I’d only met her an hour before. It was a platitude, but she smiled anyway. “Did you say Maggie’s your aunt?”
Shelby nodded. “Yeah, on my dad’s side.”
“You’re lucky. She’s great. I remember my first visit; she came right up to me and asked me who I was, where I came from. She was very welcoming.”
Shelby giggled.
“What?”
“She thinks you’re a spy working with the CIA.”
“She does?”
Shelby laughed harder and covered her mouth.
I laughed along with her, replaying that initial meeting with new eyes.
“I think it’s the boots,” Shelby said, her eyes bright with amusement. She waved her hand. “I wouldn’t worry about it. For all I know, she’s just pulling my leg. She’s a character, that’s for sure. But that’s why we all love her.”
I smiled and set my coffee mug on top of the table. I didn’t want to finish it quite yet. Once the coffee was gone, there would be no reason to stay. And I very much wanted to stay and keep getting lost in the beautiful brown eyes looking back at me.
Shelby seemed to be on the same wavelength, her own mug barely touched. She raised it to her lips and took a sip. Her eyes closed, and I swore I heard her moan, setting every nerve in my body on red alert. “She might be a troublemaker, but she has impeccable taste in coffee.”
I tried to speak, but the breath from my lungs evaporated as her eyes opened and found their way back to mine.
4
Shelby
I sat across the table from one of the most devastatingly handsome men I’d ever met—in person or magazines—and he wanted to give me a ride home.
Whooda thunk?
“Did you always want to be a lawyer?” Ross asked, casually swirling the contents of his mug.
I took a sip from my own before answering, “Well, if you skip over the years where I thought being a princess or mermaid were viable options, then yes.”
Ross chuckled. “Naturally.”
“My dad used to tell me I should be a lawyer, mostly because I was always arguing my case about something or the other. I don’t know. I guess it kind of stuck with me.” I brushed my side-swept bangs out of my eyes. “So, I was on the debate club in junior high and high school and even competed in some speech contests. Total nerd.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Not at all. It’s served me well. I got accepted to Yale and earned a lot of scholarships to make it all work out.”
“Wow! I’m impressed.”
“Thanks.” I wrapped my hands around my mug, leeching the remaining warmth. “What about you? Did you always want to play football?”
Ross smiled, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes as he nodded. A faraway look I couldn’t quite place. “Yep. Started in the second grade.”
I flapped a hand at him but couldn’t pull back down the smile across my face. “Wow. That’s young. What’s it like in the NFL?”
Ross dragged in a heavy sigh. “It’s a lot of work. Practice. Working out. Staying sharp.”
A laugh slipped past my lips. “I can imagine. Sounds hard.”
“You’d be surprised. Some people think it’s one never-ending party or something.”
“Hmm.” I tilted my head, considering him for a moment. What was hiding behind those eyes? “All that matters is that it’s worth it. Right? I mean, law school is no joke, but I don’t regret all the long hours and nonexistent social life for the last seven years.”
“Seven years?” Ross repeated, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.
I laughed and nodded. “Yeah. Four years for my bachelor's and three more for law. Most of my friends from high school and college are off living life. Up until July, I was constantly locked away in a quiet room at the library, cramming for the test like my life depended on it. Not a lot of fun. So, most people kind of moved on. I’m just now getting back to seeing everyone and going out for longer coffee dates, without watching the clock and counting down how much time I had until my next study session.”
“Wow.”
“Seems like you might be able to relate,” I said, dropping a pointed look at the binder he’d closed but still had shoved into the corner of the table.
He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. Our star quarterback went down the other day. Broke a rib and jacked up his ankle. We won the game and we’re going to the playoffs, but he’s out. His season’s over.”
“And let me guess, you’re his replacement?”
“Nope. The guy who was next in line fell down some stairs today and he’s out too.” He grimaced and wiggled his eyebrows, “I’m his replacement.”
I nodded. “Ah.”
The bell on the front door rang, and I tried to mask a cringe. It was within ten minutes of closing time, and besides that—I wasn’t done talking to Ross. I plastered a smile on as I jumped up to greet the new arrival.
“Dad?”
My dad, Greg, stopped just inside the entrance and shook off the snow he’d accumulated on the short walk from the parking lot. I hadn’t even noticed him pull up, but when I looked outside, his SUV was parked there with the engine running, headlight beams shining through the windows on the other side of the diner.
“Hey, Shelbs! Mags called me to come to pick you up on my way home.”
I folded my arms. “You just wanted to escape the Jensen’s Christmas party.”
A look of guilt crossed his windblown cheeks. “Well, it did make a convenient excuse.”
I laughed. “You want a slice of pie to go?”
“You know me so well, Shelby. You need me to clean anything up while—” Dad stopped short as he strode toward the counter and did a double-take when his eyes landed on Ross. “Ross Leverette?”
I turned back and smothered a smirk as Ross’s face registered surprise at my dad’s recognition. He pushed up from his seat and came over to offer my dad a handshake. Which he took eagerly. I rolled my eyes and wandered off behind the counter as my dad had his fanboy moment.
