Offside (13 page)

Do not look at her ass.

“Gramps?”

She turned just enough to catch his eye and
Logan cleared his throat, suddenly stuck with no words and a host
of extremely inappropriate thoughts running through his head.
Images of her lips gliding across his skin made him swallow hard as
he met her gaze.

Was that a tattoo along her hip? Shit.

“No, it’s me,” he managed, glad to hear he
sounded like he had some kind of control, though judging by the
smirk on his brother’s face, Connor wasn’t fooled.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Gramps went to get
some more antiseptic, and I thought...”

She hissed as Connor ran a cotton swab over
the wound before he straightened. “That should do it.”

Logan crossed over, his brows furled in anger
as he took in the raw gash that was now perfectly sown, with nice,
precise…

“Eight stitches?”

Connor nodded, sweeping longish blond hair
from his eyes. His brother was younger than Logan by two years,
prettier than half the women in town, and newly single since he’d
broken up with his girlfriend. Logan wished he’d move the hell away
from Billie, but then, why would he?

Why would anyone?

In that moment, Logan realized a few things.
Billie-Jo Barker intrigued the hell out of him. She was so
different from her sisters. Bobbi was type A, anal as all hell,
though when she wasn’t trying so hard to be someone else, she
wasn’t all that bad.

Betty, well, she was another story
entirely.

But Billie…she had him wanting to circle the
room and piss in all the corners like a dog marking his territory.
What the hell was up with that?

“Yes, the wound was pretty deep. There’s two
more inside as well.”

Logan couldn’t believe she’d been jabbed with
a stick so hard that the resulting injury required over eight
stitches to fix.

“Billie’s a real trooper though. I didn’t
have anything to numb it, and I’m sure it hurt like hell, but you’d
never know it.”

Billie turned around, and Logan’s eyes nearly
popped out of his head. The woman had a body made for athletics all
right—long toned limbs—but damn, she’d win in the bedroom too. Her
breasts were fully covered, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t
appreciate their size and shape. A little more than a handful—just
the way he liked them.

Her abs were defined, but not too
muscular—she was still full of curves and softness, with a waist
that was begging for his hands and that ass…

Logan inhaled and turned to the side. What
the fuck? She’d just been speared, had taken eight stitches in the
side and he was fantasizing about how hot she looked?

For a moment he thought of the other day. Of
the smell and taste of her. The way she’d moaned when he’d slid his
tongue inside her mouth. Of how good she’d felt pressed up against
his body and it was all he could do not to groan and whimper like a
fucking teenager begging for it.

For her.

He ran his hands through hair that was all
sweaty and wet, buying a little time while he tried to calm himself
the hell down.

He thanked all that was holy he still had his
hockey pants on because he was sporting one hell of a tent in
there, and if it didn’t go away he’d have to clean up at home.
There was no way he was walking out of Billie’s dressing room
sporting a raging hard-on and then heading into the showers.

He’d never live it down.

“Okay, I’m done,” Connor said as Logan got
hold of himself and swung his gaze back. His brother was smiling
down at Billie and Logan recognized the look in his eyes. A hungry
look. A look filled with anticipation. An interested look.

Connor took a step closer and lowered his
voice, but it wasn’t so low that Logan couldn’t hear every single
word. “I’m sure glad you’re back, Billie, and really happy I ran
into you.”

She smiled. A polite smile? Or a keep talking
kind of smile? Logan wasn’t sure so he inched forward, not liking
the way this whole thing was playing out. Billie tilted her head,
exposing more of that creamy skin between her neck and collarbone
and damn if Connor didn’t hone in on that right away. He pretended
that he wasn’t interested in that prime expanse of womanly skin,
smart bastard, but Logan knew.

Connor put his hand on her shoulder and
gently squeezed. “I’m still concerned about your head injury.
Remember what I said, all right?”

What the hell was he now? Doctor Phil? The
guy was a veterinarian for Christ sake.

Logan watched Billie closely as she nodded.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes huge and that damn mouth was
shiny, like she’d just slipped her tongue out and…

“Thanks, Connor, it was good to see you
too.”

