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The girls were going crazy behind the player’s bench, several of them shouting his name and Logan grinned, enjoying his moment.
Billie skated over, gloves dangling in one hand, stick in the other. Her hair was now totally out of its clip, long pieces of it sticking to her neck and she used her shoulder to push a good chunk of it out of the way.
“Congratulations,” she said quietly, turning away but not quick enough that he didn’t notice the wince of pain.
“Thanks.”
Shit. He had totally forgotten about her side. After the workout she’d put him through and the little ‘race’ they’d just had, her stitches must be killing her.
Instantly concerned, he started toward her. “Hey, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped.
Her coolness effectively halted any warm and fuzzies he might have been feeling and he put on the brakes.
For a moment neither one of them said a word, both jumping when Stu yelled down, “Okay lovebirds, I need to clean the ice.”
Logan nodded and turned toward the bench, pausing when he reached the edge of the ice. He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“What?”
“Tonight,” he repeated, watching her closely. “Be ready by seven.”
“But,” she sputtered.
“You lost and now you owe me.”
Damn, if she didn’t bite that bottom lip—that, sweet, fine, bottom lip. Between all that hair and that luscious mouth, most men would be in trouble, but not him. Logan had a plan and he was going to stick to it.
“I’m almost afraid to a
sk what you have in store,” she said carefully.
“Seven sharp, and make sure you look good.”
He stepped off the ice and headed toward the dressing room, a huge grin on his face. Things were working out better than he’d hoped. By tonight, he’d have Billie-Jo Barker right where he wanted her. In his bed and hopefully, once he had her, out of his head.
Logan tossed his gear and headed into the shower, feeling better than ever. He would kill two birds with one stone. Get a taste of something he’d wanted for weeks, and teach Miss Billie-Jo Barker a lesson while he was at it. He wasn’t the kind of guy to be played with.
And if that wasn’t a damn fine reason to feel good, he didn’t know what was.
Chapter Eighteen
Billie’s head shot up at the sound of a vehicle in the driveway. She glanced at the clock, stomach rolling, jaw clenched. [i]6:55[i].
She’d been on pins and needles for nearly an hour now, pacing the length of her room, trying to calm nerves that were nearly shot and not doing a very good job of it.
A door slammed.
Shit.
She bit her lip and glanced in the mirror once more, eyes running over her body critically as she exhaled a shaky breath and ran fingers through the tousled mess of hair that she’d decided to leave loose.
Clear gloss was all her mouth needed, mostly because in her opinion her lips were overly large and she didn’t like calling attention to them with bold colors. Warm browns shadowed her eyelids while the mascara she’d used was thick and dark—which along with eyeliner gave her a bit of an exotic edge.
She blew a strand of hair off her face. Jesus! She never wore makeup.
[i]‘Make sure you look good.’[i]
