Play Hard

by V. K. Sykes

  His mother waved her hand and sighed. “Yadda, yadda, yadda.” Deidre shook her head. “Same old story, my boy.” Her eyes drifted over him and even though he knew she didn’t want to, a small smile claimed her mouth.

  “You’re so like your father, except when it comes to commitment.”

  He winced. There was that word again.

  She squared her shoulders, her gaze running over him critically. “Your costume is exactly what I expected.”

  It should be, seeing as she’d ordered it and had it delivered. And, she’d sent over Dorleen from the salon to mess with his hair. Christ, it felt like his head had enough grease in it to lube a car.

  “Where is your teeth?”

  “What?”

  His mother frowned. “Your teeth.”

  He thought of the plastic pointy things that he’d tossed onto his dresser. “Yeah, this is about as far as I go, Ma.”

  His father, dressed in a black suit, with a long flowing cape, white skin, and what looked to be really cheap, plastic, fake teeth, pretended to bite his wife’s neck, before planting a kiss just beneath her ear.

  He was a better man than Logan.

  “Glad to see you, Logan.” Max Forest nodded to his son. He glanced around and then nudged his wife in the shoulder. “You owe me.”

  His mother looked annoyed but said nothing.

  “Bet?” Logan asked as he moved forward, peering into the darkened party room. He couldn’t see shit and had no idea if his brother was there yet.

  Or if he was alone.

  “Yes,” his father chuckled. “I told her that you’d be alone and I was right. Sabrina wasn’t the girl for you.”

  Seriously. Didn’t his dad have a dog to save or something?

  “Why can’t you find someone nice like the girl who Connor brought, the Barker girl.”

  He turned and eyed his mother.

  “She’s quite lovely. Not as wild as the one you were involved with.” His mother smiled. “Just lovely.”

  “And athletic,” his father piped in, a twinkle in his eye as he gazed at his son.

  Logan had had enough, and besides, he’d caught sight of a platinum head that looked an awful lot like Sabrina.

  “I’ll see you guys inside,” he murmured, kissing his mother’s cheek one last time.

  She grabbed his arm. “I just want you to be happy.”

  Logan’s eyes softened. “I know.”

  “Thanks for all the help you did with the hockey and basketball games.”

  “No problem,” he answered. “Shane did a lot too.”

  For a moment his mother’s eyes clouded. “I’ve been meaning to come by and see him. His father isn’t doing all that well. Shane knows that, right?”

  Logan sighed. “Yeah, he knows.”

  Shane’s relationship with his family was a hell of a lot more complicated than most people knew. Shane had told Logan once that dealing with his family was like running through a maze, one that was too hard to navigate. You could either get lost forever, or get the hell out.

  Shane had opted to get the hell out, though jail wasn’t exactly the destination he’d had in mind.

  One of the women who served on the charity board with his mother approached. Mrs. Toico. He saw the predatory gleam in her eyes from across the room, and her daughter Heather tagging along. He quickly kissed his mother’s cheek, nodded to his father and entered the dark, ‘haunted’ mansion.

  Candlelit tables circled the entire room, while large swatches of gauzy material hung from the ceiling, creating a smoky haze in the air. The dance floor was in the center with a stage directly across from the entrance. His buddy, Ike and his band were just warming up to play—they were dressed like zombies—and judging from the crowd out front, they were eagerly anticipated. A blend of pop, rock, and country, Ike’s band pleased most everyone, except old lady pick-up—Mrs. Darcy, the local crazy lady who picked through everyone’s garbage and then stored it in her barn. She’d surely stood off to the side and shout hymn suggestions at the stage, just like she’d done for the previous two years.

  Logan bought a handful of liquor tickets and strode toward the bar, his gaze constantly moving, looking for his brother.

  Looking for Billie.

  He grabbed a beer, politely declined a dance with Heather Toico, and took a long drink, letting the cold liquid slide down his throat as he shifted in his hot clothes. His head was itchy too. Shit, how in the hell had he let his mother talk him into this getup, he’d never know—probably the guilt of knowing he’d show alone.

