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“Just jump her bones already,” Gallagher had joked.
Logan scowled. Yeah. If only.
He stared out at the ice and thought of another time, of another Barker girl who’d royally screwed him over. God, Betty had been something else. She was the ultimate cock tease and one he’d been stupid enough to fall for. The one night they’d spent together had been something else—hell, he still thought of it from time to time—but she’d left for New York the day after without a word.
At first he’d chalked it up to the fact that Betty was known for playing the field. Half of the guys in town had claimed to have had her. But Logan was no slouch when it came to the ladies. He’d had his fair share and that night had been different. Special. He’d known they’d been good together.
So a few months later when he’d returned from college for summer break and she’d been home from New York for a few days, he’d been expecting something other than the cold shoulder he’d received. Betty had acted as if they’d never hooked up.
It was then that he’d come to the realization that the Barker girls were bad news. At the time Billie wasn’t on his radar—she was the hockey girl—but Bobbi had already set her sights on Shane. He’d warned Gallagher, but his buddy hadn’t listened and look where that had gotten him.
Christ, he couldn’t figure these women out. There was a trail of broken hearts lying in their wake and damned if his was going to join them. Not that Billie had a chance at his heart. He wasn’t that stupid, but maybe…[i]maybe[i] it was time to teach one of them a lesson.
He knew Billie wanted him. As much as she played the hot and cold card, he was pretty damn sure if he pressed his point the other night he’d have eventually gotten her home and into his bed.
Her passion had been real. The way she’d opened her mouth and kissed him back had been real. So why had she pulled back? She was twenty-five years old and from the way she’d responded to him, she sure as hell wasn’t a virgin.
Did they even come in twenty-five year old models anymore?
He straightened and squared his shoulders. He could do that. Give her a bit of her own medicine.
He [i]should[i] do that. Hell, he’d been tied up in knots since Saturday night.
Stu, the caretaker strode toward him.
“Barker not here yet?”
Logan shook his head.
“Hm. I’m opening up the other side. The midget girls are practicing.” Stu grinned. “You know, in case you want to skate with more than one girl.”
“Nice,” Logan retorted.
“No,” Stu pointed behind him. “That’s nice.”
Logan turned and for once he was speechless. Where was the goddess, sex slave who had haunted him for the last two nights straight? The one responsible for a new record in manual stimulation?
He grinned—couldn’t help it—especially because her scowl deepened the closer she got to him.
Billie-Jo wore pajamas—blue flannel pants with pink piglets all over them. Her raincoat was an old, yellow thing, obviously Herschel’s or her fathers, but her feet—he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips when he spied the gray bunny slippers.
“What?” she barked.
The gray—used to be fluffy and now soaked—bunny slippers. Heck, the ears drooped so far across her toes that she almost tripped on them coming down the stairs.
Her skates were slung over her shoulder and she held her hockey stick her hands.
Logan glanced down at his equipment, feeling a little over dressed.
“Where’s your gear?” he asked.
“I forgot it.”
She trudged past him and slipped out of the rain coat. Underneath was an old sweatshirt, but the edge lifted up as she flung her coat onto the player’s bench, showing an impressive amount of skin and—was that a belly ring?
Jesus, but she was full of surprises.
“Crap,” she muttered to herself as she bent over the bench with her skates. “Do you have an extra pair of gloves?”
