Collide

by Juliana Stone

  “I’m surprised you haven’t heard,” he said eventually.

  “Heard what?”

  Shane sank into the seat opposite to Logan’s desk, his long legs sprawled out in front of him as he took a moment to gather his thoughts—to make the chaotic anger inside him, smooth and controlled.

  “My father is back in town.”

  At Logan’s frown, Shane exhaled. “For good. He’s moved back with his wife and my little sister who isn’t so little anymore. She’s in high school if you can believe it.” He ran a hand over his chin and shook his head. “God, I haven’t seen Eden in nearly five years.”

  “Shit,” Logan said gruffly, grabbing his coffee and downing it in one long gulp.

  “Yeah,” Shane answered. “And that’s not the half of it.” He glanced down at his work boots. “He came by the carriage house last Saturday. He knows I finally met with my grandfather’s lawyers and he’s pissed that White Hall was left to me. He offered to buy it back – says he can’t let me have it and I know it’s because he thinks I’ll fuck it up. Ruin everything.”

  “And?”

  Shane glanced at Logan sharply. “I turned him down.”

  “But you haven’t even been out there. I know that the farm’s manager, Steve Mathews, has been trying to get you to agree to a meeting for months.” He shook his head. “Seems to me like you don’t want it.”

  “I want it.” The words fell out of his mouth before he could take them back. Before he could berate himself for even thinking them.

  He looked Logan straight in the eye and spoke firmly so there was no way his friend could misunderstand. “I want White Hall but I don’t deserve it.”

  “It’s been four years, Shane.” Logan stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Your grandfather would never have left you White Hall if he didn’t want you to have it. If he didn’t think you deserved it.”

  Shane shook his head, his throat tight, his mind shadowed with memory. “You don’t know what happened that night. The things I said to him…the things I did.”

  “No, I don’t and I don’t want to know. But here’s the thing, you paid your debt and you’ve been given a second chance.” Logan leaned forward. “Your grandfather wanted you to have a second chance. So why the hell are you throwing it away? You want White Hall? Then do something about it.”

  Logan pushed off from the desk and crossed over to the office door. He paused, his hand on the knob. “A few months ago when Billie had my head so screwed up I didn’t know which way was up or which way was down, you told me that that life was too short to not take a chance on something that was good. Something that was meaningful. Someone that I wanted.” He cleared his throat. “You were right about that Gallagher, so maybe it’s time you listened to your own advice.”

  “Easier said than done my friend.”

  But the room was empty and Shane was talking to himself. He sighed heavily and jumped to his feet. The only way he was going to get through this day was to dig in and finish the damn bike he was working on. Once he clocked out, he’d go home and lose himself in his art.

  In this crazy life that belonged to him, it was the one thing that grounded him. Calmed him. Kept him sane.

  It was also the one connection to a painful past he wasn’t ready to let go of. The one thing his father hated the most. The one thing Shane shared with a mother who was long gone from this earth.

  The parking lot at the community center was full. Actually, it was more than full. There were trucks and cars parked on the curb, straddling the sidewalk and a few had dared to park on old man MacEachern’s front lawn.

  Shane had found one of the last legit parking spots, though he’d been sitting in his truck for at least half an hour, while he stared into space and wondered why the hell he’d agreed to meet up with his team.

  The Hockey Shirt dance was a fundraiser for the local kid’s teams and while it had grown in popularity over the last decade or so, he’d never been part of the crowd that flocked to it year after year. It was an excuse to drink, dance and party, while sporting either your kid’s hockey shirt, or the team you rooted for.

  It wasn’t his thing, but because Billie was involved this year, Logan had offered up their men’s team to help out at the event. The Angry Pirates were on duty and he’d agreed to come the night before. It had been after their game and too many beers to count.

  Shane scowled, pissed that he had let Logan and Billie rope him into this.