  “Oh, my gawd!” A shriek sounded beside him and Logan turned, nearly spilling his beer. Tracy Steeles sidled over to him and licked her lips seductively, as she poked her girlfriend, Lana, in the arm. “He looks just like Eric from—”

  “Oh my God I know! The long legs, the leather, the…”

  Logan arched a brow as the two women continued to discuss him like he wasn’t even there.

  “Well, his face isn’t so much like Eric’s.” Tracy smiled devilishly, which considering she was wearing a skimpy red ensemble that sported little iddy biddy horns and a tail, wasn’t unexpected. She slipped her hand along his forearm, “Logan’s darker, hotter…”

  “You’re so right,” Lana nodded.

  Tracy leaned forward, her breasts nearly spilling from her top, and well, Logan couldn’t help but look. He was human after all. She tilted her head to the side. “You want to bite me, Logan?”

  He had to give it to her, she was really playing it up. Especially considering her fiancé stood a few feet away, a long suffering look on his face as he held three drinks in his hands.

  Logan leaned down, until he was practically nose to nose with Tracy. “Where’s Billie and Connor?”

  A sly smile claimed her mouth and she licked her lips once more as her fiancé approached and handed Tracy her drink. “Jealous?” she asked cheekily.

  “Forest,” Jake Buchanan said. He put an arm around Tracy and hugged her close, growling while she giggled into his neck. “Tracy being obnoxious already? She’s only had two drinks.”

  Logan laughed. “Nah, she’s just being herself.” The woman was an undeniable flirt. He didn’t know how Jake put up with it.

  Tracy snuggled closer to her fiancé and grinned. “Logan is asking after Billie-Jo.”

  Jake’s smiled died. “She’s here?”

  Tracy nodded, “of course she is,” she paused dramatically, “with Connor Forest.”

  “She’s got her nerve,” Jake growled.

  Jake’s eyes narrowed and he went from soft to hard in under two seconds. Logan knew Jake had been so pissed that a woman had infiltrated their league that he’d asked for his money back and drove out of town to play in another league, the next county over.

  “Honey, don’t get your shorts in a knot.” Tracy pulled back and looked up at her fiancé. “It’s just hockey and if I don’t mind sayin’, Billie is probably the best player in your league.”

  “It’s not my league anymore.” Jake disengaged himself from the little red devil at his side. “That’s not the point.”

  “Well, then what is?” Logan asked softly. He was fed up with this shit. He thought of the bruises on Billie’s legs, the gash beneath her arm—his brother’s hands all over her—and his gut roiled with anger.

  “The point is, she’s a woman and it’s a men’s league. Last time I looked, she didn’t have a dick between her legs.”

  “No,” Logan agreed. “Just a slap shot that will take your head off, or your,” he glanced down, “balls if she wanted to.”

  Jake scowled. “Since when did you become Barker’s personal cheering squad? She spreading some around? Is that what this is about?”

  Logan eyed Jake, a dangerous glint in his eye, his muscles bunching as he took a step forward. He’d known Billie would meet some resistance, but hadn’t thought the guys would get this bent out of shape over a female in the league.

  Fortunately, Tracy stepped in and diffused the
situation. “Jake, you’re being an asshole. If you don’t get rid of that sourpuss attitude it’s going to be a long, cold, winter…understand? Billie’s a good friend of mine and she needs this more than you know, for reasons you couldn’t even begin to understand. So give her a break and let’s just call this what it really is, because it sure as hell isn’t about the fact that she’s a woman.” She slammed a pointy finger into Jake’s chest. “And this isn’t about her invading some sacred, freaking night so don’t give me that shit either. You’re intimidated by the fact that she’s damn good and better than any of you.”

  Jake scowled, but finished his beer in silence.

  “And Logan?” Tracy, nodded behind him, blowing a long strand of hair off her face. “Billie’s right behind you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Billie spied Logan as soon as he entered the party room. Not that she was looking for him or anything. She just happened to be glancing toward the entrance and boom, there he was.

