Shane smiled and Logan didn’t quite like the glint in his buddy’s eye.
“What’s it to you anyway? Aren’t your hands full with Sabrina?”
“Hey, Duke, how are things?” Billie’s husky voice caught Logan’s attention and his reply to Shane died in his throat.
He didn’t have a chance to assure his friend that A) He and Sabrina were no longer an item, but more importantly, B) He wasn’t interested in Billie-Jo Barker. She was Betty’s sister and after the hot mess he’d fallen into with the model, he was steering clear of any one of the Barker triplets.
No way was he getting involved. That was a complication he didn’t need.
But he could still look out for her. Logan might not know much, but he sure as hell knew Shane Gallagher was way out of Bil
lie-Jo Barker’s league. He’d hurt her. It’s what his friend did. It’s why—in a way—he and Bobbi were made for each other.
Billie’s cheeks were flush, eyes glistening like jewels and her long hair hung carelessly past her shoulders, the ends still damp and waving against her leather jacket. Jesus Christ, but he was a sucker for long hair.
Logan stood a little straighter, aware that most eyes in the place were centered on them. Or rather on Billie. On her soft, faded jeans. The ones that cupped her butt in a way that made any man with a libido look. His gaze dropped to the area in question—hell, he was a man after all and couldn’t help himself—and he swallowed heavily as she leaned forward to grab the beer Shane had bought for her.
She smelled fresh. Clean. Uncluttered with the cloying perfumes that most women he knew wore.
His nostrils flared and he took a step back. He liked it.
What the hell was wrong with him? This was Betty’s sister. Little Billie-Jo Barker and just because she wasn’t little anymore, or walking around in hockey jerseys with her hair in a ponytail…
He must be tired, because an image of Billie clad in a hockey jersey—a tiny pink one with his number emblazoned across her chest and that long inky mess of hair around her shoulders—nearly did him in. The girl was off limits. There was no way he’d even entertain the idea.
Logan dropped his gaze from that sweet butt, ignored the sly smile Gallagher shot his way and downed his beer. It was time for him to go.
It had been a long week and he was better off relaxing at home and working off his frustrations the old fashioned way. A hot shower and a little manual stimulation should do the trick.
Duke cleared his throat and arched a brow as he leaned in to wipe an invisible speck of dirt from the bar. “I can’t lie, Billie, things have been better.”
Billie took a long drink and then held the bottle loosely, her long, elegant fingers tapping the side of it nervously. Her fingernails were short, but coated with clear gloss. Billie might be a jock when it came to hockey, but she was all woman. There was no mistaking that.
“Sorry to hear that you and uh, Jackie are,” she faltered as Duke’s face tightened, his handlebar mustache quivering in indignation. “Um, having…issues.”
Billie’s eyes swung to Logan and she stared at him for a few seconds before dropping her gaze and glancing away. She pushed a long chunk of hair behind her ear and Logan immediately zeroed in on the creamy skin now exposed.
His mouth went dry as he followed the line of her cheek bone, down to the shadowed hollow at her neck. His groin tightened and he had to shift, suddenly uncomfortable and more than a little horny.
What the hell? He really needed to leave.
Logan glanced at Shane. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Sure will,” Gallagher answered softly. “But don’t wait up, darling.”
Logan’s gaze traveled from Shane to Billie. He didn’t like the way her eyes slid away from his, like she was hiding something. Had they planned on hooking up? Is that what this was all about?
With a sigh, Logan nodded and turned on his heel. The two of them were adults—consenting adults—and if Billie-Jo Barker wanted to sample Shane Gallagher’s moves, who was he to stop her?
The cool night air did nothing to assuage the heat that pressed down on him like a hammer. By the time Logan reached his home he was royally pissed off with no explanation as to why.
He parked inside his garage and glared at the empty space beside him. As a condition of Shane’s parole, Logan had agreed to let his buddy live in the loft apartment above his garage.
“Ah hell.” Logan slid from his truck and slammed the garage door shut behind him. He glanced up at the dark loft and frowned before heading toward the main residence several feet beyond an ancient oak tree.
His house was well over a hundred years old—a century home, built in the 1800’s. He’d picked it up for a song a few years earlier, and he’d been working on it ever since.
Logan hopped onto the porch and let himself inside where he was immediately accosted by a purring bundle of energy. The cat had come with the property. It was a stray and he hadn’t had the heart to turn the pathetic creature away when it had shown up the first morning after he’d moved in.