Offside (27 page)

The dread inside Billie tightened and she
found it hard to breathe.

“A kid at all. You were a passionate, funny,
pain-in-the—”

“Butt…I know,” she interrupted. Billie inched
forward, still unsure, still scared, but knowing she couldn’t take
this torture anymore. “What in the hell are you trying to say,
Forest? If this whole night has been about a last roll in the sack
then fine. But spit it out because I’m not a mind reader and right
now I have no clue what the hell it is you’re trying to say or even
what you’re leading up to.”

“I don’t want to hide anymore.”

She blinked. “What?”

Logan shrugged. “I don’t want to sneak around
like some horny high school kid. I’m done with that.”

“You want to go public? With our
relationship?”

“I wanted to punch the crap out of Danvers
tonight. Break his nose. Pound him to a pulp because he was all
over you, and I like the guy. But, more importantly I don’t blame
him for wanting you. He’d be an idiot not to.”

“But we’re together.” He bent forward and
grabbed the hand she was nervously biting on. “I don’t give a shit
what any of the guys in the league think.” He paused and rubbed his
forefinger along her wrist. “And neither should you.”

Her heart squeezed tight and as the dread
rolled away, it was replaced with a heady, light feeling. He wanted
her.

“So,” she bit her lip and smiled when his
eyes widened. “Are you asking me to go steady, Mr. Forest?”

Logan grinned and lunged forward, pinning her
beneath him in a swath of linen and naked skin. “I guess I am.” He
nuzzled her neck. He found that one spot that drove her crazy and
it was all Billie could do to sound coherent.

“Okay,” she replied, ending on a moan as he
pulled her earlobe into his mouth.

His hand sank into her hair and then his
mouth claimed hers in a dizzying kiss that was one part surrender,
and one part possession. It was incredible and sweet and hot
and—

“Are we at twenty-two minutes yet?” She
murmured against his mouth.

Logan pulled back. “Not quite. I still have
something that I need to say to you.”

Her tongue snaked out and scored a taste of
his mouth. “Can’t it wait?”

But Logan wasn’t going to be deterred. He
grabbed her hand and gently pushed her back. “No. I need to tell
you this.”

Once more, Billie found herself fighting back
that sinking feeling of doubt and worry and insecurity. She sat
back.

For a few moments there was nothing. No
words. No sound.

Weird jumped onto the bed and settled in the
far corner, on board for another bout of cleaning—or spying—but
still Logan remained silent.

Until finally he spoke.

“You need to know about something that I did
and as much as I’d rather not tell you, I know it’s the right thing
to do.” His eyebrows arched. “Hell, maybe you already know.”

Billie could only shake her head helplessly,
hoping that he wasn’t going where she thought he was.

“I slept with your sister.”

Shit. He went there.

Now would be the time for her to come clean,
but…

“Which one?” she quipped, while her mind
whirled in a thousand different directions.

“It was a long time ago and I was drunk, or
at least half way there, and that’s not an excuse, it’s just what
it was.”

“I don’t care,” she said moving closer to
him.

He continued on as if she hadn’t said a
thing. “It was a Christmas party so you can imagine the booze and
people and it was just a crazy night. Shane and Bobbi had just
hooked up and Betty was there and she’s one hell of a flirt.”

[i]
I know, I was there too
[i].

Pain crumpled around her heart and she was
surprised at how much it still hurt that he didn’t know. After all
this time.

“Your sister was all over the place, kind of
wild and she followed me into a room and,” he looked so
uncomfortable it tugged at her heart. “Well, we had sex. It was
only that one night and I just…” he looked away. “I just thought
you should know.”

Weird meowed and hopped off the bed,
obviously bored with their talk. Billie watched the cat disappear
and then she turned to Logan, moving into him, wrapping her arms
around him.

“Okay,” she said softly.

[i]
Tell him the truth
![i]

She opened her mouth because if ever there
was a moment to spill her guts to him, it was now. She rested her
cheek against his chest, listened to his heart, and drank in the
heat of his body.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” he
murmured.

