Icing On The Date (The Bannister Brothers #1) (3 page)

She
wished
she did.

Then maybe she could get her own business into the press and not have to scrimp and save another two thousand dollars for advertising.

Spying her lost elastic band on the corner of the counter, she grabbed it and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She sighed, letting go of the bizarre events of the last half an hour and thinking about the busy night she still had ahead of her, cleaning up after the party and bailing her little brother out.

The brother who made her laugh, made her crazy and had always told her to be careful what you wish for.

Chapter Two

A bolt of pain shot through his head at the sound of the crack as Owen drew his stick across the ice and shot the puck at the goal. And missed.

Figured.

This was how his whole morning had gone.

He thought punishing himself by hitting the ice and getting in an extra practice would be good penance for his actions of the night before. But only a few guys from the team were skating this morning and being in the hockey rink wasn’t working its usual magic.

All it was doing was making his hangover worse and contributing to his overall grouchiness.

He’d woken up with a pounding headache and dried frosting clumped in his hair. Rolling out of bed, he’d groaned at the memory of what a fool he’d made of himself the night before.

It wasn’t all completely clear, but he had vague memories of being dragged into the women’s restroom by a blonde named Brittany—or was it Bridget?—didn’t matter—he’d never see her again. She was expecting a party, but all he’d felt like was a party pooper. Which was unusual for him.

He just wasn’t interested in what she had to offer—which was also unusual. Because she had plenty to offer.

But last night, the only party he’d been interested in was a pity party—for himself. All he’d wanted to do was drown his sorrows with too many shots and try to forget the last few days.

The last few days when he’d screwed everything up. For himself. And his brother.

He didn’t drink very often. The sport—and his coach—didn’t put up with excessive drinking or partying. And he’d been taking pretty good care of himself lately, eating clean, working out more, and keeping the parties and the alcohol in check.

Until last night.

Although it could have been worse. He could have done more damage if Bane hadn’t shown up and gotten him home. As the oldest brother, Bane had always been there when he got into trouble—which was often.

But now—thanks to him—Bane wouldn’t be around anymore to get him out of scrapes or even to just go grab a beer with.

He cursed his own stupidity again as he skated off the ice. He needed a hard workout and a shower. Then he needed to begin to make amends for his actions the night before.

Bane would be easy. He could take him a pizza, and Bane would forgive him for getting his butt out of bed in the middle of the night to drag him home.

But his second task might be a little harder.

He might not remember everything about the night before, but he remembered the woman who had helped him. His angel. The one who was responsible for the frosting behind his ear. The one who smelled like chocolate and had a halo of long, toffee-colored, curly hair.

The one who looked like an angel but had devilish thoughts running through his head.

And the one he’d kissed.

That part of the evening he remembered.

And in clear detail. Clear, mind-blowing, hot-as-hell detail.

He didn’t know what in the heck had possessed him to kiss her. And he didn’t know why kissing her had seemed different. Special.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t kissed random women that he’d just met before. That was kind of his M.O. And he was sure that was what Bridget/Brittany was expecting last night.

But kissing Gabby was different.
She
was different.

Even in the brief time he’d spent with her, he knew she was different than the usual Barbies that threw themselves at him whenever he went out. The ones who were interested in being seen on the arm of a NHL player and hoping to get their picture in the press.

Gabby hadn’t thrown herself at him at all. Not even a small toss.

In fact, she’d acted like she had no idea who he was. Like she hadn’t seen all the recent articles about his reckless behavior—the philandering, the womanizing, and the way he carelessly spent money.

She’d treated him like he was just a regular guy. Had taken care of him without acting like he was a celebrity—which he wasn’t. He was just a jock who happened to be fairly good at the sport that he loved.

But she’d acted like she’d never heard of him. Which was surprisingly nice. To be treated like a regular guy. Albeit a drunk regular guy who was making a fool of himself.

He cringed as he recalled eating the frosting that he’d swiped off her chest. Which sounded much sexier than it really had been. He’d swiped it off the front of her shirt. Okay—it had been a little sexy. Especially when she’d licked that dab of chocolate off the end of her finger.

She had great lips. And amazing hair. And she’d been sweet too—and not just the frosting on her chest. She’d seemed like a genuinely nice person.

Too bad he was too drunk to make a good impression. She probably didn’t treat him like anything special because he hadn’t been special to her. She’d said she had to take care of her brother a lot. Maybe she just saw him as another idiot guy that couldn’t hold his liquor.

But that kiss had been special.

And he was sure she’d felt that too.

He’d remembered the name of the bakery—Simply Sweet—and looked up the address. It wasn’t in the best neighborhood, but he knew the area located in a suburb of Denver, and it was full of hard-working middle-class businesses. The kind of businesses that got by, did well enough to pay the bills, and had the respect and support of the neighborhood.

She’d seemed like one of those hard-working types of people. Her shop had good reviews and was rated highly in customer service and good product.

He already knew she made great frosting. And she tasted like chocolate. And smelled like vanilla. Geez, now he didn’t know if he wanted to make out with her again or just have her bake him a cake. Or both.

Yeah, it was probably both.

He pushed open the door of the locker room. She probably wouldn’t do either of those things with the impression he’d left on her last night. Not if she saw him as a playboy lush.

He needed to thank her for her help and her discretion the night before, then find a way to strengthen her opinion of him, to make a better impression this time around. He pulled off his glove and tossed it in his locker.

First he needed to find her.

***

Gabby raced through the living area of her apartment as she threw together the things she would need for the day.

It was Sunday, so the bakery was closed, but she’d taken a big order for cupcakes and needed to use the kitchen to fill the order.

