Offside (8 page)

[i]
Women
[i]. Last week she’d called
him an unfeeling bastard—no, [i]
an unfeeling selfish
bastard
[i]. And this week she wanted him back. If he went over
there right now she’d probably welcome him with open arms and open
legs. But contrary to what she’d said last week, he wasn’t an
unfeeling selfish bastard. If he was, he’d let her take the edge
off and be done with it.

He was just uninterested in her.

Logan slammed his closet door closed. He sure
as hell wasn’t interested in what Shane Gallagher and Billie-Jo
Barker were doing either.

Fuck. It was going to be a long day.

After throwing on an old pair of jeans and
simple black T-shirt, Logan opted not to shave and pulled on his
boots instead. He fed the cat, giving Weird a scratch behind the
ears before he headed out into the early morning sun. It was crisp
and his breath hung in the air as Logan’s feet crunched over stiff,
frost covered grass.

His home was surrounded by maple trees, their
leaf heavy limbs a riot of fall colors. Burnt oranges, yellows, and
reds were the palette, something that usually lightened his mood,
but today, nothing was going to clear his dark mood.

He cut across to the garage located along the
side of his house. Nestled between two ancient oak trees, it had at
one time been a carriage house—hence the loft apartment overtop.
Shane’s bike was parked inside, which he pointedly ignored, and a
few seconds later he backed his truck out and drove away.

He didn’t work many Saturdays these days but
good, hard, manual labor would go a long way in relieving the dark
mood inside him. Besides, it’s not like he had much else going on
in his life.

Logan passed the paperboy, Walt something or
other, as he turned onto Main Street and waved as the kid rode
past. His business, Forest Custom Design was located across the
bridge at the far end of town.

Fog slithered along the road as the sun began
to warm the earth and he watched lazy swirls of it roll away when
he passed through New Waterford’s quiet downtown. A small cat
scooted across the road, just past the bakery, and he braked
slightly, swearing under his breath as he swerved to avoid it.

Someone walked along the sidewalk, he could
just make out a shape in the heavy mist but he continued on, waving
at Ed Cronkwright—out early towing someone no doubt. A few minutes
later he pulled up in front of his shop.

Always interested in mechanics and design,
he’d disappointed his father years earlier when he’d declined an
opportunity to join the family veterinarian practice—he liked
animals but sure as hell wasn’t interested in fixing them. Instead,
he’d studied engineering at a local college and opened his shop six
months after graduation.

Specializing in bikes and cars, he’d quickly
gained a reputation as a man of detail with a keen eye for design.
He’d started out with one employee—himself –and now, nearly ten
years after inception, Logan’s business had taken off with revenue
tripling over the past five years. He’d expanded, buying property
outside of town, and built an impressive new shop with additional
units that he rented out. The revenue from that alone was enough to
get by.

Logan now boasted clients from all over the
United States as well as Canada and Mexico. His waiting list for
custom bikes and specialty cars was nearly eighteen months and the
bike he’d been working on for two weeks was a custom chopper for
some Hollywood talent agent. It was one of the most daring designs
he’d attempted.

He pulled into the parking lot and let his
foot off the gas. It definitely was nothing like the hunk of junk
that sat in front of his shop’s bay door.

Logan let his truck idle and frowned as he
stared at the sad looking import. The car was a red Honda accord,
with four flat tires and from what he could tell, a lot of damage
to both the side panels and the trunk. Most likely it had been
keyed.

“Shit,” he murmured, glancing toward Gord’s
Garage and thinking of Ed Cronkwright. He must have had more to
drink than he should have last night because he obviously had towed
the car to the wrong business.

Logan grabbed his cell phone and was about to
dial Ed when his eyes narrowed. He tossed the cell onto the seat,
stepped out of his truck, and strode toward the car. The scratches
weren’t terrible. They could easily be dealt with. It was the words
and the sudden realization of their meaning that pissed him off
even more than he already was.

Son of a bitch.

‘[i]
Ho
[i]’ adorned the trunk.

He walked around the car and gazed down at
the hood. ‘[i]
Pussy
[i].’

