Offside (2 page)

Logan remained silent as she passed though
she was aware his head turned and followed her progress. She blew a
piece of hair from her eyes and wished it wasn’t so damn hot. What
was it with old people and the need to crank their heat?

“Longwood doesn’t know what he’s talking
about. You look good, kid.”

Billie’s heart lurched at the sound of
Logan’s voice. It was deeper than she remembered—full bodied and
sexy. Like whiskey on the rocks. He was five years older than her,
which she supposed had played into her young, foolish
fantasies—back when she was eighteen and he was twenty-three. And
now at thirty years of age, he was a man in his prime.

She glanced back and hoped her cheeks had
toned down a bit. “Thanks,” she murmured. King of his prime, more
like.

His dark hair was damp against the collar of
his leather jacket as if he was fresh from the shower, and she
inhaled a hint of spice in the air. The man smelled as good as he
looked.

[i]
Something else that hadn’t
changed
.[i]

Out of habit she grabbed a roll of duct tape,
some new laces and waited while Mr. Talbot rang up her
purchases.

“So what are you up to these days?” Seth was
beside her now, his grin unbearable as he gazed at her. Tall for a
woman, Billie stood five feet nine in her socks, but this morning
she’d pulled on a pair of her sister Bobbi’s boots and…

“About two inches taller than you,” she
quipped.

She heard Logan chuckle and glanced toward
Mr. Talbot, whose eyes twinkled as he rang in her order.

Seth’s eyes hardened. “Funny,” he muttered,
though he took a step back and gave her a bit of room.

“That will be sixteen dollars even.” Mr.
Talbot announced.

Billie pulled a twenty from her back pocket
and set it on the counter, for the first time noticing a bright
orange flyer next to the cash register. She picked it up and
quickly scanned the information.

Friday Night Hockey, it proclaimed in bold
font.

“What’s this? A new league in town?” Billie
asked, eyebrow arched.

Mr. Talbot glanced over his specks at her and
then nodded slowly. “It’s something new. We’ve got a twin pad now
and more ice time is available, so a bunch of local boys have
started up a league.”

“No contact?”

Again Mr. Talbot nodded, though his eyes
narrowed slightly. “It’s competitive, but no contact.”

A tingle of excitement rifled through her as
she fingered the orange flyer. “Who’s looking after sign up?”

“Why?” Seth butted in. “It’s not like you can
play.”

She ignored Longwood. “Is there an age
restriction?”

Mr. Talbot glanced behind her and cleared his
throat. He pushed his glasses up his nose once more and nodded.
“Twenty-five to forty-five, I believe.”

Seth moved closer to her again and she was
beginning to think she’d need to have a conversation with him about
personal space and parameters. The guy was as dense as a
two-by-four.

“You can’t play Barker.” His tone changed and
his eyes hardened. “That concussion make you stupid?”

Billie turned around. “And you think this
because…”

“It’s [i]
men’s
[i] hockey, little girl.
And unless you’ve grown a set of balls I’d say that pretty much
settles things.” His grin widened and he glanced toward the still
silent Logan. “That is unless something else happened to you over
there in Switzerland. Sex change maybe?”

“Sweden.” She said carefully, mind whirling
at the possibility.

“What?” Seth growled.

“She played for the Northern Hammers in
Sweden,” Logan interjected.

“Whatever.” Seth grabbed the flyer from her
fingers and eyed her up with a glare that was meant to intimidate.
He puffed up his chest for good measure, which only emphasized the
fact that he’d gained a little around the waist, and shoved the
flyer in front of her face. “This here is men’s hockey.”

“It doesn’t specify.”

His eyes widened. “What the hell are you
talking about?”

Billie leaned back against the counter,
enjoying herself. “The flyer and the rules don’t specify
gender.”

Seth glanced toward Logan and frowned. “What
the hell’s she talking about?”

Logan grabbed a flyer off the counter and
took a look. He shrugged. “She’s right.”

Seth glared at her. “Doesn’t matter. You
can’t seriously expect to play in our league.” He shook his head.
“No way.”

Mr. Talbot cleared his throat and leaned
forward. “Now Seth, there’s no reason to get all bothered under the
collar. Billie-Jo’s just pulling your leg.”

