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“Lady, you have no idea what I’m up for.” He cocked his head and nodded toward the pylons.
“All right,” she answered softly. “We’re nearly done anyway.”
Billie skated over to the bench where she re-clipped her hair and doffed her sweatshirt.
A loud catcall echoed from the stands and he spied Stu grinning from ear to ear.
Her midriff was bare and he clenched his jaw together, refusing to find the sexy-as-hell belly ring he’d spied earlier. The woman was playing hardball, but that didn’t mean he had to play along.
Logan pointed toward the net at the far end of the rink.
“First one to ding each corner wins.”
“Really? And who made you the God of rules?”
He shrugged. “My challenge. My rules.”
“Okay.” Her eyes narrowed. “Wins what?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” he answered.
“You’re pretty sure of yourself,” she replied.
“Yeah,” he skated toward the blue line closest to them where he’d lined up five pucks each. “I am.” He only needed four, but the extra one couldn’t hurt.
Adrenaline pumped through his body as he lined up on the right side, she would take the left. Billie was fast. She was strong and her hands were great. There was no doubt she had enough talent for the big leagues.
But Logan was just as fast and though his stick handling might not be on the same level as hers, he could shoot the puck at a target and hit it. He’d been doing it for years.
Besides, he was looking forward to claiming his prize and damned if he was going to let Billie-Jo take that away from him.
One of the young girls watching them hooted and hollered. He flashed a smile, grabbed the whistle from Billie and tossed it over.. It was the Mayor’s youngest daughter.
“Hey, Amanda, you want to start us off?”
She licked her lips. “I’ll blow your whistle anytime, Logan.”
For a second he was startled. These girls were what? Sixteen? Seventeen?
Billie joined him behind the blue line and he took a second to study the pylons. His muscles bunched and small puffs of hot air fell from his nostrils, as if he was a bull about to charge. When the whistle blew it was anticlimactic.
He took off, his legs digging deep and then he grabbed his first puck, maneuvering his body around the pylons and not losing his puck as he did so. He kept his head up, his body moving forward and moments later he approached the far blue line and took a hard slap shot that dinged the top right corner.
It was followed less than a second later by Billie’s, but he was already skating backward, around the pylons to get his second puck.
By the time he grabbed his fourth puck, the girls were jumping like crazy, half of them shouting for Logan, the other half for Billie—who was seconds behind him.
He took off for his last run grinning when he heard her swear. Seconds would count in this match. He’d just cleared the pylon at center ice when a blur of dark hair and blue and pink pajamas raced ahead.
Fuck!
He poured on the speed, lined up his shot, but she’d somehow gotten by him and ripped a low wrist shot toward the right corner.
And missed.
Logan let fly another impressive slap shot and dinged the top left corner, circling behind the net with a big grin, and whooping it up as he did so.
Goddamn! He was out of breath but felt like he’d just won the Stanley Cup.