Logan’s mouth thinned and he whipped his head
around, gazing back to where he’d come from. Ed had been alone but
that figure he’d seen…

He jogged back to his still running truck and
peeled out of the parking lot. Less than two minutes later he
turned onto Duncan Street and as he slowed to a crawl, spied none
other than Billie-Joe Barker, trudging along the sidewalk, with her
hockey bag and two sticks in her hands.

Automatically, his gaze swung to that sweet
butt—he was a guy after all, and couldn’t help it—and he realized
she was wearing the same clothes she’d worn the night before.

Immediately his eyes narrowed. Had she spent
the night with Gallagher? What the hell was going on?

Logan pulled just ahead of her and hopped out
of his truck. She’d already walked a few miles from his shop and he
knew she still had a ways to go, with the bag it would be heavy
going.

“Hey,” she said haltingly, her eyes huge in a
face that was something else. She really was striking.

“Hey,” he answered back. “I see someone did a
number on your car last night.”

She nodded, but didn’t answer and he thought
that maybe her eyes were real shiny, like they were filled with
tears.

Shit. Not again. He wasn’t real good with
tears. Just ask Sabrina.

“You want a lift?” he asked gently, nodding
toward his truck.

At first he thought she was going to refuse,
but then something seemed to break inside her and without uttering
another word, Billie hauled her bag into the back of his truck and
slipped inside.

Billie kept her eyes averted the entire five
minutes it took to get home. She was raw inside and hated that
Logan had caught her when she was so vulnerable.

The damage to her car had been bad enough.
Almost causing a brawl in The Grill had been bad enough—that’s what
an intentionally spilled beer would get you, but shit Seth had
totally deserved it.

Hearing the taunts from some of the guys,
words meant to hurt, to humiliate and put her in her
place…[i]
that
[i] had been bad enough.

But the smug look on Ed’s face when he’d
pulled up to tow her car had set the tone, and his snotty attitude
stung. Ed refusing to give her a ride home had just been the icing
on the cake.

She sighed softly as her house came into
view, and ran fingers along the side of her temple. A nasty
headache was on the horizon—not because she’d drank too much at The
Grill. Heck, she’d barely downed a beer before the shit started
flying. After Longwood had gotten in her face for the second or
third time, and her second beer had ended up in his lap, she’d
pulled Shane away, afraid he’d get into a fight. The guy was on
parole and there was no way she was going to be responsible for him
getting into trouble.

“So,” Logan’s voice drew her attention and
she shifted in her seat, though she kept her eyes trained on the
house. She was tired, sad, and on a good day Logan Forest had her
tied up in knots. She didn’t think she could handle him right
now.

“Yeah,” she answered softly—not so much a
question, but a statement. A confirmation that things were that
bad.

“Do you know who keyed your car?”

She shook her head and swallowed, not
trusting an answer because all the hurt and anger inside, pressed
something fierce.

“I’ll see if I can find out.”

“Don’t bother,” she managed to say and opened
the door. Logan met her around back and she moved out of the way as
he grabbed her hockey bag and sticks and set them on the
ground.

She watched the muscles stretch beneath his
T-shirt and the way his jeans cupped his butt as he bent forward.
When he straightened, Billie exhaled a shaky breath, suddenly so
weak she thought there was a good possibility she’d slide to the
ground like a limp noodle.

Her blood sugar must be low or something.
When was the last time she’d eaten?

“Are you all right?” he asked gruffly and he
[i]
so
[i] didn’t deserve the ‘I’m fine’ she snapped back at
him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

For a moment there was silence. Nothing but
the gentle whistle of wind in the trees and the scatter of leaves
to the ground. A shiver rolled over her and she wanted to look away
from him, but she couldn’t. It was that damn superpower thing he
had going on.

Her mouth went dry. It had to be.

His eyes were intense, their depths shiny,
like liquid chocolate and that flutter in her belly began all over
again. Sweat broke out along her forehead and for a moment she
didn’t know whether to leave or stay or leave or…

“I’m just trying to look out for you,
kid.”