Billie glanced from Talbot, to Seth and then
her gaze settled on Logan. His expression was unreadable and for
whatever reason, suddenly it mattered to her what he thought.
Without thinking she opened her mouth, anger pushing aside the
nervousness from earlier.

“What do you think, Forest?”

Logan took a moment, as if deciding on the
right words and she found her gaze focusing on his mouth. His
delectable, full mouth.

For a moment things went wonky inside her
head, and sure it might have been a side-effect from her
concussion, but all sound disappeared like water seeping down the
drain. Her skin was still hot, but it burned hotter and sweat broke
out on her forehead.

His mouth was moving. Words fell from between
his lips, except she had no clue what he was saying. An image of
his mouth gliding across her neck, heading south…maybe heading way
south filled her vision and she swallowed thickly, shaking her head
slightly in an effort to clear what was one hell of a picture.

And then everything snapped back into focus
and she realized all three men were staring at her.

“Uh,” she glanced away from Logan. “I didn’t
quite catch that.”

What the hell did he have in his eyes?
Superpowers or something? Clark Kent shenanigans that made her
nothing but a stupid mess of quivering girlie parts?

“Are you all right?” Logan took a step toward
her but she held up her hand.

“I’m fine. I just didn’t exactly hear what
you were saying.”

“I said that technically you’re right.
There’s no provision in the rules and regulations about gender.
It’s not something we ever thought about.”

“So, if I want to play Friday Night Hockey,
there’s nothing to stop me?”

Logan shook his head. “Nothing at all.”

“Billie-Jo,” Frank Talbot said gently. “It’s
beer league hockey and these boys are pretty set in their ways. Why
would you want to play with the men?” His warning was subtle but
there nonetheless.

[i]
Because hockey is my life and I pretty
much have nothing else to do
[i].

“Besides,” Talbot continued. “You had one
hell of a concussion two months ago. Do you really think you should
be going back out on the ice?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Talbot. There’s no contact.
I’ll be good.” [i]
I’ll stay out of the corners
.[i]

“But why do you want to play beer league
hockey? It’s way below your skill level,” Talbot pressed.

“Hey, Frank,” Seth ground out. “I wouldn’t be
so quick to diss our league. There are more than a few of us who
played competitively. There’s a lot of talent out there.” He turned
back to Billie. “I just don’t know why she wants to play with
us.”

She smiled sweetly at Seth. “Because I
can.”

Seth’s entire face was mottled mess of red.
His cheeks were puffed out like a blowfish. He shook his head. “No
way. We’ll pulverize you out there.”

Same old. Same old. “Really?” Billie eyed
him. “You’d have to catch me first and you know what I think? I
think you’re afraid to let me into your,” she paused and sneered,
“boy’s club because you can’t stand the fact that I’ve always been
better than you.”

“That’s bullshit,” Seth ground out. “She
can’t...there’s no way in hell…the guys won’t go for it.”

Billie glanced at Logan.

Logan shrugged. “I think you’re looking for
trouble, Billie. But from what I can see no one can stop you.”

“Oh Lordy.” She heard Mr. Talbot whisper.

“Good.” For the first time since she’d come
home, Billie felt a spark of life. And it felt damn good. So good
in fact, that she’d do whatever it took to keep it going.

“Wait a minute.” Seth made one last try.
“You’re not old enough. Rules say you have to be twenty-five and if
I remember correctly you’re younger than me.”

“Not for long.” Billie quipped. “I turn
twenty-five next Friday.”

“Shit,” Seth said savagely.

She licked her lips, enjoying the moment.
“Friday the 13th , kind of appropriate don’t you think?”

Seth shot another dark look toward them all
before heading out into the blinding sunlight. “This is
bullshit.”

Billie’s buzz lasted for exactly five
seconds. Long enough for Mr. Talbot to mutter ‘oh Lordy’ at least
ten times and long enough for Logan to take two steps closer until
his spicy smell penetrated her fog.

He handed an envelope over to Mr. Talbot. “My
registration and check are in there.” He paused for a moment. “It’s
good to see you back, Billie and I admire your...attitude. But I
sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing.”

He held her gaze, for what seemed like
[i]
forever
[i] and then nodded to Mr. Talbot. Billie watched
him walk away, his long stride, easy and controlled. He’d walked
away from her once before, though his gait hadn’t been quite as
controlled and she’d been—

“Are you really going to do this?” Mr. Talbot
asked urgently.

