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“Thanks, Duke but I don’t need a lecture. My buddy Logan’s already taken care of that and now that I’m back, it’s a whole new world my friend. New leaf and all that.” Shane flashed a smile. “But right now I’m thirsty as hell. Can I get a large draft?”
Duke frowned. “You sure you can have alcohol?” The bartender glanced at Logan before settling back on Shane.
“Yeah, I can have a drink. You want me to produce the official paperwork my parole officer gave me?”
Logan nodded. He’d seen the form.
“Okay, then.” Duke went to grab the drink and Shane swung around on the barstool. He nodded toward the large table of men. Seth was still harping on ‘that damn Barker girl’, talking loudly with animated hand gestures and a full, red face to g
o along with it. He looked like a marionette whose strings were pulled by a lunatic.
“What’s got Longwood all riled up?” Shane asked.
“He’s pissed because the youngest Barker, Billie, is back in town and she signed up to play hockey in our Friday night league.”
Duke handed Shane a large, frosty mug and snorted. “Youngest? By what…minutes?”
Logan opened his mouth, but then closed it again and nodded in agreement. Sure they were triplets, but that didn’t change the fact he’d always thought of the hockey girl as much younger than the other two. Bobbi had been a hell raiser back in the day and Betty…a scowl touched his face. Now she’d been leaps and bounds ahead of the other two. Sexy and mature-as-hell, Betty-Jo Barker. She’d gone through boys like they were candy and though he’d like to say he was stronger than the other guys in town, it simply wasn’t the truth.
In a town small enough where everyone knew the Mayor by his first name, but big enough that you didn’t [i]know[i] everyone’s secrets, the Barker triplets had been almost…famous. Three identical girls with movie star looks that were as different from each other as night and day.
Bobbi and Betty had been a lot more social than their sports minded sister, Billie, and she’d never really been on his radar. Hell, he barely remembered her.
He fingered the label on his beer bottle. To be honest, the kid had looked all grown up and judging by the way she’d filled out her jeans and that tight pink T-shirt, he was willing to bet she looked as good in a bikini as Betty did.
Shane leaned back and took a long drink of his beer. “So whatever happened to Bobbi?”
Logan glanced at his friend sharply. “I heard she’s dating Dooley.”
“No shit.”
“She’s no good for you, Shane.”
“No shit,” he repeated and then took another swig of his beer.
“She’s nothing like the girl you used to know, before.”
Shane glanced at him sharply, his face harsh beneath the neon glow from the Budweiser sign on the wall behind the bar. “Before I went to jail?”
Logan watched his friend closely and nodded. “Yeah, before…that.” It couldn’t be easy for him to be home, especially when everyone knew he’d been in prison for the last three years.
Shane rested his elbows on the bar, leaned back and whistled softly. “Speak of the devil.”
Logan followed his gaze across the bar and found himself staring into the dark, exotic eyes of none other than the most infamous woman in New Waterford, at least until her sister Betty decided to return.
Billie-Jo Barker raised an eyebrow and lifted her chin in a way that made him sit up. She was with Tracy Steeles and Lana Holbrook, the Mayor’s daughter.
She sure as hell didn’t look like any damn jock he’d ever seen before.
In a sea of denim and black, her fire engine red dress stood out like a beacon. It clung to her curves, falling to only a few inches below her butt. Black tights and sexy-as-hell knee-high boots created a vision that would be any guys fantasy. Her lips matched the color of her dress, her hair hung nearly to her waist and for a second, the urge to cross the room and plant his hands deep into those silky waves rolled over him.
Every man in The Grill turned toward the door. Even Longwood’s never ending ramble stalled. All sound diminished, like it had been sucked into a black hole and for a moment there was complete silence. Billie bit her lip—which on any other woman would have seemed practiced and yet it didn’t seem to be her style. She leaned close to Tracy, whispered something in her friend’s ear, and the three of them walked toward an empty table near the door.
Like the red sea rolling back into place, conversations exploded once more and Longwood’s voice rose above them all.
“That ain’t no hockey player. She looks like a damn whore,” he proclaimed, turning to the group of men at his table. “Do we really want pussy out on the ice with us?”
Normally, Logan was the kind of man who was slow to anger. He’d learned early on, it was best to let discourse find its own solution—that butting your head into someone else’s business usually led to all kinds of crap he neither had the time or energy to deal with. But, once his buttons were pushed he wasn’t the type to lie low and at the moment, Seth’s insults had crossed a line. He wouldn’t stand by while a dumbass like Longwood insulted a woman.