“Greg Markson, big time fan. It looks like you got your work cut out for you this week, young man. Good luck on Sunday.
Ross pocketed his hands once they broke off the handshake. “Thank you, sir.”
They started talking shop, and I tuned it out as I bustled around to box up a slice of pie for my dad and got the till ready to count. The sound of the receipt printer stirred the men from their in-depth analysis of the Knights playoff chances. I smiled sweetly and set the paper on the counter. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Leverette.”
Ross’s eyes locked with mine as a smile played at his gorgeous lips. “Call me Ross,” he said, fishing a wallet from his pocket. He handed over a black credit card and I rang it up.
“You live close by?” My dad asked.
“Yeah. I’m just a few blocks away. Over by Hamilton Park.”
Dad nodded. “Oh, nice. I’m assuming that truck out there is yours? Looks like she’ll get ya home, no problem.”
“Yes, thank you, sir.”
“Sir?” My dad chuckled. “Please, it’s Greg. This is my aunt’s place.”
Ross nodded. “It’s a great diner. My favorite place in Bitsberg.”
My dad chuckled. “I’ll be sure to let Mags know. She’ll be thrilled.”
I pushed the completed ticket over to Ross. “Though, fair warning, she’ll probably make you sign a picture for the wall,” I interjected, setting a pen down for Ross to sign.
He smiled as he picked up the pen, rolling it between his large fingers before scribbling a signature along the bottom of the receipt. He picked it up and handed it back and I gawked
at the large tip he’d left for me. My eyes flew to his as I started to object, but he held up a hand. “It’s Christmas,” he said, as though that explained away the too-generous tip.
“Thank you.”
Ross gave a single nod and wandered back to his table to collect his thick winter coat and the messenger bag he’d had slung over his chest when he’d walked in. Once he was put back together again, he started for the doors. My heart sank, wondering if I’d see him again. If the Knights were going into the playoffs, he wasn’t bound to have a ton of free time for late night biscuits and gravy. And if all went according to plan, I’d have my bar results and be working at my new job by the time New Year’s rolled around.
“It was nice to meet you,” Ross said, stopping with one hand resting on the handle.
“You too,” Dad replied, beating me to the punch. “Good luck in the playoffs! We’ll be rooting for you!”
Ross’s eyes went to mine and his lips twitched as though there was something he wanted to say but was holding back. Then, suddenly, his expression shifted, his eyebrows arched again. He fished into the inside of his coat. “Wait,” he said, as though we were the ones ready to leave. He pulled a white envelope free from the inside lining and held it out. “Would you guys like to come to the game Sunday? One of the team officials handed them to me tonight as I was leaving practice. There is a preferred parking pass in there too.”
“Wow. That’s very generous,” Dad said, reaching to take the envelope from Ross.
Ross smiled. “The game’s this Sunday afternoon. It would be great if you guys could make it.”
My dad’s face fell. “Damn. I’ll be out of town at a teaching convention. Why they schedule these things over winter break is beyond me,” he grumbled. “Wish I could.”
He started to pass the envelope back, and I lunged into action. “I’m free!”
My dad turned toward me; his bushy eyebrows hiked up high on his lined forehead. “Really?”
I swallowed a groan at my utter lack of chill. With nervous fingers, I tossed my hair past my shoulders. “I mean, it would be fun. Right? I haven’t been to a football game since…” my voice trailed off as I realized that I had never been to a professional football game. Hell, I even avoided the games in high school. “Well, it’s been a while. I’m sure Rayna would want to go too.”
No, she wouldn’t.
Ross smiled, and I wondered just how transparent I was.
My dad was on to me and handed over the envelope with a knowing smile. “I’m sure she will, honey.”
The bell on the door jingled as Ross pushed it open and a blast of frozen air filled the room. “See you at the game, Shelby. Again, Greg, it was nice to meet you.”
I offered a wave as he slipped out into the night.
My dad barely waited for the door to flap shut before he burst out laughing. “You’re going to a football game?”
I scoffed and went back to the counter. “You’re just jealous.”
His chuckling followed me as I pushed into the kitchen to break down the till. As I sorted through the receipts, I plucked up the one Ross had signed and noticed ink showing through from the other side. I turned it over and saw that Ross had scribbled his phone number along the back.
This could get interesting to say the least.
A soft tap on my bedroom door startled me. “We’re heading out, Shelby.”
I mumbled a reply into my pillow and rolled away from the sound. My parents were off to my dad’s convention. Why my mom felt the need to wake me up when I knew full-well the intimate details of their daily lives and routines was beyond me.
Usually, it was mild irritation, but when it ripped me away from the steamy dream of Ross and me together in the front of his truck, it was downright rude.
When the house was silent again, I squeezed my eyes shut, yearning to get back to where I’d left off, with Ross’s fingers sliding down every curve of my body.
The front door slammed shut and my eyes popped open. “Damn it!”
“Shelby, have you seen Dad’s readers?”
I groaned. “Did he check his freakin’ pocket?”
My mom scoffed. “That’s not funny.”
Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true.