  The Hockey Shirt dance was in full swing. Loud music drifted outside as the doors opened and closed behind those coming and going. Overhead the stark, cold moon shone down upon crisp, crunchy snow. It was cold as hell with a brisk northern wind rattling along the frozen ground.

  A loud rap on the window had him jumping and Shane swore as he glared out at the faces of a few of his teammates. Pete Tortolini’s goofy grin told him the goalie had already been into the sauce and their teammate Mike wasn’t far behind.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” he said and watched the pair trek across the parking lot and disappear inside the building.

  Was Bobbi inside?

  His gut clenched at the thought of her and even though he’d been the one to lay the ground rules the week before—the one who’d insisted their ‘reunion’ was only for one night—he was still more than a little pissed that she’d dismissed him so readily. It burned his ass just thinking about waking up and finding her already gone.

  But then, had he really expected anything more? Did he want anything more?

  “Fuck,” he muttered, undecided on what to do as his gaze settled on a few new arrivals. He sat straighter in his seat when he realized that the tall blond man walking toward the community center was Gerald Dooley and he wasn’t alone. His arm was across the back of Logan’s ex-girlfriend Sabrina Fairfax.

  Since when was Dooley interested in sports?

  Since when was Sabrina interested in anyone other than Logan?

  He watched the couple pause near the entrance, Dooley digging through his pockets for something, Sabrina’s stance suggesting she was impatient, or irritated. Finally, Dooley found whatever the hell it was he’d been looking for and the two continued on inside.

  Obviously the man had moved on and quickly. He wondered what Bobbi’s reaction was going to be. Would she be hurt? Relieved? Pissed off?

  Was she even inside?

  The ugliness that had simmered beneath the surface all week rose to the fore and before Shane could stop himself he was out the door and striding toward the community center. Restless energy thrummed inside his chest and he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for.

  But as he pushed open the door and was hit with a wall of heat, music, the smell of beer and jostling bodies, he was pretty damn sure he was going to find it.

  He’d barely taken two steps when he heard his name.

  “Shane Gallagher. Wow.”

  He turned and spied Betty Jo Barker leaning against the wall with Matt Hawkins hanging off her as if she was the fucking bee’s knees. The foyer was full of people—those waiting to get inside the main room where the band was playing up a storm and those wanting a bit of quiet.

  Betty and Matt however, seemed to be on the prowl for attention. She was half dressed and he was half in the bag.

  A stranger would have one hell of a time distinguishing the three girls. But he’d known them a long time and Betty was different than Billie and Bobbi. She was a sex kitten on steroids. It wasn’t anything tangible really, just a certain way she tilted her head. The direct look in her eyes when she wanted your attention, or the way her mouth seemed to pout no matter what she did.

  He knew her modeling career had stalled and though Shane wasn’t privy to the details, he knew a fuck up when he saw one.

  She licked her lips, a practiced routine for sure, and shoved Matt to the side. Hawkins swore and glared at Shane as Betty walked toward him, her narrow hips sheathed in the shortest leather skirt he’d seen since…well, since Bobbi used
to tease the hell out of him in that little black number she used to wear.

  For Hawkins sake, he hoped at least this triplet was in the habit of wearing underwear or the guy was in for it.

  The little New York Rangers Jersey she wore was cut off mid drift and the thigh high boots had her in the running for sexiest puck bunny ever. If he remembered correctly she’d dated one of the Rangers a few years back.

  “I’m not sure they’re going to let you in,” she said softly, her gaze running up and down his body. “You’re not wearing a hockey jersey and,” she leaned toward him whispering, “In case you didn’t know it’s a hockey shirt dance.” The smile that rested on her lips was devastating. Funny how it never made it to her eyes.

  The woman was one hell of an actor.

  And there was that pout again as she purred. “Even I found this old thing to wear.”

  Shane’s eyes had already moved beyond Betty. He wasn’t in the mood for her games. “You should put some clothes on Bets. Don’t want to be giving any of the old geezers here a heart attack.”

