Page 8 of Silver Player

“The hell you are,” I snark, repeating hers, and tug the book toward me.

“Hey,” she snaps, reaching over the counter, but I’m holding the book by the cover and dangling it parallel with my shoulder.

“I said, we need to talk,” I growl.

“And I said, I’m busy. You’re hurting that book.” Her arms flail over the counter as if she can reach it while her stomach lays on the flat surface, and I have the strangest thought, wanting to stand behind her in this precarious position and take her. I shake the image from my head along with the book.

“Oh, ow, ow, ow, he says.” I mock the book, flapping the pages as I yank it up and down.

“William Harrington, that’s a limited edition.” Roxanne stands and stomps her feet as she marches around her counter, coming for me. I snap the book shut and slip it into the front of my jeans.

I could have held it over her head and made her reach for it, watched her bounce up and down and jiggle those large tits for me, but I’m not interested in flirting with her, or watching her dance, or any other thing. And I’m confident the last place Roxanne McAllister will ever get is in my pants, so here the book sets, daring her to take it from me.

I’m so childish.

Roxanne freezes, her eyes leaping to my zipper region. “How…I…you…”

“Got your attention now, don’t I?” I tease. For that matter, I also have the attention of Grace Eton, a worker in the store, but I don’t bother removing the book from my jeans. Instead, I knock at my zipper with my knuckles, allowing the sound of something firm underneath the denim to resound around us.

“You are such a pig,” Roxanne groans. “I’ll never get that—” She points at my jeans, but we both know what she means. “—off my book.”

“There are worse things than my junk on your book,” I stammer, and we lock eyes on one another. Grace snorts from somewhere to our sides and then disappears behind a shelf of books.

“In my book, your junk is the worst thing,” she mumbles, twisting my words. Then she adds, “Your junk, as you so eloquently called it, will never come anywhere near my book.”

She’s good with all this play on words.

“I wouldn’t want to touch your book,” I snark back, and Roxanne gasps.

“You don’t touch a book, William. You read it. You enjoy it. And this book is closed to you,” she states, circling a finger over her body, “as is my store, so get out.”

I turn to walk away, but two firm hands grip one of my biceps, and she spins me back to face her.

“Not with my book.” She nods down at my zipper and extends her open palm, wiggling her fingers. I’m a little disturbed by how much the motion turns me on, as if she wants to grab my dick, demands I give it to her.

“Come and get your book, Roxie.” I stand, holding out my hands to the sides.

“Just give it to me, William,” Roxanne whines, and my mouth falls open.

Sweet Jesus.

“Ah. Words you only wish you could say to me,” I mutter, and those steely eyes flare, turning to onyx jewels.

“Never,” she hisses. Here’s the thing. She’s right. I’m not certain what I’ve done to her to make her so irritated with me, but she’ll never have a crush on me, and I’ll never touch her unless she begs me. And even then, I’m not so certain.

You’re a liar. A lying liar who lies to himself, Billy Harrington.

We stand at an impasse.

“Look.” I exhale, scrubbing two hands down my face and noting a sudden discomfort at having a book shoved down my jeans, especially since I’ve grown hard with our sparring. I lower my hands for my hips and narrow my eyes at her. “Where’s Trixie?”

Roxanne’s sight has dropped to the front of my pants, but her focus no longer appears to be on what’s inside my jeans. Slowly, her lids close as she clasps her hands together before her. Her fingers clench and unclench before she stills.

“Theresa died six weeks ago.”

Shit. “Shit, Roxie…I’m so sor…” The word fades from my lips as I step forward, lifting a hand for her arm to express my condolences. She flinches back from my anticipated touch before I make actual contact. The movement stings, but I don’t fault her. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost one of my siblings. Us Harrington brothers are close, well, minus James, and even Mati’s treated like a brother by me.

“What happened?” My voice lowers as if I’m speaking to a child, and then I remember there is a child involved, a teenage girl, who recently lost her mother. Sadie. Her name feels strange on my tongue, like a mixture of concern and fear I’ve never felt before.