Icing On The Date (The Bannister Brothers #1) (5 page)

He was still flirty, and she noticed he liked to bump her or touch her arm as they worked, but he hadn’t mentioned the kiss or tried to do it again. But he was working hard, and she appreciated that. He worked quickly, his movements competent and efficient, and they were getting their tasks accomplished in good time.

She nodded at the box of cupcakes he’d just filled. “You do good work. I may have to hire you if this whole hockey thing doesn’t work out.” She’d been going for light and funny, but her comment must have hit a nerve, because his light-hearted mood suddenly darkened, and a scowl took over his face.

“We’ll see what happens at this meeting this afternoon. This whole
hockey-thing
may be over sooner than you think. I may end up back at your door looking for work as a frosting maker.”

“Sorry. Do you want to talk about it? I’m a pretty good listener.”

He shrugged and stabbed a plastic football pick into a mound of frosting. “There’s not much to tell. I screwed up, and now my brother is going to take the fall for my mistake.”

“What happened?” She focused on filling a new pastry bag with vanilla frosting, giving him room to speak if he wanted to talk.

“Bane and I both play defense, and the coach usually puts us on the same line. We’ve sort of earned this reputation as fighters, and the fans have dubbed as the Bannister Brawlers.”

“Right. I heard that on the news story this morning.”

“Well, thanks to me and my hot temper, I’ve had a few times when I’ve gotten into fights outside of the rink, which is not good for my public persona—or the team’s.” He blew out his breath. “I hate being in the public eye. I mean, I love the fans. But that’s because they love the game. I’m just a regular guy who loves hockey and happens to be good at it. And I’m lucky enough to get paid to do what I love.”

And get paid plenty. “There may have been some luck involved,” she said. “But you have to be a good player, too. