by V. K. Sykes
She sighed as she stabbed her finger at the elevator call button. She knew a half hour would probably be all Carter needed to get her flat on her back and between the sheets.
After years of hard work and keeping her nose firmly to the grindstone, Dr. Holly Bell has finally achieved her dream: a position as a pediatric surgeon at a prestigious teaching hospital. Children’s lives rest in her skilled hands. That means total dedication to her work and her patients without letting anything or anyone get in the way. And a hot affair with a superstar athlete is most definitely getting in Holly’s way.
Nate Carter, star pitcher for the Philadelphia Patriots, has the world in the palm of his baseball glove. He’s at the height of his game, a west coast team is about to lure him with even greater riches, and the most gorgeous women in town are in full pursuit. Nate has everything he wants, or at least he thinks he does, until he meets the beautiful and brainy Dr. Holly Bell. He’s totally up for a hot affair, and Holly turns out to be the hottest.
But will Holly be willing to play his game? When the lovely doctor starts changing the rules, Nate realizes he just might be playing for keeps.
And be sure to check out V.K’s other sexy contemporary romances, Hot Number and CaddyGirls, and the other books in The Philadelphia Patriots series, Bigger Than Beckham and Curveball, on their website: http://www.vksykes.com
About The Authors
V.K. Sykes is really two people - Vanessa Kelly and Randy Sykes, a husband and wife team who write USA Today Bestselling contemporary romance. Randy excels at plot and characterization, but tends to fall down on the job when it comes to that pesky old thing called emotion. That's where Vanessa steps in. She usually writes the sex scenes too, since Randy is a bit uncomfortable when it comes to that sort of stuff. Vanessa also writes award-winning historical romance for Kensington Zebra under her own name.
Find VK at www.vksykes.com and Vanessa at www.vanessakellyauthor.com
Vanessa is also a member of Rock*It Reads, a group of traditionally published authors who are committed to bringing high standards and professional quality to their independently published works. Members included New York Times bestselling and award winning authors like Pamela Clare, Monica Burns, and Elisabeth Naughton. You can find Rock*It Reads on the web at http://www.rockitreads.com
OFFSIDE
By
Juliana Stone
Copyright © 2012 Juliana Stone
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9881385-2-0
Cover art and design by Patricia Schmitt/Pickyme
Copy editing by Rachel D’Amario
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation with the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Authors Note: I couldn’t have written this book without a few key things happening. First off, a big thank you to the two ladies from my hometown who decided that, yes, they would play with the boys whether the boys liked it or not. The idea was planted and I kind of ran with it! I need to thank an old school friend, Gil Paelinck, who played professional hockey in Europe and answered questions and provided information to me about women playing overseas. Much appreciated. Lastly, I want to give a shout out to my wonderful Aunt Wendy. She gave birth to 3 girls and their namesakes are now going to live forever in my books! Lastly, much thanks to the hockey players who provide us fans with so much excitement, especially my favorite team, The Philadelphia Flyers!
Chapter One
Frank Talbot was minding his own business, tending the store that had been in his family for three generations when he realized, that in fact, the world as he knew it was about to end.
The moment had started innocently enough, with the tinkling of the bell above the door. He’d pushed back his small round glasses, set his morning newspaper aside, and smoothed the salt-and-pepper hair that curled crazily around his ears. A quick glance at the clock beside his till told him it was five minutes past nine.
A man steeped in tradition, Frank narrowed his eyes upon his first customer of the day and smiled. It was the first Saturday in October, hockey season was getting underway and it was going to be a good day for Talbot Sports. He could feel it. The wife would be happy. His till would ring. And every man knew that a happy wife was a good thing.
Of course, that was before Billie-Jo Barker waltzed into his store and stirred up one heck of a hornets’ nest..
Billie walked into Talbot Sports with no agenda other than looking after the blown inside edge on her favorite pair of skates. What she hadn’t expected was to turn New Waterford on its head. But, being one third of the Barker triplets counted for something, and Lord knows one of them was always in the thick of it. With her sister Betty-Jo off in the Islands doing God knows what with God knows who, and her other sister Bobbi-Jo knee-deep in respectability these days, she supposed it was fitting that the mantle of troublemaker should fall to her shoulders.
Billie nodded to Mr. Talbot and placed the skates in front of him. The old man was a legend in town and had pretty much outfitted every single kid who’d ever played hockey, soccer, or baseball. A hockey player himself back in the day, he’d nearly made it to the pros until a bad car accident had taken not only his dream, but his right leg.
“Billie! I heard you were back from Europe.” His blue eyes crinkled in the corners and his mouth settled into a gentle curve. The man never aged and had looked to be in his late fifties for as long as Billie could remember.
She saw the kindness there, the warmth…and something else that softened his features even more—a certain kinship for another soul whose dream was shattered way too soon.
“I got back a few days ago.” Billie tucked a strand of inky black hair behind her ear and shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She didn’t like to talk about Europe, Sweden in particular, or the concussion that had ended everything.