  Keep telling yourself that.

  She melted into the shadows that bordered the dance floor—halfway between the bar and the stage—and took just a few seconds to stare at him unobserved. As a young man he’d been beautiful, but that had been merely a preview of the man he would become. The promise she’d seen all those years ago had bloomed and he took her breath away.

  The funny thing was, her stomach tumbled just like it used to when she was fourteen and seventeen…and eighteen. And her heart sped up like a freight train. And dammit, that was something she was going to have to work on. She wasn’t a teenager anymore. She was a woman. A fully grown woman. One who needed to keep her cool until she figured out exactly what was going on between the two of them.

  If there was anything going on other than a mild flirtation.

  Uh, that kiss the other day wasn’t a mild flirtation.

  Billie shook her head and bit her lip. She really needed to stop talking to herself.

  Besides, there was no sense in letting her mind wander, running down that street—the one called hope—because as far as she could tell, Logan Forest didn’t do relationships. And if anything, Billie knew that casual wasn’t what she wanted. Not from him.

  She pressed cold fingers to her hot cheeks. Not with anyone.

  She watched Logan stride across the room and pause at the bar. She watched the way every female head in his immediate orbit turned and watched. And she couldn’t blame them. Apparently the only woman in New Waterford immune to his charm was her sister, Bobbi. And that was only because she was in love with Shane Gallagher, even though she’d deny it until the cows came home. Or until she married Gerald Dooley.

  Billie, sighed and took a sip of her drink, wincing as the slick, sweet, concoction slid down her throat. She was usually more of a beer kind of girl, but Connor had brought her a glass earlier and she’d politely accepted it.

  It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t her.

  Logan would have brought me a beer.

  The thought whispered in her mind and she pushed it away just as fast. She wasn’t here with Logan. She was here with his younger brother Connor, who’d—she glanced around—abandoned her about twenty minutes ago, explaining he’d had an emergency at the vet clinic, though he’d assured her he’d be back as soon as he could.

  Connor had partnered with his father in the family vet clinic, but was on the low end of the totem pole and usually covered emergencies on the weekends.

  She smiled at the thought of him running out in his Superman costume. He’d dashed through the crowd, like a real live superhero, sprinting for the back door, cape billowing behind him, tossing a devilish smile her way before he’d disappeared. She liked Conner but while she was grateful for the attention, she didn’t want to date him.

  “Why are you hiding in the dark?”

  Billie turned as Gerald Dooley appeared at her side, dressed as Rhett Butler to her sister’s Scarlett. He had a wary expression on his face and Billie was pretty sure she scared him. Not that she could blame the poor guy. He was way out of his league getting involved with the Barkers, and was damn lucky Betty wasn’t around because he’d really be in trouble. Her absent sister had a habit of making any situation more volatile, and when it came to men, the fallout was nasty.

  She shrugged, wondering where Bobbi was, because if she was anywhere in the immediate vicinity, Billie was outta there. “Connor had an emergency and I’m…”

  Trying to avoid the guys who hate me and the women who think I’m after their men.

  Trying not to think about the fact that Dad hardly ate dinner. Again.

  “Just taking it easy,” she answered instead.

  Gerald pulled his fake mustache and attempted to take a drink from his beer mug, but had to move the large facial hairpiece to the side in order to tip the cup just so.

  He looked ridiculous, like a cheesy porn star.

  Guess no one had told the guy that Rhett hadn’t sported a 70’s handlebar. She watched him wipe an impressive amount of foam from his fake stash, and tried to keep a straight face, but was pretty sure she failed miserably—judging by the way his eyes narrowed.

  “Good,” he replied, as he leaned closer and whispered, like they were buddies or something. “I heard about the, uh, incident last night.”

  Oh, God, was the entire night going to be like this?

  “I’m fine,” she retorted, turning away from him sharply and hissing as her tender skin rubbed against her costume.

  “Oh, good,” Gerald nodded, smiling at her. “I heard you took something like fifteen stitches.”

