Making the Play by T. J. Kline Read Free Book Online Page A

entered. Every eye was focused on one of the pool tables. A cheer went up in the room and he moved closer. The last thing he’d expected to see was James, standing on a bench, shooting pool.
    The boy looked up as he came closer. “Hi, Mr. McQuaid!”
    James’ face beamed with pleasure as he hopped down from the stool, knocking one of his implant microphones off. He reached and slid it back into place.
    â€œCome play pool with me.” James slid his hand into Grant’s and dragged him toward the table.
    Grant didn’t miss the way every eye turned his direction when James said his name, or the way ­people around the table moved to let him through. Or the frown that slid to Bethany’s brow as soon as she saw her son holding Grant’s hand. James reached for his small cue stick and chalked it like a pro.
    â€œI’m winning.”
    â€œWho are you playing?”
    â€œMe,” Billy, the youngest son of Dino’s longtime owner, complained. “I should really get back to work. Here.” He shoved the cue stick into Grant’s hands. “See if you can do better.”
    Grant looked at the crowd surrounding the table, unsure what to do. The easiest move would be to miss his shots, let James win and pretend it was a fair game, but one look at Bethany was enough to cast that idea aside. She stared at him with a slight smirk on her lips, as if she was daring him to beat her son. For a moment, he got the same feeling he did when a linebacker shot him a grin during the snap count. Bethany knew something he didn’t and there was a good chance he was about to get destroyed. It also hadn’t escaped his notice that James wasn’t using a regular pool cue from the stock the pizza place kept. He had a custom-­made cue stick, just the right size for him. It was unusual and kicked his curiosity into high gear.
    Grant worked his way around the table toward Bethany, not missing the flicker of apprehension in her eyes as he got closer. “Okay, Mom, how good is he, really?”
    She couldn’t hide the pride that swelled and her smiled broadened. “I could probably survive off his winnings if he ever wanted to start hustling ­people.”
    â€œGreat.” Grant rolled his eyes. He wasn’t a great player to begin with and now he was about to get schooled by a kid. He bumped her hip playfully with his own, moving her aside. “At least you can say you warned me.” He pointed at the ball nestled in the corner pocket. “I’m solids, right?”
    â€œYep.” James smiled at him and Grant noticed one of his bottom teeth was missing. Damn kid was adorable. “I only have one left,” he said, pointing at the eight-­ball.
    Grant shook his head, mentally preparing himself to be spanked by this kid and humiliated in front of at least twenty ­people from town. Please don’t let any of them be reporters , he prayed.
    It took all of five minutes for James to win the game. As soon as he’d sunk the eight-­ball, he climbed down from the bench and threw his arms around Grant’s legs, giving him a warm hug. Without even thinking, Grant bent down and picked him up, lifting him so he was at eye level.
    â€œWant to play again?” James asked, a bright gleam in his blue eyes.
    â€œMaybe later. Let’s order our pizza and we can visit for a little bit first.”
    James wiggled in his hands and Grant put him back onto the floor, following him to the front counter where Bethany joined them. Reaching his hands to the top of the counter, James hopped up, trying to see over the top even though he was far too short. Grant picked him up again and pointed at the menu.
    â€œWhat kind do you want?”
    â€œPepperoni and cheese.” The boy bounced up and down in Grant’s arms excitedly, until his mother cleared her throat beside them. “Please,” he corrected with a sheepish grin.
    â€œYou heard the