The old man stared at her as if expecting something more.
“I, ah…I’ve been lying low.”
“Oh,” Mr. Talbot looked startled. “Of course.” He grabbed the skates and cleared his throat. “How’s your Dad doing?”
“He seems fine.” Which was a total lie.
Mr. Talbot glanced at her sharply, over the rims of his glasses. “Uh huh…and your grandfather? I’ve not seen Herschel in a few weeks.”
Billie smiled. “He’s good. Busy with his beehives and well,” she shrugged. Babysitting.
“I see.” His gaze lingered and Billie thought that maybe Frank Talbot saw all too well.
She glanced around. “Wow, the place hasn’t changed at all.” Rows of hockey gear hung down the center of the store, while the wall on her left was filled with sticks in various lengths and colors. Skates and helmets were to her right, while the offseason stuff—baseball, lacrosse, and soccer—were tucked away in the back.
Mr. Talbot chuckled. “Yes, I’m not much for change, or at least that’s what Mrs. Talbot claims.” He ran his finger down the blades. “These need sharpening.”
Billie nodded. “The left one in particular. I blew the inside edge the last time I was,” her voice caught and she cleared her throat. “The last time I was on the ice.”
“All right then.” Talbot grabbed the pair and headed toward the back of the store where he kept his sharpening machine. “I won’t be more than a few minutes.”
Billie watched him go and sighed, her gaze shifting to the wall behind the till. Her chest tightened and her heart sped up so quickly she felt her cheeks flush hot. Framed pictures and articles covered the entire area, many of them starring none o
ther than herself. She was—or rather had been—New Waterford’s golden girl, though she supposed that crown was something she’d never wear again.
From the time her father had first put a pair of skates on her feet, she’d excelled. She’d never wanted to figure skate like a lot of the other girls, or play ringette either. Hockey had been her thing right from the beginning. It was common consensus among most, that if she’d been born with a set of balls, she’d be playing pro in the National Hockey League. As it was she’d signed a contract to play on a professional men’s team in Sweden, one of four women allowed to play in the league. The hockey wasn’t as aggressive as North America, but the skill level was impressive.
Hockey Phenom.
That’s what they had called her.
What an ironic twist that in fact her hockey career had ended because a six foot tall Swede with the same lack of balls between her legs, had taken Billie out in the corners—a bad hit from behind—and the subsequent concussion had pretty much ended Billie’s hockey career.
She’d represented her country in the Olympics twice, played competitive hockey in College before leaving for Europe, and yet here she was. Back home in New Waterford.
A has-been at twenty-four.
Billie moved away from the till and walked over to the sticks. She stood there and stared at the colorful display until they blurred into a mishmash of colors. Until the bell tinkling above the door grabbed her attention and she immediately tensed. She was sick of running into people and seeing their looks of pity. Just the day before Joanne Fenmore had clucked over her like a damn mother hen when she’d ran into the Mini-Mart to pay for gas.
“Oh dear, you look pale. Sure you don’t want to sit for a bit?”
“No. I’m good Mrs. Fenmore.”
“But you don’t look well, dear. I don’t mind. I’ve a Lazy Boy in back and Wheel of Fortune just started.”
“Honestly, I’m good. I was up until four this morning watching a marathon of The Walking Dead. I look like crap because I’m tired…not because I’m brain damaged.”
Billie winced at the memory and reached for one of the sticks nearest her, the red one with black flames down the side.
“Barker? I heard you were back in town.”
She froze and made a face. She knew that voice. Knew the nasally rasp that made her skin crawl. She sighed and swore under her breath. Really? She had to deal with Seth Longwood this early on a Saturday morning? Why did it not surprise her that Longwood was still in New Waterford…and still living with his parents no doubt.
Not that I’m any better off.
“Hey Seth.” She didn’t turn around but glanced toward the back of the store hoping like hell Longwood would just leave her alone. He’d been a thorn in her side through most of her teenage years. A year older than her, he was a local who’d had a lot of talent on the ice—just not nearly as much as Billie had—and he’d resented the hell out of it.
He was a grade A asshole then, and she doubted he’d changed.
The buzzing of the blade against stone told her that Mr. Talbot wasn’t done with her Bauers.
Billie’s hand fell back to her side and she sighed. Shit. She may as well get this over with.
She turned around and froze when she spied not only Seth, but a second man.
Seth looked just as she remembered. His pimples were long gone, though they’d left some deep pockmarks on his cheeks. But the wide nose, broken more than once, big brown eyes, bushy eyebrows and thin sandy hair that hung across them were the same. At a few inches under six feet he was shorter than the man beside him, but built like a brick wall. He was a modern day Neanderthal.
It was the other man who stood a few feet away that had her standing like a damn mannequin, with nothing to say and a scared as shit expression on her face.
Logan Forest.
Tall, dark, handsome as sin, Logan Forest.
Like fine wine, he’d only improved with age.
