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Billie skated over to the girls. “Aren’t you guys on the wrong side?”
Their trainer, Dave Sloan, leaned over and smiled. “Where’s Forest? He couldn’t take it anymore?”
“No,” she grinned, “he’s out of town.”
“Ah.” Dave Sloan straightened. “So you’re on your own today?”
“Yep. ‘fraid so.”
Sloan cleared his throat and looked as if he was going to say something but before he could, Kendall butted in. “We want you to teach us your drills.”
Billie looked at the eager and expectant faces and then back to Dave who was staring at her with an equally large, equally hopeful grin.
“The girls have been watching the tail end of your sessions with Logan and I gotta tell you, Billie, they’d benefit a lot from someone with your skill set and knowledge.”
“Oh,” she was surprised and flattered.
“Please, Billie.” Kendall smiled and poked the girl beside her. “We’ll pay.”
She was horrified at the thought of collecting money from a bunch of teenagers, especially since the ice time had been donated. “Don’t worry about that.” She glanced around the large expanse of empty ice.
Why not?
Their enthusiasm for the game was written all over each and every face and she felt a spark hit her square in the chest. It mobilized her and she moved back, pointing toward the pylons and bucket of pucks in the corner.
“Okay girls, but rest assured I’ll work you a lot harder than I did Mr. Forest.”
The girls scrambled onto the ice while their trainer Dave thanked her profusely. “This is so good of you, Billie.” He looked a little sheepish. “I have to be honest though. I was opposed to you playing in our league. Hell I almost considered pulling out and driving twenty minutes to the city to play, but my wife told me I was being an idiot.” He shrugged. “She was right. You’ve shown me that the desire to play trumps all that small stuff. In fact, I think the whole level of play has been elevated because you are in the league and you have to know that a lot of guys don’t agree with Longwood’s dirty play the other night.”
“Thanks,” she smiled. “That means a lot.” She’d heard that Longwood had quit the league and was playing in the city. Whether it was because of backlash from some of the other players, or a direct result of Logan and Shane’s personal visit, she had no idea. And she didn’t care. The guy was an asshole and if he didn’t have Billie to use as a personal punching bag, he would have found someone else.
“And some guys claiming that having a woman in the league cuts down on their guy time are full of shit. From what I’ve seen they don’t act any different with you around than they do when you’re not.”
She thought of Dearlings’ hairy ass. “I hear ya, there.”
“So,” Dave said. “We’re good?”
“We’re good.”
“Awesome, so what do you have in store for us?”
Indeed.
Billie put the girls through their paces. Running drills that would help improve their stick handling, as well as some that would improve their speed and agility on the ice. She’d been playing hockey her entire life and had worked with a host of world class coaches and trainers, but she’d never applied what she’d learned in an environment like this.
By the end of the hour, she was in bad need of a shower, surrounded by a bunch of girls who were more pumped than ever to play hockey. But most importantly, for the first time in a long time she had a glimmer of something—a spark. A vision of what she could accomplish if she used her smarts and her connections.
And the only person she wanted to share it with was thousands of miles away.
Logan smiled at the woman across from him and glanced at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. He’d been in Los Angeles since Monday morning and it was now Thursday night. He’d visited former clients, met with new ones, and even had lunch with a studio interested in some reality crap type of television show. He was tired. He was cranky as all hell. And he missed Billie something fierce.
All in all, it had been a successful trip—one which he was looking forward to putting behind him. He’d met with Drake Jefferies, CEO and founder of Vio-Tech—an electronics company that made their millions or billions even, with video games, several of which had scored lucrative movie tie-ins. Drake Jefferies was an old college buddy of Logan’s and while planning the launch for their newest gaming venture, he’d decided that he wanted a custom-made bike—one that reflected both the company and the game—and he’d called Logan.
That meeting had been the first of many throughout the week and now he found himself, late on a Thursday, sitting across from some rich man’s bored trophy wife—a bored trophy wife who’d managed to touch his thigh as least three times in the last hour.
Damn how he hated L.A.
“I’m not sure where my husband disappeared to, but if you’ve had enough I can get you back to your hotel or,” her husky, cigarette soaked voice lowered, “our offer still stands.”