[i]
Tell him
.[i]

But she couldn’t. As much as she knew she
needed to, she just couldn’t. How could she tell the man she loved
that she’d been lying to him for years? How could she let him see
just how pathetic she was? How she had tricked him into having sex
with her?

She couldn’t do it. Not right now.

Not just yet.

She ignored his question, leaned into him and
whispered. “We just hit twenty-five minutes, Mister. You’ve got
some catching up to do.”

“I hear the Angry Pirates are playing the
Cornucopia tournament in the city.”

Logan grabbed a roll of tape and tossed it on
the counter for Mr. Talbot to ring up. He had just gotten his
skates sharpened and was in a hurry. It was nearly six and he was
due at Billie’s for dinner.

He grinned at the thought. Dinner with
Billie.

Dinner with Billie and her family. Their
kinda-sorta official first public date.

“Ah, yes. Our first game is tomorrow
night.”

“Hmm,” Mr. Talbot’s bushy eyebrows rose above
his glasses. “That’s a tough tournament. Attracts a lot of teams
from around the state.”

He nodded. “I’ve heard.” Actually Logan
didn’t give a shit about the tournament. If he had his way, he’d
spend each and every evening this week in bed with the woman who’d
somehow carved her way into his life to the point that she was the
first thing he thought of in the morning, and the last thing at
night.

He handed Talbot some cash and waited for the
elderly gentleman to ring up his purchases. On the wall behind him
were numerous framed pictures and magazine articles featuring a
host of local sports stars, though most of them featured Billie. He
gazed at a picture of her standing beside a trophy nearly as big as
she was. By the looks of it, she was about ten or twelve, with
braces on her teeth, hair stuck in a wild ponytail, chin thrust out
proudly as she held her stick and posed.

Underneath the caption: [i]
Most Valuable
Player, Golden Sticks Tourney
[i].

Mr. Talbot followed his gaze. “Damn, but she
was something.”

Logan nodded. She sure was.

“She playing in this tournament?”

Logan frowned. Out of all the naysayers in
town, he thought Talbot was one of the ones in her corner. Hell,
even Duke Everett and most of the guys in the league had come
around. The only trash talk he had heard lately had come from
Sabrina and a bunch of her friends.

“Of course she’s playing,” he answered
sounding more than a little defensive. “She’s part of the
team.”

Mr. Talbot handed a paper bag with his
purchases along with his skates. “Uh huh,” he said, pushing his
glasses up his nose.

Shit. Talbot’s attitude surprised him. “I
didn’t think you’d have a problem with her playing.”

“Normally, I don’t.”

“So what’s the problem now?”

Mr. Talbot’s eyes widened and then narrowed.
He scratched his head and bent forward, his eyes kind and
concerned. “You [i]
do
[i] know that there’s contact in this
tournament, right?”

Stunned, Logan stared at Talbot and shook his
head. The hell he knew.

“No, I…” his hands tightened at his side as a
slow burn began to creep up his neck. Could she be that stupid?
“Are you sure?”

Mr. Talbot set his hands on the counter.
“Yes. The Cornucopia has always been a full contact tourney. Billie
shouldn’t play and I told her that the other day. But that girl is
about as stubborn as a mule and she just shook her head and told me
I was overreacting.”

Logan grabbed his stuff. “Thanks for the
heads up, Mr. Talbot. I’m sure I can convince her to sit this one
out.”

Convince her? He’d make her see how dumb this
idea was.

Ten minutes later he rang the doorbell, foot
tapping impatiently, concern and anger battling inside him. He
needed to keep a cool head—to do this right—because the Billie that
he had gotten to know would push just as hard, if not harder, in
the other direction if she felt threatened.

And damned if he was going to watch her get
knocked around the ice by a bunch of hockey goons.

Bobbi opened the door, her bone straight hair
swishing around her chin as she stepped back. Her eyes weren’t
exactly cold, but they weren’t exactly welcoming either.

“Logan,” she said and moved out of the way so
that he could pass.

Candles flickered softly from wall sconces in
the hall and the smell of apples and cinnamon filled his nostrils.
The worn wood floorboards were polished to a gleam and he instantly
felt it—that sense of home. That sense of belonging.

That sense of family.