In Logan’s opinion, Connor’s hand lingered a
little too long on her shoulder and then he had the gall to let his
fingers slide down her forearm. Logan frowned and stepped forward.
Call it a Tarzan thing-and Lord knows Billie didn’t belong to
him-but still, his younger brother didn’t have to stand so close to
her now, did he? Billie wasn’t his type.

At all.

“So, I’ll call you tomorrow? You know, if
you’re interested?”

Billie’s eyes flickered to Logan briefly and
then she glanced away. “Sure,” she murmured. “Sounds like fun.”

“Tomorrow?” Logan asked. “What’s up—”

Herschel burst into the dressing room, his
hands full of anti-septic wipes. “I had to drive to the goddamn
pharmacy to get these. No one could locate a medical kit.” He
tossed the wipes on the bench. “Damn, fancy facility like this and
not enough medical supplies. What the hell are our taxes for
anyway?”

The three of them stared at the old man, his
white cap askew, his face flushed and eyes glittering.

“It’s okay, Herschel. I had just enough,”
Connor said as he packed up his kit before he glanced at Logan.
“See you tomorrow?”

“I guess.” Logan turned to his brother as
Billie moved to grab something off the bench behind her.

That [i]
was
[i] a damn tattoo on the
side of her left hip.

“What’s going on?”

“I won’t tell Mom that you forgot about
tomorrow.”

That got Logan’s attention.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated.

Connor’s smile widened. “The fundraiser?”

[i]
Ah, shit
[i].

“We’re all supposed to be there. Even Travis
is coming from California. I’m picking him up at the airport in a
couple hours.” Connor paused. “She’s expecting you and
Sabrina.”

[i]
Double shit
.[i]

His mother was one hell of a woman, but her
need and desire to get in the middle of her sons lives was
legendary. He loved her, Christ did he love her, but she’d been a
monkey on his back for the last two years. As her oldest son, she
wanted him to ‘settle down’ to ‘start a family and carry on the
genes’. She’d flat out told him last Christmas that if he didn’t
produce a grandchild by the time he was thirty-five, she’d take him
out of the will.

Deidre Forest wasn’t sold on Sabrina, but it
sure as hell had made her feel good to know he’d at least settled
on one woman for longer than a few weeks or even a few months.
Hell, just three weeks ago she’d texted him to ask if she could
throw them a six month anniversary dinner.

Sabrina had given his mother hope.

Logan ran fingers along his brow and exhaled.
She wasn’t going to be happy that he’d broken it off with the
blonde.

Connor slung his bag over his shoulder and
glanced over to Billie. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Logan’s mood darkened as he watched Billie
smile at his brother.

With a nod to Herschel, Connor slapped Logan
on the back as he passed and murmured, “Tomorrow night will go
easier if you make nice with Sabrina and bring her along, just
sayin’.”

“Sure, I’ll get right on that.”

Like that was going to happen. He’d run into
Sabrina at the bank a few days earlier and she’d practically
drilled a hole through his hide with the ice in her eyes as she’s
stared daggers at him. And now that he thought about it, what the
hell was up with that? He’d been nice to Sabrina. He’d let her down
easy. There’d been no cheating or horn-dogging. It just wasn’t
right.

And still, he was the bad guy. She’d butted
in line and stood inches from his back, he’d had to listen to her
mutter about his ‘inability to commit’ for nearly ten minutes until
he was able to get in to see the branch manager.

Logan sighed. He sure as hell liked women,
but for the most part, he didn’t understand them. Or, at the very
least, he didn’t [i]
want
[i] to understand them.

Once his brother was gone he turned back to
Billie, who had covered up, which was a good thing. He had enough
on his mind without her walking around half naked.

Herschel gave his granddaughter a hug and
said he’d see her back at the house. He tossed Logan a polite smile
before following his brother’s steps out the door.

“I guess I should go,” he said.

Her eyes glistened, the dark lashes fringing
them like spiky bits of black feathers. He watched the way she
licked her lips and then swallowed. The way her now unbraided hair
fell around her shoulders in loose, silken waves.