Billie-Jo Barker nodded and reached for a
pen. “Damn right I am,” she grinned. “Where do I sign up?”

Mr. Talbot ran his fingers through the wiry
hair atop his head as the bell above his door tinkled. Several
customers marched into the store, including Mike Walker, owner of
Walker’s Hardware store, conveniently located next to Talbot
Sports.

A frown marred his normally amiable face and
he didn’t bother with a ‘hello’. Impressive eyebrows raised, Mike
Walker glared at Frank and narrowed his eyes. Voice gruff, he
barked. “What’s this I hear about a woman playing in our hockey
league?”

Frank Talbot muttered to no one in
particular, “oh Lordy,” and then said a small prayer.

“So did Logan Forest ever marry?”

Billie scooped a generous helping of broccoli
onto her plate and passed the bowl to her sister, Bobbi. She
avoided Bobbi’s narrowed gaze and instead, topped up her wine glass
before raising it in mock toast to her Grandfather.

Herschel Barker, still dressed in white
coveralls and barely cleaned up from working outside, raised his
glass in return and chugged his merlot like it was a mug of beer.
Billie’s grin widened as she set her glass down on the table. The
Barker’s would never be a classy bunch—her gaze swung back to her
sister—no matter how hard Bobbi tried. And considering the three
girls had been blessed with the monikers, Bobbi-Jo, Betty-Jo and
yours truly, Billie-Jo, well…they’d started out behind the eight
ball so to speak.

Her sister picked at the smoked salmon on her
plate and turned to Billie, perfectly cut bob swishing around her
chin as she slowly chewed her food, in a nice, precise, manner.
Billie had no idea when this transformation from bad girl to stick
in the mud had occurred, but she sure as heck didn’t like it.
Bobbi-Jo had been a lot more fun the last time she’d been home.

[i]
And
[i], her sister was now dating
Gerald Dooley, the most boring, anal man on the planet. Sure he was
good looking and had boatloads of money, but ugh…he was all wrong
for Bobbi. His wardrobe was as boring as he was and his back was so
stiff and proper, Billie was sure something long and hard was
shoved up his—

“Logan Forest?” Bobbi said slowly, as if the
name on her lips was distasteful. “I thought Betty was the one who
had a thing for him.”

Billie didn’t say anything, though the
mention of their sister was enough to make her gut clench.

Bobbi’s expertly waxed eyebrows arched, just
so, and her gaze moved to Gerald who regarded Billie like she was a
visitor from another planet.

“Logan Forest will never get married. Guys
like him never do. They like their freedom way too much.” Bobbi
paused, her eyes narrowing so much the hazel green disappeared
altogether. “But why talk about him when we can discuss this
harebrained idea you have about playing hockey in the men’s
league?”

Billie pushed her plate away, aware that even
her Grandfather was paying attention. Herschel shoved his ball cap
back on his forehead, grabbed the bottle of wine and settled in to
watch the fireworks. Nothing like a good dustup at the Barker
residence and when more than one triplet was in residence, there
was always friction.

Except, her head hurt a little and she didn’t
feel like getting into it with her sister. At least, not with
Gerald Dooley staring at her like she was an idiot.

“It’s not a big deal, Bobbi. It’s
hockey.”

Her sister snorted—[i]
actually
snorted
[i]—and took a sip of wine as she tossed a
‘can-you-believe-her’ look at her [i]
boyfriend
[i].

“I beg to differ.” Bobbi shook her head. “I
was in the salon today and it’s all anyone is talking about. Why, I
had to chastise the shampoo girl, [i]
twice
[i], because she
was so busy gabbing about you that she got shampoo in my eye.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Billie
retorted.

“Well, believe it. You walked into Talbot
Sports at nine o’clock this morning and by noon half of New
Waterford was in an uproar.” Her sister leaned forward. “You’re not
fifteen anymore, Billie. Women don’t play men’s beer league hockey.
It’s just…oh God, it’s just wrong and stupid.”

Her sister’s attitude stung. She’d at least
thought Bobbi would understand her need for the game. Her need to
do something that mattered—something that made her feel alive.
She’d been drifting without an anchor since she’d been cut from the
team and sent home.