  He found Bobbi almost at once and damn if his heart didn’t take off like a rocket. She was near the entrance to the main room, her lithe figure dressed in old, faded denim—the kind that clung to curves—the kind that he liked. She wore a Flyers jersey, but it was obviously meant for a child because it fit her like a glove and damn, it wasn’t right that number 28 and Giroux were plastered to her back like she belonged to him.

  Betty followed his gaze and said softly, “You’re going to have to fight for her you know.”

  Shane whipped his head back to Betty and for the first time all the teasing and pouting was gone. Her eyes were clear, her gaze direct. “If you don’t you’re an idiot.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Matt, let’s get out of here.”

  Hawkins came running like a puppy after a treat, his scowl gone, replaced with a possessive glint that made Shane roll his eyes. Christ, if the guy thought he actually had a hold on Betty Jo Barker he was sadly mistaken.

  Betty turned without another word and led her new pet out of the community center. She bent over near the door to fix something on her boot and Frank Talbot’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. The elderly man shook his head and cleared his throat so loudly that several people glanced over.

  Shane shook his head and sighed. The girl was just as dangerous as Bobbi in that damn skirt. There was no underwear beneath the leather, and after patting Mr. Talbot on the cheeks she turned, winked at Shane, and disappeared into the night.

  Shane had that one moment to turn and leave. To go home and forget about everything except the bottle of J.D that was sitting on the counter in his kitchen.

  But then the band erupted into a raucous version of a Stones classic, Sympathy for the Devil, and he glanced up sharply, his eyes on Bobbi. His heart was still pounding. His body already aching to touch her.

  She was chatting with Jason Danvers and something ugly erupted inside him. He took a step forward and then halted.

  Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name.

  He should leave. Get the hell out.

  Bobbi Jo Barker, The Rolling Stones, and Shane Gallagher, was not a combination to be messed with.

  But then she bit her bottom lip as she gazed up at Jason and that ugliness inside him darkened and grew until it stretched tightly across his shoulders. He shouldn’t care about Bobbi or who she talked to and yet…

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear her fingers straying to that spot—his spot—and with a curse he strode toward her.

  Fuck it. He was going in.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Was Jason Danvers ever going to shut up? Christ he was as bad as his older brother, Derek.

  “You look great in that Flyers jersey, Bobbi.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled trying to look around him. She was wound as tight as a top, had been ever since she’d arrived at the dance. She had no idea if Shane would show and the not knowing was driving her crazy. She’d asked Billie a hundred times—at least—but her sister had just shrugged and said she didn’t know.

  “Though I think you’d look a lot hotter in my jersey.”

  “Really,” she said absently, glancing back up at Danvers. Wait. What? The guy was handsome—he was a lot handsome—but she didn’t give a crap what he thought about her choice of clothing tonight and she sure as hell had no desire to wear his clothes.

  Jason leaned forward to say something and she took a step back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear just as Ike’s band dove into a cover of Sympathy for the Devil.

  Oh God, really? She gave herself a mental shake and focused on Danvers lips. He was saying something.

  “—you and I maybe could get out of here?”

  “Excuse me, what?”

  Jason smiled down at her, a practiced sort of thing that she was sure he used to great advantage on any number of girls. And maybe, just maybe, if this was another time or place she might be all over that but…who was she kidding? Jason Danvers was vanilla. He was home grown, slightly creamy vanilla, and Bobbi liked them dark and twisty which made the whole Gerald Dooley thing more than just slightly ridiculous.

  What had she been thinking?

  She glanced inside again. God, The Stones? Really?

  “Let’s get out of here, you and me.”

  “Not gonna happen,” she answered without missing a beat.

  For a moment Jason looked surprised, but he quickly recovered. “Is it too soon? You know after the wedding thing?”

  The guy was dense. “No. This has nothing to do with Gerald.”

