Page 1 of Silver Player

1

Joke’s on me

[Billy]

A young girl walks into a bar…

I’d like to say this is the start of a bad joke, but it isn’t really.

It’s my life.

It all started as I was giving my sister a pep talk about getting back out there—dating again. Opening herself up to someone new. I practically wrote the book on this cheerleading speech as I’ve lived by this philosophy for the past sixteen years.

“Hey, boss, there’s a girl here to see you,” the new busboy addresses me. Blue Ridge Microbrewery and Pub is my pride and joy, and the help is a second family. Our waitstaff has minimal turnover, but with summer ending and college kids going back to school, we lose a few, gain a few, and I don’t recognize this kid yet. Our specialty is a house beer brewed by my family’s business—Giant Brewing Company. We’ve been brewing beer for decades, although my eldest brother is the official Giant in the title. I didn’t want to continue working directly under our father, and when Giant returned from the military and Rachel left me…well, let’s just say the pub was my gift—happy thirtieth birthday to me.

My youngest sibling, Mati, sits across from me in my office. Her lion-red hair doesn’t match the rest of my siblings who have varying shades of gray appearing as we grow older. She’s one of the consistent workers as head waitress, human resources of sorts, and event concept coordinator. Basically, a Jill-of-all-trades. Mati’s husband died over a year ago, and she isn’t sure if she should follow her heart and do the horizontal shuffle with her once best friend from high school who recently returned to Blue Ridge. Their reunion has taken twenty-seven years.

Me? It took me a dozen years to wise up about sex. More like a dozen years of having sex. Random. Wild. Uninhibited. I’d been a blind fool over my high school sweetheart back in the day, but that’s a story for another time

“I’ll be there in a minute,” I say.

“Always something,” my sister mutters under her breath as she stands from the seat opposite my desk. I chuckle to myself, not in the least concerned I just admitted to my sister I’d slept with someone I shouldn’t have. Someone clearly stalking me. Mati excuses herself for the kitchen, and I head to the bar. I wasn’t in any rush to get out there, but I didn’t want to keep anyone waiting, especially if it’s a lady.

“What’s up?” I address Clyde Bebzene once I stand behind the large counter. Clyde is slightly a hot mess with a wild beard and thick sandy brown hair. He’s a few years younger than my forty-six, but we’re still close enough in age that we get along well. He’s a decent guy, coaching baseball for the local peewee team, and an excellent bartender, but I won’t admit that to him. He tips his head in the direction of a young black-haired beauty sitting on a barstool—and I mean young, like not legal to sit at the bar, but it’s okay because it’s the middle of the afternoon. Her light brown eyes pierce me to my core, and there’s something familiar about those eyes. She’d be a looker minus the emo shit she has going on. Pasty skin. Kohl eyeliner. Nearly black lips. Midnight-colored fingernails. I immediately dismiss the sensation of recognition. Every woman looks familiar to me.

They have breasts. They have lips. They have fingertips.

Only I don’t do the young ones, and regardless of a body looking like a twentysomething, she still has the face of a teen.

“May I help you with something?” I ask, standing behind the bar while Clyde dries some glasses near me. We’re prepping for the nightly rush of those appreciating local craft beer and community camaraderie. I opened the bar with the intention of improving our little downtown area, hoping to attract tourists and locals alike to boost our mountain ridge economy.

“I’m looking for Billy Harrington,” she states as though she’s about to deliver a message. Her voice rings rough as if she’s a member of The Godfather or something equally mysterious despite being youthful and female. Her eyes scan my body as if she likes what she sees, but she’s also sizing me up. I’m over six feet with silver in my hair but dark scruff on my jaw. My brothers tease me, thinking I dye the facial hair for visual contrast. They’ll never know the truth. Besides, the ladies are attracted to the dichotomy, so what do I care. Keep the ladies coming, and there’s a double meaning in that declaration. Only I don’t dip lower than thirty years old lately. Those twentysomethings want spankings and baby girl nicknames and have daddy issues. No thank you.

“What can I do for you?” My voice teases, and I hear Clyde chuckle next to me.

“You him?” She pauses. “You look different than I thought.”

I’m a little surprised she might have thoughts about me one way or another. Her expression clearly tells me she’d eat me up and spit me out, so I don’t think when I say, “Not interested in fulfilling some daddy fantasy, honey.”

I reach for a rag and begin swiping at the wood bar top although it already shines. Her Tennessee-whiskey gaze makes me nervous all of a sudden, and when her eyes narrow, the sense of familiarity washes over me once again.

“You’re sick, and you would be the furthest thing from my fantasy. I’m your daughter.”

My hand pauses on the bar. The hint of country music fades in the background. The sound of some afternoon sports competition on the television funnels to silence. The voices around me trip and mutter to a stop.

What did she say?

“Excuse me?” I chuckle while choking and then clear my throat as if the action will open my ears and clear my hearing. I look left and right to see if I’m being punked but find the bar empty minus a couple I don’t recognize and Clyde.

“The only daddy issue I have is the issue of you being my dad.”

“I…” What. The. Fuuuuuuuck. My brain wants to say, impossible. My dick knocks against my zipper suggesting, maybe.

No.

No, this can’t be.

I always wrap my shit up. No leaks. No tweaks. No just a dip and I’ll pull out. Full coverage. Every damn time.