Page 92 of Silver Player

I made love to you.

Does he love me?

Is that the direction we’re headed?

He’s had a lot on his plate over the years.

Rachel Hollycock liked women more than Billy Harrington? He sounded like a faithful, passionate lover to her, and she cheated on him.

I’m trying to prove myself.

He has nothing to prove. Son. Husband. Father. Man. I want the charade to stop with me. Aware of the truth, I see how much it hurts each time I mention his past indiscretions, and I promise myself to do better. Trust. It’s been a difficult thing to give in regard to Sadie, but I also need to trust in myself.

He is not his reputation.

He made love to me last night.

He is more than something casual.

“Morning,” he says, standing just inside his room, his hair rumpled. He’s wearing plaid pajama pants and an oversized Georgia State sweatshirt. He’s dressed like a teenage girl, and I chuckle.

“What?”

“You’re ruining the fantasy,” I tease.

“What fantasy is that?”

“One where you walk around only in your boxer briefs.” He looks down at the sweatshirt, tugging it forward by the hem.

“Yeah, well, it’s cold, and someone keeps stealing my quilt.”

Ha. He’s been willingly giving it to me.

“I can share,” I tease, flipping over a tiny corner.

“Don’t overdo it,” he mocks, his voice a little rougher this morning. There’s a strange vibe rolling off him, but I dismiss it for early morning. The morning after. Has he not spent the night with a woman in the past? Does he typically steal off once they finish? I hate that my thoughts return to these things.

He’s here with you, I remind myself.

“And my fantasy is seeing you wear those black boots again and only your lacy underwear.”

My mouth falls open, and he rubs his hand down his front, adjusting the tent pitching in his pants. “Maybe we should have some breakfast first. How do you feel about pancakes?”

He seems confused. He doesn’t know what to do with me in his home this morning. Pancakes are his specialty with Sadie, and it touches me a little that he’s willing to share the experience with only me, but I can’t shake the weirdness coming from him. Speaking of Sadie…

“Maybe we should go get Sadie. Or maybe you should take me home and I’ll pick her up. She probably shouldn’t know I spent the night with you.”

“Why not?” he snaps.

“Because she’s only sixteen. That’s not a very good example to set, if I go out for dinner with some guy and don’t return until the morning after.”

“Some guy?” Billy barks. “Got a list of them?”

What the hell?

“No,” I snap, irritated and hurt. He already knows I haven’t dated or been with anyone for three years.

He takes a deep breath and rubs up his chin with his knuckles. “I need coffee,” he mumbles, shaking his head and stalking off for his kitchen.