One More Chance: A Small Town Love Story Page 6

  He shifted the truck into park and turned the radio on, his hand recoiling from the knob as a Billie Holiday song rang through the speakers. Logan wasn’t a big believer in ‘signs’, but he was about to run into his first love, and the artist she was named after just happened to be on the radio. The coincidence wasn’t lost on him.

  He punched the button to change the station, but then changed his mind and clicked back. He let Billie Holiday’s voice fill the cab of his truck and remembered the last time he heard the song. He and Billie Jo were sitting in his bedroom working on their economics assignment. He was surprised to hear that she was named after a jazz legend, one he knew well, his dad was a huge fan. They had listened to Billie Holiday CDs while they worked. That was the night that she inspired feelings in him that he couldn’t explain.

  She was different than all the other girls. In high school, he dated cheerleaders, blonde ones; as a pro hockey player, he graduated to blonde models. The cheerleaders had bored him back then, just like the models did now. Billie Jo was smart and edgy. Everyone in school had judged her because she was poor and wore second-hand clothes to school, but he saw beyond that.

  He remembered how her lips felt on his, the one and only time they kissed in front of the gas station. The butterflies in his gut from that kiss had almost made him sick. The ‘I might puke feeling’ had never returned, until today with the anticipation of seeing her. He knew that he could make it right with her. He was going to do whatever it took to win Billie Jo Bunkman back. No matter how hard she tried to stay away, he was Logan Brush, star defenseman. How could she say no?

  He pulled out his phone to dial Freddie and swore when he saw that there was no service. He looked up at the walls of the canyon, trapping him incommunicado for who knows how long.

  “Dammit,” he cursed out loud. Was he going to be too late? He tapped at the steering wheel impatiently as he realized that he might miss the entire party. This was his opportunity to win Charlotte back, to make up for the last time that he didn’t show up, and he couldn’t believe it. It might just happen again.

  Chapter 12

  THE MUSIC WAS LOUD, the bar full of laughter, and Charlotte was cleaning up at the blackjack table. With a few pints of very strong craft beer flowing through her veins, her gambling chops were on fire.

  “This is supposed to be a fundraiser,” Josh said as he leaned over Charlotte’s shoulder and flicked over the giant stack of gambling chips in front of her.

  “The house always wins,” Charlotte grinned.

  “Clearly not tonight,” Josh laughed.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Charlotte turned to face Freddie. “I feel terrible that the guys organized this whole thing.”

  “We knew that you were busy, we’re just glad that you could make it,” Megan smiled. Her arm was wrapped around her fiancé, a glass of seltzer in her hand. “I think that the guys did a pretty good job.”

  Charlotte looked around the room. The gambling tables were jammed, and the silent auction table items all had bids well over what they were worth. “It looks like they did,” she agreed. She pulled Megan away from Josh. “What’s the deal with Freddie? I think he’s made Lauren blush more than ten times tonight.”

  “Oh no,” Megan groaned. “Tell Lauren to stay away from Freddie. He could make a goldfish blush. That guy is the town Casanova.”

  “Good to know,” Charlotte replied. “Speaking of town Casanovas, where is that brother of his?”

  “I don’t know,” Megan replied. She looked down at her watch. He was supposed to be here three hours ago. I’m starting to get a bit worried.”

  “Bit worried, about what?” Josh came up behind Megan and wrapped her in his arms.

  “Logan. He should’ve been here ages ago.”

  “He’ll be here. He’s got the prizes for the raffle. He won’t let us down.” Josh swigged his beer and walked away.

  A wave of déjà vu flooded over Charlotte. He wasn’t going to show, all this anticipation and build-up for nothing. It looks like some people don’t change at all, she thought to herself.

  “Actually, Charlotte, there is something you could do for us,” Freddie piped up over Megan’s shoulder. We need more people to buy tickets for the drawing.

  “You mean the drawing with the MIA prizes?”

  “He’ll be here,” Freddie muttered and shoved a roll of tickets into Charlotte’s hand. “Five dollars a piece or five tickets for twenty dollars.

