Play Maker (Bitsberg Knights Duet)

“Merry Christmas, Aunt Maggie,” I said, rounding the corner while my mom inhaled her spiked coffee.

“Good Heavens! Are you going to the opera, Shelby?”

I laughed and embraced her, the knitted reindeer's nose poking me in the stomach. “No, I just thought it would be fun to dress up a little.”

“Shelby has a gentleman caller coming to Christmas dinner,” my dad filled in.

I groaned and gave a total eye roll. “Dad.”

My mom poured another cup of coffee.

“A gentleman caller?” Aunt Maggie repeated, her soft blue eyes as wide as Tweety Bird from the old Looney Tunes cartoons.

“I have a friend coming to dinner,” I said, tossing my long ponytail over my shoulder.

Aunt Maggie cocked her head and gave me a lingering once-over. A glint took hold in her eyes and a slow smile crossed her lips. “Honey, I might be old, but I know a fuck-me outfit when I see one.”

“Mags!” my dad barked.

“Language, please, Maggie,” my mother protested before shoving her nose back into her coffee mug.

Aunt Maggie threw her hands up in the air. “It’s just a word. Honestly.” the rest of her mutterings faded off as she turned and made her way to the guest bathroom.

As I watched her shuffle off, I cringed, wondering if I should have suggested that Ross and I hit the local Denny’s for dinner instead.

“Shelby, can you check the timer on the green beans?”

I bent to open the oven just as the doorbell rang. My heart slammed up into my throat and the oven door snapped shut with a loud bang when I lost my grip on the handle. “They look great,” I said over my shoulder as I made a beeline for the front door. Aunt Maggie and my dad were watching some Christmas movie on TV in the den, and I didn’t want either of them getting to the door first. I ditched my apron on the way, leaving it hanging over the railing of the stairs, and tugged the elastic band from my ponytail. I gave my hair a shake with one hand poised on the handle and then plastered a smile on my face.

Ross was looking ten times more delicious than all the food in the kitchen—which was saying something since my mom was one hell of a cook—in a navy blue parka and black jeans. He carried a potted poinsettia and extended it toward me as I pulled the door open all the way to let him inside. “Hello, Shelby. Good Lord, you look gorgeous.”

Heat rose in my cheeks. “Thank you. You look—” Edible? I blinked, discarding the word. “You look great. Please, come in.”

Ross stomped the snow off his boots and stepped inside. It had been snowing steadily for days and showed no signs of stopping. “How are you?”

I balanced the plant on my hip as I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. We’d spoken on the phone a few times in the days leading up to Christmas. Still, there was something about seeing him in person and being near enough to touch him—or for him to touch me—that made me nervous all over again. “Good.”

“These are pretty,” he said, reaching forward to graze his fingers over the diamond post in my exposed earlobe. “New?”

I shivered at his feather-light touch and nodded. “My parents. They shouldn’t have.”

That had been my big gift of the year: a pair of diamond earrings, my first real pair.

“They look great on you,” Ross said, pocketing his hands as though that were the only way he could keep them to himself.

“Thank you. Let’s get you something to drink, and I’ll introduce you to my mom since you’ve met Aunt Maggie and my dad already.”

Ross reached for my hand, and my breath hitched as he locked his fingers with mine. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I said, marveling at how true the sentiment felt once the words left my mouth. I had missed Ross. He was quickly becoming an integral part of my life even though we’d only met a little over a week ago.

“The CIA guy?”

I squeezed my eyes together at Aunt Maggie’s booming voice. She was the embodiment of the big personality in a small package stereotype.

“Hello, Maggie,” Ross said.

I pried my eyes open and turned to face Aunt Maggie, my hand still locked with Ross’s. “Aunt Maggie, this is Ross Leverette. He’s a football player, not a spy.”

Aunt Maggie folded her arms. “Football, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She worked her lower lip for a moment. “Where are you from?”

“Arizona, ma’am.”

She continued to eye him as she searched her mental records. Aunt Maggie was a college football fan, and I could almost see her flipping through her memories for any hint of Ross’s name. After a long moment, her eyes went wide, sparking with light. She snapped her fingers. “Ross Leverette! I remember you, now. You were one hell of a quarterback”