Page 85 of Silver Player

“Baseball?”

I shake my head.

“Football? Georgia State?”

Nope. Another shake.

“Oh my God, are you human? Everyone loves a sport. Something. Hiking. Walking, even.” He laughs more as I continue to twist my head side to side. “Then how the hell do you stay in such good shape?”

I stare at him. “You think I’m in shape?” I choke a little on the laughter coming from my throat.

“Yes.” He drags out the word and widens his eyes, glaring back at me.

“I get winded going up the back stairs,” I tease.

“Well, I know one sport you’re good at…” His suggestive tone softens, and I stare back at him, anticipating his next word, and then he mouths it to me. Sex.

Just because he’s triple-crowned or World Series’d or whatever in the activity doesn’t mean I have.

“Are you serious?” My voice squeaks as it rises, drawing the attention of a couple seated near us. I lean forward as if I can hide myself behind my wine glass, and I lower to a whisper. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious.” He wiggles his brows, which makes me laugh again, and then he lifts his arm for the bill. He isn’t answering me, and the lack of response leaves me anxious. Is this what he expects? I’m not opposed, but it seems so obvious. Who sleeps with a man on the first date? Oh, right, I’ve already slept with him, so is this just a formality? Why am I thinking all these things?

Could you love him?

I’m overthinking all of it.

Billy pays and leads me out of the restaurant with a hand on my lower back before helping me into his truck. I don’t normally wear heels, and I struggle with the running board.

“Whoa,” Billy warns. “Don’t tell me you drank too much?” There’s real concern on his face when I look up at him and assure him I merely slipped.

Once situated in his truck, he rounds to the driver’s side and hops in. He sits for a second, not pressing the automatic ignition. Slowly, he turns to me. “I don’t want to take you home yet. I’d suggest a drink at the pub, but I don’t want to take you there, either. I want to be alone, but I don’t want to imply anything despite my teasing at dinner. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take you to my place.”

His house.

He told us a while back how he purchased an older home and fixed it up, taking his time to do each room himself.

“It’s been a labor of love,” he admits as he pulls up before it. The rustic clapboard is a dark color, like most homes in the area. Immediately upon entering, we stand in a living-dining room combination with a thick, rustic brown leather couch and matching chair plus a large wooden coffee table on small wheels. The furniture might be too big for the space, but it’s comfortable. Inviting. He takes my coat and hangs it on a hook by the front door, and I marvel at how it looks as though it belongs on this peg with the inhabitant of this house.

The ceilings are tall, and the walls are a soft gray. It’s very minimalist and clean, which surprises me a little. Billy leads me to a kitchen only a little bigger than mine but with state-of-the-art appliances in stainless steel and light pine cabinetry. It’s surprisingly fresh for a single guy, homey even when I expected something more mountain-man from him. We round a staircase, and he leads me upward to a casual loft area with a sofa and a television set.

“This is where I spend most of my time.” It’s strange to imagine him here as I’ve seen him so often in my place. Two bedrooms and a bathroom are the other rooms upstairs. He leads me back to the first floor, and we turn right through a wide opening off the living room at the base of the steps. Looking over my shoulder, I note a sliding door closes off the space to the living room, and then I turn back to the room. A lush bed fills the space with thick log pegs for the four legs. On the other side of the bed is a patio door, and Billy motions me toward it.

“This is my favorite place.” He flips a switch, and an enclosed porch comes into view. It’s all screens, but he opens the door and steps outside. “It’s cold but would you like to sit here for a bit? I can light the pit.”

A cedar loveseat lacking cushions and two rocking chairs surround a firepit. It’s probably not safe to light it inside the covered porch, so I shake my head to the fire.

“I can make hot chocolate.” He hangs his head, hesitant with the suggestion, and I smile despite myself.

“I’d like that.”

When his head pops up, his expression is like a child given a present. He steps forward and kisses my cheek. “Be right back.” Quickly, he returns and hands me a heavy quilt to wrap around myself. Sitting on a rocking chair, I absorb the peaceful quiet of a cold winter’s night. It’s so dark. Without the streetlights of town, I can’t see a thing outside the screen panels. A string of small white bulbs decorates the ceiling, giving the enclosed area an outdoorsy feel, like a springtime party.

I wonder how many women he’s entertained here, and I hate the thought of being one of several.

He returns with two thick mugs, whip cream peeking over the top.

“No marshmallows?” I tease.