A soft shudder rolled over him and his groin
tightened even more as the smell of her shampoo drifted in the air.
Damn, but he’d like to sink his hands into that thick mess and hold
her head, just so, and—wait—when the hell had she unleashed the
power of her hair on him?

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired,” Billie answered
while grabbing her hockey stick, though she groaned as she bent
forward.

“Hey, let me get that.” Logan moved before
she could answer and grabbed her bag and both of her sticks before
indicating he’d follow her out.

Billie was silent for a few seconds as her
right hand tugged the edge of her jacket nervously. “You were
right,” she finally said.

“Of course I was.”

She looked surprised at his quick response.
“Are you always this arrogant?”

“Not always.”

The smile stayed, and hugged the corner of
her mouth. “Only on special occasions?”

Logan nodded. “Only with special people.”

“Special can mean a whole lot of things.”

She was flirting with him. Goddamn, but
Billie-Jo was flirting with him.

He kinda liked it.

“Sure can.”

“So,” she took a step toward him and he
sucked in air that was electrified. Air that fed his body in a way
that made him tighter, harder, and he thanked every god he could
think of that at least an inch thick of padding stood between his
aching cock and Billie-Jo Barker.

Her lips were wet where she’d slowly run her
tongue along them. They glistened in the dim lighting, and for a
second he couldn’t focus on anything but them. He shifted. Beads of
sweat appeared along his brow. He was so screwed. There was no way
he was going to be able to hit the showers.

“So,” she continued again, “what kind of
special am I?”

Her tongue peeked out from between her lips.
Holy hell but it was hot.

The two of them stared at each other for
several long moments and when Logan was finally able to form a
coherent thought—one that didn’t involve throwing Billie to the
ground and licking every inch of her. He opened his mouth to speak,
but didn’t have a chance to say anything.

Shane Gallagher strode into the room, way too
full of energy and testosterone and what sounded like…glee. His
friend crossed his arms in front of his chest, cocked his head to
the side and his grin widened.

“Jesus H Christ, Billie, I thought we had an
understanding? …Connor Forest?”

Saturday nights in New Waterford were, for
the most part, pretty quiet. There wasn’t much to choose
from—entertainment wise—and if a body was looking for excitement, a
body would have to drive to the city, which was nearly twenty
minutes away.

There was of course The Grill which had the
best wings in town as well as the coldest beer. There was Marino’s,
which had the tastiest pizza in the county. There was also the Iron
Key, a fancy restaurant located in a renovated century home down on
the water. It was the kind of place most folks couldn’t afford, and
those that did only went a few times a year. Many wondered how the
Iron Key stayed in business and the rest didn’t care. Who wanted to
eat in a restaurant that served food you couldn’t even pronounce,
and the servings barely fed a small child?

Call it fine dining if you wanted to, but for
most of the residents of New Waterford, it was a bloody crime.
Luckily, its cuisine was renowned, and a steady clientele from the
city took the time to drive to New Waterford and kept the place
busy.

Other than the odd wedding, anniversary, or
the annual Hockey dance held to celebrate the local house league
teams, there wasn’t much to do.

So, three years earlier, when Deidre Forest
decided to organize a fundraiser for the community support
center—one that catered to seniors, teens and adults in crisis—she
took it upon herself to make it the event of the year. Deidre
wasn’t used to doing anything halfway, and it was no surprise that
the New Orleans inspired Mardi Gras theme that first year was a
huge success. The following year she’d organized a country hoedown,
complete with a mini rodeo, square-dancing, and some hot imported
cowboys to boot.

This year, she’d delayed the event—usually
been held in the spring—deciding Halloween would be great fun.
There were events all day for the kids as well as a mid-way full of
rides. But the main event—the masquerade dance—was adults only. It
would boast both a silent auction, as well as a live auction. There
would be dinner, music, and dancing. Anyone who was anybody—and
could afford the 150 dollar ticket—would be there.

Logan had heard about the damn thing for
weeks but he’d put it out of his head, not really in the mood. Not
that he begrudged the event or the monies it would pull in for the
support center, he just preferred to give a donation and be done
with it. And after last night, he wanted nothing more than to sit
at home, watch the game, and [i]
not
[i] think about Billie
and his brother.