  “Twenty stitches,” she deadpanned. “And don’t forget the pint of blood, either.”

  His eyes widened and Billie blew out hot air, her gaze moving behind the fake stash until she spied Logan practically drooling over Tracy’s overexposed breasts.

  Were all men either stupid or horny?

  Just behind Tracy, her sister Bobbi slid through the crowd, making her way toward Gerald.

  “Look, I gotta run.” She stepped to the side. Bobbi was still giving Billie the silent treatment, and Billie didn’t have the heart to pretend that it didn’t hurt. She’d tried apologizing, but Bobbi was having none of it.

  She was starting to think this whole night was one big mistake. She should be at home with Herschel and her father. She should be anywhere but here.

  Besides, her shoes were starting to kill her and who knew when Connor would return?

  Mind made up, Billie slipped past Gerald, muttered a goodbye, and took two steps forward when Tracy’s shrill voice rang out.

  “Billie!” she waved madly, “Come over here. You look hot!”

  She froze, like a deer caught in the headlights and when Logan turned around, her stomach did that weird dive thing again.

  His hair was slicked back, which only emphasized his handsome features—that strong jaw line, high cheekbones and square chin. Dressed in leather pants, boots, and a snug fitting black T-shirt that had ‘Fangtasia’ in blood red across his chest, he made her mouth go dry without even trying.

  She wasn’t sure who or what he was supposed to be, but at the moment, Billie didn’t care.

  Her hand nervously went to her hair, which had been arranged in soft curls that fell over her breasts and down her back in ringlets. Not for the first time, she cursed the fact that the only costume available in her size had been a ‘naughty angel’. The silvery-white dress was nearly transparent, but she supposed that was the idea. The wings? Made entirely of annoying little feathers that floated to the ground every time she moved. At the rate she was going, there’d be nothing left to return.

  Thankfully, the dress had come with a nude body suit to wear underneath or she’d have nixed the idea and worn an old pair of jeans instead. Which, now that she thought about it, didn’t sound like a bad idea after all.

  The thigh high white boots she wore were Tracy’s—who’d been more than happy to do Billie’s hair and makeup. Tracy, it seemed, had no qualms about going out half dressed, b
ut Billie wasn’t exactly used to such a small dress. Or the attention, said small dress generated. And this outfit was worse than the one Tracy had dressed her in for her birthday a few weeks back. Billie didn’t do dresses. It wasn’t a jock thing, it was personal taste.

  So why was she so keen on trying them out now?

  Because I wanted Logan to see me in one.

  “Shut up,” she murmured, banishing her inside voice.

  Logan started towards her and she panicked. Her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow. Billie tipped her cup back and downed the rest of her drink, eyeing Logan warily as he stopped a few inches away.

  Gerald nodded to Logan and went off to find Bobbi, who’d done a 180 as soon as she’d spied Billie near her boyfriend.

  Logan’s dark eyes studied her so intensely that Billie was sure he could see right through her dress—all the way to the fast beating heart that was making her dizzy.

  She exhaled and attempted a smile, hating how this man could reduce her to a fifteen year old version of herself in less than two seconds. Why couldn’t she just be normal around him?

  For a few seconds the party went on without them. The dizziness she’d felt seemed to center itself, and spin until everyone other than Logan was nothing but a blur. The music faded, the noise, the people. There was only him.

  His hot leather outfit. Those eyes. And that mouth.

  “So, you’re supposed to be…” she paused. What the hell was up with her voice? She sounded like a breathless, dimwit. It was annoying. This whole situation was annoying.

  Logan shrugged and took a step closer. She could smell him now. That scent—whatever the heck it was—that was all his own, and oh so intoxicating.

  “I have no clue.” He made a face. “My Mom is behind all of it and I have a hard time saying no to her.”

  He smiled—and God help her—it was a genuine, wonderful, sexy smile that sent her heart into overdrive. It left her lightheaded. Hot. Flushed.

  And Billie’s breath did catch at the back of her throat. She made a weird chortling sound, though she managed to keep a straight face.