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“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” she murmured and reversed out of the driveway.
Less than ten minutes later Billie hauled her hockey gear down the wide steps that led to the changing rooms beneath New Waterford’s twin pads. Always a diehard, she’d never invested in bags with wheels, preferring to carry her equipment and the only time she’d ever let anyone else lug her gear around was in Europe.
She paused at the bottom, aware that a lot of male eyes followed her progress as well as more than a few girlfriends and wives. She felt their interest. She felt it sharply and though she was used to attention, this was different. It was in the covert whispers behind hands, the pokes and nods and the way most eyes slid in the other direction when they met Billie’s.
A quick glance told her that Logan was nowhere in sight and the nervous tension in her belly dissipated when she realized he wasn’t around. Which she supposed said something, but for the moment she didn’t really want to think about Logan Forest. Or Logan and Sabrina Fairfax for that matter.
Or the fact that they’d left The Grill together last Friday and it was obvious they were heading back to Logan’s to…well, what else would Logan do with someone like Sabrina? It’s not like they’d settle in for an early evening of cards and Jeopardy. There’s only one thing Sabrina Fairfax would be doing with a man like Forest.
[i] Exactly what I’d be doing[i].
Her cheeks burned at the thought and she cleared her throat, yanking her bag a little higher.
Logan had emailed her Wednesday with their schedule and she knew their team was called the ‘Angry Pirates’. The name somehow fit and she perused the large board on the wall until she found her dressing room inked in black marker.
2B—Angry Pirates
2C—Barker
It was good to see they’d given Billie her own room because, truthfully, she’d expected nothing more than a damn closet or the bathroom.
She made her way down the hall, ignoring the stares, glares and yes, even the odd, deluded, and salacious eye on her butt. Already, the familiar pregame nerves jolted her system and she was anxious to get into her equipment and out onto the ice.
Billie found 2C down near the end of the hallway on her right. She pushed open the door and...
Mike Dearling, who on a good day tipped the scales at three hundred pounds, stood a few feet away scratching his butt with the end of his hockey stick. A normal gesture to be sure, but when you took into account the fact that Mike Dearling was buck naked and grinning at her as if he’d just scored a hat-trick in a championship game, it was enough to make Billie’s stomach roil.
She took a moment and tore her gaze from the fur that covered the man’s considerable backside and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. A few feet beyond him, Jason Danvers was doing the same, though he wasn’t scratching anything and he sure as hell wasn’t three hundred pounds.
But he was as naked as the day he was born.
She glanced from Danvers, back to Dearling and was proud of the fact that she’d kept her cool. Every single eye of the twelve men in the room was on her. Logan sat on the bench, halfway up the room with a surprised look on his face. His pants, shin pads and skates were on, though his chest was bare and she was more than aware of just how good the man looked. An intricate tattoo wrapped his left bicep in black ink and another adorned his right shoulder.
He looked bad ass. He looked ripped. He looked so damn yummy, it was all she could do to tear her gaze away and look elsewhere.
Billie-Jo Barker was in the middle of a dressing-room chalk full of testosterone, half naked men and—Mike Dearling’s grin widened as he walked toward her and let one rip—gas.
She knew what was going on. A quick switch of numbers and these idiots thought a little bit of naked man flesh was enough to send her packing. They thought their scratching and hairy body parts would scare her.
Billie glared at Mike. They had no Goddamn clue what she could put up with.
None.
Mike kept walking until he was so close that an impressive amount of body odor hit her full blast. Mixed with his early start on the beers, she wrinkled her nose and watched as his grin widened.
“What’s wrong, Barker?” Mike rubbed his belly and it jiggled grotesquely. “You a little rattled?”
Snickers greeted him and Billy set her bag down. She gave him a once over, taking her time as she slowly perused every inch of his sorry hide. “Nope. Not rattled so much as…” her voice trailed off. The game was changing but Mike was either too stupid or too drunk to realize it.
He nodded, thinking he had her. “This is what it’s all about little girl. We play hockey. We drink. We burp and fart—”
“Speak for yourself, Dearling.” Logan inserted sarcastically as a few men chuckled.
Mike’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t want you here and if you’re rattled before we even head out onto the ice—”
Billie cocked her head, but remained cool as a cucumber. “Clean your ears out Dearling, or are they full of hair too? I said I wasn’t rattled, so much as embarrassed.”
“You should be embarrassed.” Jason Danvers piped in, though now at least his junk was safely tucked away inside his long-johns. “This is a men’s league.”