  “And what are the prizes?”

  “Oh, signed jerseys, season tickets, and stuff. Trust me, those tickets are going to sell themselves, but I heard that you could sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman wearing white gloves, so, you know, do your thing.”

  Charlotte laughed; Freddie was right. She was going to sell every one of those damn tickets for Megan and Josh. She had managed to go the entire evening without being recognized and other than Freddie, she didn’t recognize anyone else. I guess everyone else got the hell out of Dodge too, she thought to herself as she made her way through the crowd. She had just started to relax and let her guard down when she felt the hair prickle on the back of her neck. Cheers erupted through the room and she turned to see him standing there. His massive silhouette framed by the doorway, the light from the streetlamps shone behind him, and the cold air swirled around him like smoke.

  “The man sure knows how to make an entrance,” Megan whispered to Charlotte.

  Charlotte gripped the roll of tickets with all her might as her gut wrenched into a giant knot. Charlotte made her way back to the table with Freddie and Lauren. While her first instinct was to hide in the bathroom, she realized that she had to stand and face her past.

  Logan was wearing a hockey jersey and a flat brim hat with matching team logo. He was carrying a large cardboard box with one arm and fielding high fives with his other.

  Freddie jumped up from the table and ran over to grab the box from Logan.

  Charlotte was thankful for the darkness of the bar, her face felt like it was on fire and she was sure it looked like a tomato. She slung her arm over the back of the chair and took a sip of her beer, trying her best to look calm and collected. Freddie dropped the box on the table, “You get all those tickets sold yet?” he winked.

  “Almost,” Charlotte replied and held up the remainder of the tickets. “I’m just waiting for the smokers to come in from outside.”

  The band broke into Brown-Eyed Girl and Freddie grabbed Lauren by the hand and dragged her to the dance floor. Charlotte wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Lauren dance, but to her surprise, she let Freddie whirl her around the dance floor, squealing as he dipped her down low and then twirled her away only to pull her back in close.

  Logan was leaning up against the bar, his foot on the rail, talking to Charlie, the bartender with the man bun. Her eyes took in Logan’s wide shoulders and trailed down his V-shaped torso until they reached his butt. She paused and felt a stirring deep within her abdomen, not nerves, but attraction. His ass filled out his jeans the way only a hockey player’s can: round, full, and hard.

  She glanced around the room and saw that she wasn’t the only woman appreciating the view. The table of blondes was back from their smoke break, their pink frosted lips agape as they unabashedly stared at Logan. Charlotte realized that they were the only people she hadn’t approached with the raffle tickets. She sighed as she grabbed the roll of tickets and headed over to make her final sale. Halfway there her eyes locked with the mascara-caked eyes of the bleachiest blonde of all the women. The woman’s skin was caked with foundation and lines from years of smoking were etched deeply into her lips, but Charlotte knew those eyes and stopped in her tracks when she saw the telltale glimmer that the recognition was mutual.

  Shit. Charlotte muttered to herself. She knew the evening had been going too smoothly. The originator and biggest perpetrator of the Billie Jo Bunkman Blow Job queen rumors had just figured out who she was. Stacy narrowed her eyes at Charlotte and leaned into the group o
f women, gesturing wildly until every one of them stared in Charlotte’s direction, their drunken eyes studying her every move. Even from across the noisy bar, Charlotte could hear their cackles, a coven of leopard print wearing witches.

  Charlotte took a sip of her beer and glanced back to the bar over the top of her mug, but Logan was gone, his spot filled with some other guy in a plaid shirt and snow boots. Her eyes frantically searched the room in an effort to locate his position. If she could see him coming, she could be ready. Right now, she was shaken, and her defenses were down. She knew it was only a matter of time before she heard the name Billie Jo Bunkman spoken out loud, and not in a nice way.

  Charlotte balled her hands into fists and was mortified to discover that they were as sweaty as a hot yoga studio floor. She grabbed a napkin from the table and squeezed it in her palms, hoping to blot up the telltale sign of her nerves. She didn’t know which confrontation was going to be worse, the one with Logan, or Stacy.

