“Hmm?”
“You asked for my name. It’s Shelby.”
I turned the name over in my head and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Shelby.”
She shifted her weight to her other side. “And yours?”
“Ross,” I answered, deliberately leaving my last name out. Shelby hadn’t given me hers, and besides, I didn’t need any special treatment on the off chance that she recognized my name.
“Ross.”
I instantly liked the way she said it.
“I’ll go take care of this,” she said, holding up the menu in her hands. I noticed her nails were kept short but painted light pink with white tips. From how she was dressed and how she carried herself, I couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing working in the small diner. Not that it wasn’t a nice place, but for some reason, she seemed out of place. Like she didn’t belong here.
She walked off, and I only managed to peel my eyes from her round ass when she was on the other side of the red swinging door that led into the kitchen.
“Get your head in the game,” I scolded myself, rolling my eyes at my own distraction. I’d come to Maggie’s to get a bite to eat and have a quiet place to study the playbook. If I’d wanted to stare at tits and ass, I could have gone to Le Vie with the rest of the guys on the team.
I pulled the binder from my bag and flipped open to the beginning. The day’s events were still replaying in my mind. Peters’ fluke accident had put me in a place I’d never been before. Even during college, nothing like this had ever happened. One minute, I was working on my resume and wondering what life had in store for me once football was over—and the next; I was the starting quarterback for the Bitsberg Knights, heading into the playoffs. Every news channel and football fan in the world discussed my chances going into Sunday’s game against the Vultures. It all mashed together and made my gut feel like a loaded Jack-in-the-box ready to spring.
I sat back in the booth and let out a long sigh. I’d been waiting four years for this chance. And it was finally here. I knew my window of time was rapidly diminishing—a fact my agent reminded me of every month. If I was going to get an extension to my contract—I needed to make a splash.
A big splash.
Most people assumed that once a player got drafted and made it to the NFL, they were set for life. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Not by a long shot. If anything, it became even more challenging. Four years riding the bench meant that my expiration date was coming up fast and no one would even know my name.
Until now.
It was damn hard to study with Shelby swishing past my table half a dozen times. A whiff of her sexy perfume followed her and the x’s and o’s on the pages in front of me started to blur together. After a little while, she brought me a large white platter filled with Maggie’s famous biscuits and a hearty helping of gravy. My stomach rumbled loudly enough that the entire diner probably heard it. I shoved the open playbook to the side of the table to make space as she set the plate down in front of me.
“More coffee?” Shelby asked, holding up the pot of coffee clutched in her other hand.
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Are you a student?” she asked, pouring a steady stream of coffee into my waiting mug. I followed her glance to the book and mess of papers I’d pushed aside.
“Football player, actually.”
Shelby’s eyes went wide as she searched my face, as though hunting for a flicker of recognition. “College?”
I laughed softly. “I’m with the Knights.”
“Really? Wow.”
“You a fan?”
Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Are you gonna be offended if I said I don’t know a damn thing about football?”
I chuckled as I shook my head. “Not at all.”
“Whew. That’s a relief,” she replied, grinning widely. “My dad’s a football fan, but I never really got into it. Lord knows he tried. I’m an only child. He did try to convert me into a little tomboy, but I was more of a princess and baby dolls kind of girl.” Shelby took a step backward and swiped a rolled-up napkin from the counter. She handed it to me, and I unwrapped it to get to my silverware. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything else.”
I wanted to ask her to stay, but before I could find the words, she slipped away, going back to the other side of the diner to refill coffees for the other customers. There weren’t many people in the restaurant, but it was getting late. I glanced at the platinum watch on my wrist, the single indulgence I’d allowed myself once my rookie contract was signed. It was nearly ten o’clock. Maggie’s stayed open until midnight, taking advantage of the traffic from the truck stop nearby and late night travelers who were in desperate need of a cup of joe before they hit the highway again.