  “Hey if you’ve still got a thing for Gallagher just let me know—”

  “Oh my god, Jason, I don’t have a thing for Gallagher,” she retorted hotly, realizing that more than a few pair of eyes were focused their way. They were still in the foyer of the community center near the ticket tables.

  “Good to know.”

  The words were dry, yet every single one melted into her like butter on toast. She clutched her clipboard to her chest as she and Jason looked to their right. Shane stood a few inches from them looking way too damn good in his leather jacket and faded jeans. Melted snow glistened in his hair and the overhead lights lent a dangerous edge to eyes that were incredibly focused.

  Eyes that were focused on Bobbi. Eyes that belonged to someone dark and twisty.

  She swallowed, or rather, she tried to. It was pretty hard to swallow when she her mouth was so dry and she had a lump the size of a hockey puck stuck in her throat.

  This would be the hard and fast fucking.

  His words whispered through her mind and her heart took off like a rocket as she remembered the feel of him between her thighs. The heat of him against her back as he’d thrust into her from behind.

  And the way he’d held her hands above her head so that she couldn’t move, kept her eyes prisoner so that she could look nowhere but into his as he’d taken her. Slow. And then hard.

  Of the way he’s used the palm of his hands, the tips of his fingers and the hot thrust of his tongue to bring her to orgasm more times than she could count.

  There was nothing remotely vanilla about Shane.

  Bobbi blew out a quick, hard breath and glanced away. Keep it together, she thought.

  But it was hard. So damn hard.

  Heat ran through her veins and she was sure her cheeks were as red as the Detroit Red Wings logo emblazoned on Seth Longwood’s shirt.

  “Shane,” she said softly.

  He didn’t say a word, though something passed between the two men—some invisible form of man-speak—and Jason mumbled something about heading to the bar. With a quick nod in her general direction he disappeared inside the dance.

  Not only vanilla, but a wimp.

  “I didn’t know you were a Flyers fan,” Shane said as he took the remaining steps that brought him within a whisper of her.

  “I’m not,” she retorted quickly. “I borrowed this from Billie.�
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  His dark eyes ran over her body, lingering on her breasts before moving back up to her eyes. “I like the way it fits you.”

  God help her, but she felt her nipples harden as an ache erupted between her legs. She prayed that the padded bra she wore prevented anyone else knowing, but the slight grin that tugged the corner of his mouth told her probably not. That the man could get such a reaction from her with a few words, in a public place like this meant that she was in deep trouble. “It’s on the small side,” she managed to say.

  “I see that.”

  For a long moment the two of them stared at each other, ignoring the jumbling crowd behind them as an uneasy silence grew.

  “Okay, um, I need to,” Bobbi glanced down at the clipboard in her hands as her voice trailed off. Dammit. She needed to be doing something, but what?

  Ike’s powerful vocals rose as he sang about the devil and her throat closed even more as she shuddered, suddenly cold.

  “This isn’t going away,” Shane said softly.

  Her head jerked up and she swore as someone knocked her from behind and she stumbled forward. Immediately Shane’s hands closed around her waist and he drew her aside, away from the group of hockey players and wives with fresh beer tickets in hand, anxious to get into the dance.

  For a moment, Bobbi did nothing but lean into him. The feel of his large, warm hand on her arm sent shivers of desire rushing through her. She closed her eyes, inhaled his scent—which was the wrong thing to do—why the hell did he have to smell so damn good?

  “What’s not going away?” she managed to say as she wiggled out of Shane’s embrace and faced him.

  “This thing between us.”

  “Oh.” Bobbi didn’t quite know how to respond to that. He’d always been so direct and normally she was on the ball and ready for a comeback. But tonight? Tonight she couldn’t think about anything other than how good it felt to be so close to him.

  Shane grabbed her hand and at first she resisted but when he looked down at her, his dark eyes filled with sin, something broke inside her. After a gentle tug Bobbi let him lead her into the darkened room filled with a few hundred revelers. The band was kicking into the euphoric ending to Sympathy and the beat was intoxicating.