  There. She breathed out as she spotted him with a bunch of guys wearing Search and Rescue jackets. He glanced over to where she was sitting and their eyes met. Shit. She whipped her head to face the opposite direction so hard she almost got whiplash. He had caught her staring. She glanced back ever so slightly and saw that he had turned away from her, but then he turned, and their eyes met again. Maybe he hadn’t caught her staring, maybe she had caught him instead.

  Every time she would ‘casually’ glance around the room, she would catch him also casually ‘glancing’ around the room. Every time their eyes would meet her stomach would flip and adrenaline would whoosh through her body. She didn’t want to be attracted to him. She wanted to hate him with a capital H.

  “Hey, I won a hundred bucks on the roulette table,” Lauren exclaimed as she slid into the chair beside Charlotte.

  “Where’s Freddie?” Charlotte asked. Lauren and Freddie had been cutting up the dance floor all night long.

  “I’m not his keeper, his shzoo keeper,” she slurred.

  “Oh no, Lauren, how many glasses of beer have you had?”

  “Jusht a couple.” Lauren swayed in the chair and smiled. “Come on, you stick in the mud. Loosen up and have some fun.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Lauren.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked and poured both of them another glass of beer. The expensive craft beer was long gone, and Charlotte found herself enjoying the watery domestic beer.

  “Freddie.”

  “Oh, he’s a sweet guy, but he’s not for me,” Lauren replied, sipping her beer.

  Charlotte eased back into her chair. Lauren had made one rash decision in her life, and while it had resulted in a beautiful daughter, that one night had changed the trajectory of her life. She smiled at her drunken sister, Lauren was no dummy and even in an inebriated state, she still managed to be responsible.

  Charlotte leaned in close to Lauren. “Don’t look over there. But those four blonde women...”

  Lauren immediately whirled around to look.

  Charlotte grabbed her arm, “I said, don’t look. Do you recognize any of them?”

  “How am I supposed to recognize any of them if I can’t look?”

  She had a point. “Be subtle.”

  Lauren turned slowly as if perusing the room and looked back at her sister. For a drunk, she was surprisingly adept at keeping things low key. “No.”

  “You don’t think that’s Stacy?”

  Lauren did a double take and then gasped. “Oh, my god. She looks haggard.”

  “It took me a minute to see it too.” Clearly, small-town life had been hard on all the women. They were all sausaged into low cut shirts, love handles spilling over their skin-tight jeans. Their tanning bed skin looked like it belonged to women twenty years older.

  “Do you think that they know who we are?” Lauren asked.

  “Guaranteed.”

  “Shit. I wonder if she’s still a bitch,” Lauren said, her eyes darted back to the table.

  “Looks like we’re going to find out,” Charlotte said under breath.

  Chapter 13

  LOGAN KNEW THAT CHARLOTTE was going to be at the party, and the fact that he rolled in three hours late meant that she was going to be there first, ready for him.

  He shook his head. Get her out of your mind, man.

  He wasn’t nervous meeting models or superstars, but tonight, his stomach was wrenched tightly as he pulled open the heavy door of the Last Chance Tavern. It had taken his eyes a minute to adjust, but as soon as they did, it was as though they were drawn to hers, like a magnet.

  Throughout the night he tried to sneak glances at her. And even when he wasn’t trying to sneak glances, her glossy hair would catch in the dim light of the tavern, drawing his eyes back to his first love again and again.

  He knew that going to her, talking to her, would be the mature and manly thing to do, and he was going to, after the next beer...

  Freddie came up beside his older brother, “She’s drinking this.” Freddie shoved a glass of strong-smelling craft beer into his hand. “Go give the lady her drink.”

  Logan pursed his lips at his brother. “I was just on my way over to say hi.”

  “Sure you were,” Freddie grinned and disappeared into the crowd.

  It was now or never. Logan took a deep breath but didn’t get one step away from the bar before a tall bleached blonde lady blocked his path.