We endearingly referred to my dad as the Absent-Minded Professor around the house. He was brilliant, a high school teacher-turned-principle, held three master’s degrees, but lost his slippers and reading glasses with startling frequency.
“Oops! Got ‘em! Bye, sweetie!”
“Goodbye,” I called out from between gritted teeth.
So much for sleeping in—or enjoying a little alone time before giving up the memory of my wet dream. When the front door slammed shut again, I threw the covers off and swung my legs over the side of my twin-sized bed. “I really need to get my own place,” I mumbled to myself as I slipped into my favorite hooded sweatshirt and tugged on a pair of long socks and pajama bottoms.
It was probably for the best, I decided, padding out of my room. I followed the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee to the kitchen and poured myself a giant mug. After all, Ross had only offered the football tickets because he was a nice guy. Just like the ride home. What kind of guy would he be if he left me stranded at the diner with a foot of snow outside? He’d been raised right and was doing what any gentleman would have done in the same situation.
Right?
I chewed on my lip as I went about making a couple of scrambled eggs for myself. Ross Leverette was out of my league. I dated the nerdy guy in the corner, the kind of guy who would become an accountant or dentist. Quiet guys. Safe guys. I’d never been the type of girl to hang off the arm of some jock. But when Ross’ stormy eyes had wandered to the low scoop of my sweater’s neckline, there was no doubt that he liked what he saw.
I shrugged it all away and returned my attention to my quick and lazy Sunday morning breakfast. Once I piled my plate with buttered toast, eggs, and banana slices, I headed to the couch and nestled into my favorite corner seat. My dad left the morning paper spread open across the ottoman, and a gasp caught in my throat when I saw a half-page spread featuring a large black-and-white photo of Ross Leverette.
For a minute, I considered shoving the stack of papers to the floor. It was hard enough to stop thinking about Ross without him staring at me. But I couldn’t fight the urge to read the article accompanying the picture, so with a heavy sigh, I balanced my plate on the wide arm of the sectional and dragged the paper to my lap.
The Knights’ Playoff Hopes Rest In This Third-String’s Untested Hands
“What?” I skimmed the article but got lost in the football details. Instead, trying to read between the lines, I scoured for any sign or mention of his personal life. Sadly, the article was all about the recent developments, mostly centered on a couple of ill-timed injuries. I folded the newspaper back together and picked at my breakfast, wondering what would happen at the football game and if I’d actually get a chance to see Ross again—or if I’d just be putting myself through three hours of freezing-ass, mind-numbing boredom for nothing.
I smiled when I remembered he’d scrawled his number on the back of the receipt and figured that one way or another—it was going to be a very interesting night.
5
Shelby
“Okay, so remind me again, why are we going to a football game?”
I smirked at Rayna’s question. “I got free tickets. Thought it might be fun. Ya know, mix it up.”
Even with my eyes fixed on the snowy road ahead, I knew Rayna was staring at me. We’d known each other since junior high. She knew me way too well to buy my load of bullshit. I dared a sidelong glance at her as I pulled my dad’s SUV to an easy stop at the stop sign just a few yards away from Rayna’s apartment building. As I’d suspected, she was staring at me, with one thin, drawn-in eyebrow arched high.
A laugh slipped out, and I rolled my eyes. “All right, fine. I met one of the players and he invited me to go watch the
game.”
Her other eyebrow joined the first. “You met a player? A real one? Where? When? How?”
I laughed again and pushed on the gas. “I was working at Aunt Maggie’s and he came in. I didn’t know who he was until we’d been talking for a little while. I just thought he was a cute guy.”
Rayna bent forward and rummaged through the large purse she had dropped on the floor as soon as she’d climbed into the SUV. A moment later, she straightened, gripping her pink cell phone in her hand. “What’s his name?”
I bit my lip.
Rayna snapped around in her seat. “Come on! Who is he? I need to Google this shit!”
“Ross Leverette. He’s a quarterback.”
Rayna’s phone played rapid typing sounds as her fingers went to work on the screen. I merged onto the freeway that would drop us downtown and tried to quiet the hammering of my heart. In just a few hours, I’d be seeing Ross again. At least, I hoped I would. We hadn’t formally made plans to meet up after the game, but in the days in between our meeting and the game, I’d decided that he’d given me the tickets with the intention of seeing me.
“Oh. My. Gosh!” Rayna slapped my arm. “He’s gorgeous! Damn! Why don’t I watch football? Oh right, it’s because it’s too fucking cold out here!”
I laughed and leaned back in my seat, forcing myself to appear more relaxed than I felt. I wasn’t ready to confess just how keyed up I was over the prospect of seeing Ross. It would only feed the crazy fantasies that were playing in my mind.
“So, wait. He gave you the tickets and invited you to the game?”
“Sorta. We were hitting it off and then my dad came by to pick me up. It was the night the snow started again.” I paused, my mind drifting to the question of what would have happened if Dad hadn’t shown up. If Ross had given me a ride home in his truck. Where would that version of the night taken us? It was my favorite jumping off point for the steamy dreams I’d indulged in for the past few days. “Anyway, when my dad said he was a fan, Ross offered us the tickets. My dad’s out of town, though, so I called you.”