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Thankfully, the dress had come with a nude body suit to wear underneath or she’d have nixed the idea and worn an old pair of jeans instead. Which, now that she thought about it, didn’t sound like a bad idea after all.
The thigh high white boots she wore were Tracy’s—who’d been more than happy to do Billie’s hair and makeup. Tracy, it seemed, had no qualms about going out half dressed, but Billie wasn’t exactly used to such a small dress. Or the attention, said small dress generated. And, this outfit was worse than the one Tracy had dressed her in for her birthday a few weeks back. Billie didn’t do dresses. It wasn’t a jock thing, it was personal taste.
So why was she so keen on trying them out now?
[i]Because I wanted Logan to see me in one.[i]
“Shut up,” she murmured, banishing her inside voice.
Logan started toward her and she panicked. Her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow. Billie tipped her cup back and downed the rest of her drink, eyeing Logan warily as he stopped a few inches away.
Gerald nodded to Logan and went off to find Bobbi, who’d done a 180 as soon as she’d spied Billie near her boyfriend.
Logan’s dark eyes studied her so intensely that Billie was sure he could see right through her dress—all the way to the fast beating heart that was making her dizzy.
She exhaled and attempted a smile, hating how this man could reduce her to a fifteen year old version of herself in less than two seconds. Why couldn’t she just be normal around him?
For a few seconds the party went on without them. The dizziness she’d felt seemed to center itself, and spin until everyone other than Logan was nothing but a blur. The music faded, the noise, the people. There was only him.
His hot leather outfit. Those eyes. And that mouth.
“So, you’re supposed to be…” she paused. What the hell was up with her voice? She sounded like a breathless, dimwit. It was annoying. This whole situation was anno
ying.
Logan shrugged and took a step closer. She could smell him now. That scent—whatever the heck it was—that was all his own, and oh so intoxicating.
“I have no clue.” He made a face. “My Mom is behind all of it and I have a hard time saying no to her.”
He smiled—and God help her—it was a genuine, wonderful, sexy smile that sent her heart into overdrive. It left her lightheaded. Hot. Flushed.
And Billie’s breath [i]did[i] catch at the back of her throat. She made a weird chortling sound, though she managed to keep a straight face.
“Gallagher got you home safe last night?”
Billie nodded, afraid to answer because she was sure the damn frog caught in her throat was still there. She put the back of her hand to her face and tried to clear her throat as covertly as she could.
“Ah, yes, I got home all right.”
“How’s your side?”
“It’s good,” she answered quickly—awkwardly. “A little sore, but I should be able to play next week.”
Logan didn’t respond for a moment and when he did, his voice was lower, thicker, and the sound of it sent shivers rolling along her skin. Shivers that liquefied. Shivers that made her ache.
“So, about last night…” he took another step toward her and then paused.
He was so close right now that she could see the way his muscles bunched along his shoulders. The tendons strained in his biceps, like he was nervous or anxious, or maybe, a little pissed. He had warned her last night and she hadn’t listened. She hadn’t played smart. She’d goaded Longwood and his teammates because she’d wanted to prove something to them. She’d wanted them to know that she was better than they were. She’d wanted to pound that home. She’d hot-dogged it out there on the ice, and now had nothing to show for it but a group of men who disliked her more than they had before, and ten stitches in her side.
“Last night shouldn’t have happened,” Logan said quietly.
Something pierced her inside, a pain that brought tears to the corners of her eyes. It smarted and she blinked rapidly, hating the fake eyelashes Tracy had insisted she wear. Hating everything in that moment—everything that had brought her here, back to New Waterford.
Did Logan think it was a mistake she was playing in the league? Was he going to ask her to quit?
[i]I can’t.[i] She had to make him understand. Hockey was her life. It was all she had—as pathetic as that sounded—and she couldn’t give it up. She wouldn’t.
“Logan, I know I asked for it. I mean, I stole the puck off Seth more times than I can count, and I shot at Cronkwright real steady, and not just [i]at[i] Cronkwright,” she licked her lips but was unable to stop the train wreck that was her mouth. “I mean, I hit his helmet at least a dozen times. Hard. A dozen hard shots to the head and, well, at least five or six at his crotch. I…”