Yes, Mr. Tall, dark, and handsome as sin Logan Forest—the man who’d starred in every teenage fantasy she’d ever had—stood a few feet from her, his blue eyes focused and intense. Damn, but they were as beautiful as she remembered. Billie’s blush deepened as memory returned fast and hard.
Logan Forest, the man who’d—
“Billie-Jo Barker.” Seth grinned.
God how she hated the way Seth rolled the syllables in her name like she was some backwoods hee haw from the hills.
“In the flesh,” he continued. “Never thought I’d see you back in New Waterford.”
His tone snapped her out of her funk and Billie dragged her gaze from Logan as she turned to Seth. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“It’s all right.” Seth made a big show out of checking her out, his smile widening as she glared at him. “I’m not disappointed at all. In fact, I’d say the scenery around here just improved one hundred percent. Without all that hockey gear you look more like your sister, Bobbi, or hell,” his grin widened like he was paying her the biggest compliment ever. “Maybe even Betty.”
What a dumbass.
“Funny how being a triplet will do that.” She couldn’t hide her sarcasm.
His eyes narrowed. “Funny how not being a jock cuts down on the butch factor.”
Billie’s hands fisted at her side and she opened her mouth to retort, but Mr. Talbot appeared from the back, her skates in hand.
“All done, Billie. Good as new.”
She nodded, moved past Seth and skirted around the long way, not wanting to get too close to Logan Forest. Even after all this time the man made her nervous as hell. Christ, her belly flipped and rolled as if she was damn teenager all over again.
Logan remained silent as she passed though she was aware his head turned and followed her progress. She blew a piece of hair from her eyes and wished it wasn’t so damn hot. What was it with old people and the need to crank their heat?
“Longwood doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You look good, kid.”
Billie’s heart lurched at the sound of Logan’s voice. It was deeper than she remembered—full bodied and sexy. Like whiskey on the rocks. He was five years older than her, which she supposed had played into her young, foolish fantasies—back when she was eighteen and he was twenty-three. And now at thirty years of age, he was a man in his prime.
She glanced back and hoped her cheeks had toned down a bit. “Thanks,” she murmured. King of his prime, more like.
His dark hair was damp against the collar of his leather jacket as if he was fresh from the shower, and she inhaled the hint of spice in the air. The man smelled as good as he looked.
Something else that hadn’t changed.
Out of habit she grabbed a roll of duct tape, some new laces and waited while Mr. Talbot rang up her purchases.
“So what are you up to these days?” Seth was beside her now, his grin unbearable as he gazed at her. Tall for a woman, Billie stood five feet nine in her socks, but this morning she’d pulled on a pair of her sister Bobbi’s boots and…
“About two inches taller than you,” she quipped.
She heard Logan chuckle and glanced toward Mr. Talbot, whose eyes twinkled as he rang in her order.
Seth’s eyes hardened. “Funny,” he muttered, though he took a step back and gave her a bit of room.
“That will be sixteen dollars even.” Mr. Talbot announced.
Billie pulled a twenty from her back pocket and set it on the counter, for the first time noticing a bright orange flyer next to the cash register. She picked it up and quickly scanned the information.
Friday Night Hockey, it proclaimed in bold font.
“What’s this? A new league in town?” Billie asked, eyebrow arched.
Mr. Talbot glanced over his specks at her and then nodded slowly. “It’s something new. We’ve got a twin pad now and more ice time is available, so a bunch of local boys have started up a league.”
“No contact?”
Again Mr. Talbot nodded, though his eyes
narrowed slightly. “It’s competitive, but no contact.”
A tingle of excitement rifled through her as she fingered the orange flyer. “Who’s looking after sign up?”
“Why?” Seth butted in. “It’s not like you can play.”
She ignored Longwood. “Is there an age restriction?”
Mr. Talbot glanced behind her and cleared his throat. He pushed his glasses up his nose once more and nodded. “Twenty-five to forty-five, I believe.”
Seth moved closer to her again and she was beginning to think she’d need to have a conversation with him about personal space and parameters. The guy was as dense as a two-by-four.
“You can’t play, Barker.” His tone changed and his eyes hardened. “That concussion make you stupid?”
Billie turned around. “And you think this because…”
“It’s men’s hockey, little girl. And unless you’ve grown a set of balls I’d say that pretty much settles things.” His grin widened and he glanced toward the still silent Logan. “That is unless something else happened to you over there in Switzerland. Sex change maybe?”
“Sweden.” She said carefully, mind whirling at the possibility.
“What?” Seth growled.
“She played for the Northern Hammers in Sweden,” Logan interjected.
“Whatever.” Seth grabbed the flyer from her fingers and eyed her up with a glare that was meant to intimidate. He puffed up his chest for good measure, which only emphasized the fact that he’d gained a little around the waist, and shoved the flyer in front of her face. “This here is men’s hockey.”
“It doesn’t specify.”
His eyes widened. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Billie leaned back against the counter, enjoying herself. “The flyer and the rules don’t specify gender.”