[i]
Kid
.[i]

Something unraveled inside Billie. Something
hot and urgent and big. It swooshed through her like a tornado,
filling her up until there was nothing to do but let it out.

She took a step toward Logan and glared at
him. The air crackled between them. She felt it like an electric
shot that went right through her.

Billie was Indignant. Annoyed. Pissed.

[i]
Aroused
.[i]

Kid? Really?

“I don’t need anyone to look out for me. I’ve
been doing just fine on my own for a long time now.” She paused and
tried to grab hold of the emotion inside her. “I’ve dealt with
sexism and small minds for most of my life. They may have loosened
their restrictions in the pro league in Sweden, but that doesn’t
mean any of the women who played were welcomed with open arms.”

She ran an agitated hand through the tangled
hair at her nape. “I just,” it took a bit of effort to keep her
voice calm. “I just didn’t expect that kind of crap here.” She
shook her head. “I really didn’t, but if that’s the way the guys
want to play, they’re stupid if they think it’s enough to stop
me.”

“Billie—”

“I’m not done.”

Logan arched a brow—one that Billie
missed—but she was roaring ahead like a freight train and nothing
could stop her now.

“I’m a big girl.”

His brow arched a little higher and if she
was paying attention she would have seen the slight lift to the
edge of his mouth. It was a sexy lift.

[i]
A dangerous lift
[i].

“I can see that,” he replied softly.

“I don’t need someone like you looking out
for me. Not on the ice or off of it either.”

Her temper boiled over as everything from the
night before hit her. The damage to her car. The Neanderthal
attitudes. Ed’s smirk from less than an hour ago.

She leaned forward, so close she could count
the long lashes that fringed his eyes. Her heart sped up and the
butterflies in her stomach kicked into overdrive.

“And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a
damn, kid!”

“You said that.”

Chest heaving, Billie’s eyes dropped to the
pulse that beat at the base of Logan’s neck, and then her gaze
drifted upward until she settled on his mouth.

His incredible, sexy, wanton mouth. An image
of his lips sliding across her body brought a new batch of heat to
her skin, but it was a heavy heat, one that settled between her
legs in a slow, torturous throb.

Was she insane? Probably. What other reason
was there for what she did next?

Billie took another step forward and Logan
took one back, but the truck didn’t allow him to move further. She
stood on her toes, and sank her hands into the thick hair at his
neck. His subtle, clean scent filled her nostrils and it was the
sexiest thing ever. She leaned into him, her eyes never leaving
his.

And then she kissed him.

Not a soft butterfly kiss. Not a tentative,
getting-to-know-you kind of kiss either. But an aggressive,
no-holds-barred kind of kiss. Her mouth was open and she moved
against him like she was starving. As if he was the only thing in
the world that could feed her.

His mouth was warm and he did nothing to stop
her as her tongue plunged inside. Her lips skated over his—she
massaged his skull and held him in place. God, he tasted like
heaven—sweeter, hotter, and better than she remembered.

Kid? No effing way. Billie withdrew her
tongue and suckled on his bottom lip, her eyes open once more so
she could watch him. So he would know she was playing with him.

So he would know that [i]
she
[i] was in
control.

She felt his hesitation. She saw it in his
eyes. And just when she would have faltered—because really, what
the hell was she thinking? Playing with Logan Forest was like
playing with fire and Lord knows she’d already been burned—Logan’s
hands moved to her hips and he took over.

She might have squealed. Or moaned. Or
shouted for joy. Who knows? Her head was filled with white noise
and her heart was beating so fast and hard that she could have
danced the freaking Salsa all the way across Michigan and back, no
problem.

He pulled her flush against his body so that
not only were her breasts crushed to his chest, her hips were held
in place, there where he was hard and heavy and, really, really
big. His large hands splayed across her butt, and a riot of
sensation erupted between her legs, rushing through her bloodstream
and pounding into her heart. Warning bells rang in her head and she
tried to wriggle away, suddenly okay with the fact that she’d made
a mistake. A huge freaking mistake. She’d blame this epic move on
her lack of sleep.