Play Maker (Bitsberg Knights Duet)

“Dad?”

My dad, Greg, stopped just inside the entrance and shook off the snow he’d accumulated on the short walk from the parking lot. I hadn’t even noticed him pull up, but when I looked outside, his SUV was parked there with the engine running, headlight beams shining through the windows on the other side of the diner.

“Hey, Shelbs! Mags called me to come to pick you up on my way home.”

I folded my arms. “You just wanted to escape the Jensen’s Christmas party.”

A look of guilt crossed his windblown cheeks. “Well, it did make a convenient excuse.”

I laughed. “You want a slice of pie to go?”

“You know me so well, Shelby. You need me to clean anything up while—” Dad stopped short as he strode toward the counter and did a double-take when his eyes landed on Ross. “Ross Leverette?”

I turned back and smothered a smirk as Ross’s face registered surprise at my dad’s recognition. He pushed up from his seat and came over to offer my dad a handshake. Which he took eagerly. I rolled my eyes and wandered off behind the counter as my dad had his fanboy moment.

“Greg Markson, big time fan. It looks like you got your work cut out for you this week, young man. Good luck on Sunday.

Ross pocketed his hands once they broke off the handshake. “Thank you, sir.”

They started talking shop, and I tuned it out as I bustled around to box up a slice of pie for my dad and got the till ready to count. The sound of the receipt printer stirred the men from their in-depth analysis of the Knights playoff chances. I smiled sweetly and set the paper on the counter. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Leverette.”

Ross’s eyes locked with mine as a smile played at his gorgeous lips. “Call me Ross,” he said, fishing a wallet from his pocket. He handed over a black credit card and I rang it up.

“You live close by?” My dad asked.

“Yeah. I’m just a few blocks away. Over by Hamilton Park.”

Dad nodded. “Oh, nice. I’m assuming that truck out there is yours? Looks like she’ll get ya home, no problem.”

“Yes, thank you, sir.”

“Sir?” My dad chuckled. “Please, it’s Greg. This is my aunt’s place.”

Ross nodded. “It’s a great diner. My favorite place in Bitsberg.”

My dad chuckled. “I’ll be sure to let Mags know. She’ll be thrilled.”

I pushed the completed ticket over to Ross. “Though, fair warning, she’ll probably make you sign a picture for the wall,” I interjected, setting a pen down for Ross to sign.

He smiled as he picked up the pen, rolling it between his large fingers before scribbling a signature along the bottom of the receipt. He picked it up and handed it back and I gawked at the large tip he’d left for me. My eyes flew to his as I started to object, but he held up a hand. “It’s Christmas,” he said, as though that explained away the too-generous tip.

“Thank you.”

Ross gave a single nod and wandered back to his table to collect his thick winter coat and the messenger bag he’d had slung over his chest when he’d walked in. Once he was put back together again, he started for the doors. My heart sank, wondering if I’d see him again. If the Knights were going into the playoffs, he wasn’t bound to have a ton of free time for late night biscuits and gravy. And if all went according to plan, I’d have my bar results and be working at my new job by the time New Year’s rolled around.

“It was nice to meet you,” Ross said, stopping with one hand resting on the handle.

“You too,” Dad replied, beating me to the punch. “Good luck in the playoffs! We’ll be rooting for you!”

Ross’s eyes went to mine and his lips twitched as though there was something he wanted to say but was holding back. Then, suddenly, his expression shifted, his eyebrows arched again. He fished into the inside of his coat. “Wait,” he said, as though we were the ones ready to leave. He pulled a white envelope free from the inside lining and held it out. “Would you guys like to come to the game Sunday? One of the team officials handed them to me tonight as I was leaving practice. There is a preferred parking pass in there too.”

“Wow. That’s very generous,” Dad said, reaching to take the envelope from Ross.

Ross smiled. “The game’s this Sunday afternoon. It would be great if you guys could make it.”

My dad’s face fell. “Damn. I’ll be out of town at a teaching convention. Why they schedule these things over winter break is beyond me,” he grumbled. “Wish I could.”

He started to pass the envelope back, and I lunged into action. “I’m free!”

My dad turned toward me; his bushy eyebrows hiked up high on his lined forehead. “Really?”