Plus, she wanted to get them finished this morning so she’d have time to take out the treat truck that afternoon and hopefully capitalize on the after-church crowd who typically purchased cupcakes to take home for dessert.

Her apartment was a little dated, but had the benefit of being located above the bakery so she didn’t have much of a commute to work and could use the bakery’s commercial-sized kitchen whenever she wanted. What it lacked in modern conveniences, it made up for by its location and the cheap rent. And really, dishwashers were overrated anyway.

Thor, her small Terrier-Chihuahua mix sat on the couch, his attention divided between her frantic movements and the images on the television she’d turned on to catch the day’s weather report. Thor’s furry brown head bobbed back and forth as if watching a ping-pong match.

She grabbed the box of cupcake wrappers that had been delivered yesterday, then stopped in her tracks as she heard the news anchor say a familiar name.

Snatching up the remote control, she turned up the volume and sank to the sofa as an image of the couple that had stumbled into the restroom the night before appeared on the screen.

Owen and Bridget, or Brittany—now she couldn’t remember which it was—were shown laughing in the club at The Crown Hotel, the table in front of them littered with empty shot glasses and a silver ice bucket holding a bottle of alcohol.

“Owen Bannister appears to be at it again,” the sportscaster said. “The Colorado Summit defenseman seems to be creating havoc this week both on and off the ice.”

The Colorado Summit? The National Hockey League team? He was a hockey player? That would explain his ridiculously muscled physique. But she didn’t think hockey players really had to worry that much about the press.

Apparently she was wrong.

“Owen, along with his brother Bane, make up the team’s scrappy defense, and fans have affectionately dubbed them the Brawling Bannisters,” the sportscaster continued. “But there’s not a lot of affection for them this week as it seems that one half of the pair is causing chaos on and off of the rink. Owen was spotted downtown last night throwing back drinks instead of punches. Buying drinks for the bar, he appeared to be celebrating instead of grieving the destruction of the dynamic duo. In fact, some would even call his behavior disorderly conduct.”

What did he mean by the “destruction of the dynamic duo”? Had Owen done something to hurt the team or to wreck his relationship with his brother?

That couldn’t be right. She’d seen him and Bane together the night before. And even though Bane had seemed annoyed at Owen, their relationship was obviously close and seemed solid to her.

But then again, what did she know? She’d apparently been making out in the ladies room with a famous hockey player and hadn’t even recognized the guy. She shook her head at her earlier guesses. So, not a CEO, a notorious mobster, or a celebrity. Well, a celebrity of sorts.

Certainly a celebrity to hockey fans. He was famous enough to have a story placed in the news about him. And not a flattering one. Just the kind of story that he’d obviously been trying to avoid.

No wonder he and his brother assumed she knew he was. But she didn’t have time to follow sports and didn’t think she’d ever even seen a hockey game. No wonder she didn’t recognize the guy.

She focused back on the sportscaster’s commentary.

“After last week’s game, it’s rumored that one, or both, of the Bannister brothers could be benched for the season. Or worse.”

What was worse than being benched for the season? Kicked off the team? No wonder Owen was upset. Especially if whatever had happened at last week’s game had been his fault. And she assumed from his behavior and his comments the night before that it had been.

Poor guy.

There was no point in her worrying about it now, though. She had enough on her plate, and it appeared Owen did too. At least Bridget, or Brittany, or whatever her name was, got her picture on television. She might not have ended up with Owen, but Gabby had a feeling the girl was more interested in the notoriety than actually making out with the hockey player anyway.

Instead, Gabby had been the one to make out with him. Well, not exactly make out. But he did kiss her.

Oh my God, did he ever kiss her.

Memories of the night before seeped into her thoughts. Who was she kidding? She’d been thinking about that kiss all night—and several times this morning.

After leaving the hotel, she’d still had to go down to the county jail to bail out her brother. He’d been happy to see her and thankful and full of his normal apologies and excuses. She’d dropped him off at his apartment and fallen into bed around two o’clock in the morning.

And had dreamt of Owen Bannister.

She didn’t have time for daydreams now, though. She had work to do and a lot of it. She’d thought after last night that she could count on her brother’s help today, but he’d already texted her with another flimsy excuse of why he couldn’t make it. So, she was on her own. As usual.

Flipping off the TV, she grabbed her coat and the basket of supplies, said goodbye to Thor, and headed down the back stairs of the apartment.

Circling around the front of the building, she couldn’t have been more surprised to see Owen Bannister himself standing on the sidewalk peering through the window of the bakery.

Her heart pounded in triple time against her chest as she stared at him. She couldn’t believe he was here, standing right in front of her. She could barely breathe. “What are you doing here?”

He turned and a grin lit his gorgeous face. “Looking for an angel. And it appears that I’ve found her.”

Oh brother. What a line. Did that actually work?

Apparently it seemed to work on her, because she still hadn’t been able to move. Instead she stood frozen in place, too stunned to take another step forward, her breath frosty in the chilly winter air.

He reached for the box of supplies she was holding. “Here, let me get that for you. It’s cold out here. You must be freezing.” He wore jeans and a gray ski jacket. His coat was open, and he had on a snug black sweater underneath.

She let him take the box and pulled the keys from her pocket. Unlocking the door of the bakery, he followed her inside, and she locked up behind him.

He set the box on the counter and looked around the bakery. A long glass counter ran in front of the back wall and a few assorted tables and chairs filled the front of the store.

The store was decorated like a tea room, using classic white accented with candy pink, teal, purple, and mint green. Tea cups lined the shelves of an old fashioned cupboard and a few assorted knick-knacks were available to purchase.

He inhaled the scent of the room. “It smells amazing in here—like frosting and vanilla and cookies.” The corner of his lip turned up in a mischievous smile. “Kind of like you do.”