Herschel appeared at the top of the stairs,
wearing dirty white coveralls and a ball cap, which his
granddaughter Bobbi gave him hell for, and which Herschel pretty
much ignored.

“Nice to see you again, Logan.” The old guy
grinned from ear to ear. “I promise we’ve got any and all firearms
locked up nice and tight this time.”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. “Good to
know.”

He handed two bottles of wine over to Bobbi—a
white and a red—and doffed his jacket. Herschel grabbed it and with
a shrug, tossed it on the bench beneath the window just to the left
of the door.

“Billie is in the dining room with Trent and
Gerry,” Herschel said, ignoring Bobbi’s ‘his name is Gerald,’
shout.

He pointed down the hall. “After you.”

He followed the old man, Bobbi behind him,
and paused in the entrance to the dining room. Billie stood beside
her father, her hand on his shoulder while he flipped through a
large scrapbook that took up at least two place settings.

“Wow, remember that one, Dad? That was the
game we won in triple overtime.”

Trent Barker, nodded slowly, “Yes, I think I
remember that one. You scored the winner.”

“I did.”

Suddenly Billie glanced up, eyes shining.
“Logan.”

Holy hell, the way she said his name.

“Hey,” he said huskily.

Gerald pushed his chair back, straightened
his tie, and stepped forward as if he was the man of the house.

“Forest.”

Logan shook his hand. He turned to Billie and
his heart nearly stopped.

She was dressed in a simple pair of
jeans—old, worn ones by the looks of it—and a soft blue sweater
that hugged her curves in a way that would make any man’s mouth
water. Her hair was loose, just the way he liked it, and hung down
her back in soft waves.

“Logan,” she grinned and rounded the table.
“I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

Trent closed the scrapbook and pushed his
chair away so he could stand—his eyes similar to Bobbi’s. Not real
cold, but not exactly friendly.

“I hear you’re joining us for dinner.”

“If that’s all right, Sir.”

Trent’s hand shook as he grabbed the
scrapbook off the table. “Well, let’s get on with it, I’m
starving.”

“Good,” Billie tugged Logan’s hand and
pointed to his seat. “Because I expect you to eat an entire bowl,
dad. I’m not kidding.”

Logan thought about the tournament and
decided he was better off discussing it with her when they were
alone. There was no sense in getting into it with Billie right now.
And hell, if he knew anything, it was that he was going to get into
it with her.

The thought was strangely exhilarating.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to do that just
yet.

Logan has just passed the bread basket across
the table to Bobbi when Gerald cleared his throat.

“So, I hear the Pirates are playing in the
Cornucopia.”

Billie set her wine glass down. “Angry,
Gerry, they’re angry,” she said with a smile.

“Excuse me?”

“The team is called the ‘Angry Pirates’.” She
paused, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Do you know what an
Angry Pirate is?”

“Billie!” her sister hissed. “Seriously? At
the dinner table?”

Gerald looked from the woman who sat beside
him and across the table to Billie. “I don’t get it. What’s an
Angry Pirate?”

Billie filled her wine glass and passed the
bottle over to Herschel who topped his up as well.

“Well, my friend,” she began. “An Angry
Pirate is the exact opposite of a Happy Pirate.”

Logan tried not to smile. He’d been well
educated on the sexual meaning behind the term when Dearling had
gone into great detail about it one night after a game. The urban
dictionary was that man’s best friend.

“You see, Gerry—”

“We are not discussing Angry Pirates at the
dinner table.” Bobbi glared across the table and reached for the
white wine. “I mean it, Billie.”

Gerald turned to his girlfriend. “You know
what an Angry Pirate is?”

“Of course I do,” she replied, a slight smile
skirting her mouth as she set her glass on the table. She glanced
at Billie. “It’s the exact opposite of a happy pirate, right?”

Billie nodded. “Yep, exact opposite.”

Logan ate a delicious goulash—who knew
Billie’s talents ran into the culinary world as well. He enjoyed
her family a lot and it was nice to see them together when their
father was having a good day, and if he appeared a little confused
at times, it passed.

“So about the tournament,” Gerald began
again. “When do you play?”