  “Hi,” she tilted her head and twirled her frizzy hair around her finger like a teenager pretending to be coy.

  “Hello,” he replied and tried to step around her.

  “Logan, it’s me.” She gripped his forearms and looked into his eyes. Hers were hooded with intoxication.

  He squinted and stared at the woman in front of him, puzzled. Was she one of his mom’s friends? Her leathery face was worn and tired looking. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Logan, it’s Stacy.” she giggled, puffing up her chest and leaning into him.

  Logan squinted at the woman. With a great amount of imagination, he could see her in her cheerleader uniform, her blonde ponytail swinging as she sashayed down the hallways of Chance Rapids High, her gaggle of followers not far behind.

  “Wow, Stacy, I thought that you left town.”

  “I did,” she shouted over the band. “College wasn’t for me.” She wavered on her feet as she reached to grasp Logan’s hand. “How ‘bout we pick up where we left off.”

  Logan took a deep breath. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.

  “I see you haven’t lost your confidence,” he said through a smile. It was the only nice thing he could think of to say.

  “That’s not all I haven’t lost,” she said and pressed up against him.

  Logan had no idea what she meant, and he guessed she didn’t either. He sidestepped away from her. “Nice to see you, Stacy.” Before he could get away, she grabbed his hand and clumsily caressed his wrist with her other hand, her daggerlike nails leaving light scratch marks on his forearm. He gently removed her hand from his arm, “I have to go... talk to someone...”

  “What, you aren’t even going to buy me a drink?”

  “Do you think you need one?” She looked like she was one drink away from having her hair held back as she puked into the grimy toilet at the bar.

  Her mouth contorted and she glared at him. “Fuck you. I don’t need this.”

  She turned on her heel and wobbled back to her table. Logan watched and shook his head as she and her friends downed another round of shooters.

  “Can I have your attention please?” Freddie said and tapped on the microphone. “Get out your tickets. The lovely Charlotte O’Hare is going to draw for the signed Logan Brush jersey.”

  Logan turned to face the stage. Charlotte looked radiant under the stage lights. She and Stacy were the same age but were polar opposites, a stark example of a hard versus healthy lifestyle.

  Freddie sho
ok the bowl of raffle tickets and Charlotte stepped forward to pluck one out. The crowd cheered and whistled as she handed the ticket to Freddie.

  “The number is 653213—”

  “Charlotte O’Hare.” A voice screeched from the background interrupting Freddie, but he continued.

  “The number is 65321332. I repeat the winner of the signed Logan Brush jersey is 65321332.”

  “That’s no Charlotte. That’s Billie Jo Blow Job Bunkman,” the voice screeched out again. “Get in line guys, she’ll suck any cock.” Stacy swayed on her feet as she approached the stage.

  Logan gulped. Charlotte seemed frozen in place. The mean girl from high school was picking up where she left off fifteen years ago.

  The tension was temporarily broken as the draw winner shouted, “That’s me!”

  “Looks like we have a winner.” Freddie pointed to someone in the audience.

  Freddie put his arm around Charlotte’s waist, steadying her as the man made his way to the stage waving his ticket in the air. Logan saw Stacy’s big hair glowing in the lights of the stage. He gulped back the last of his beer and set the empty glass down on the bar. He was going to have to do something. There was no way he was going to let Stacy ruin everyone’s night.

  Charlotte stood stoically on the stage and handed the man the jersey. He turned to face the crowd and they cheered as he held up his prize.

  “Now, we have season tickets up for grabs. Charlotte would you do the honor?” Freddie shook the fishbowl of tickets.

  The band started a drumroll and Charlotte reached her hand in to pull out the winning ticket.

  “And the season tickets go to...” Freddie held up the ticket to read it.

  “Billie Jo Bunkman’s pussy!” Stacy shouted, pointing at Charlotte.

  Charlotte’s face fell and she turned her back to the audience.

  That was it.

  Freddie tried to ignore the interruption, “3123324. That’s 3123324.” The crowd murmured as everyone consulted their raffle tickets and stared at Charlotte.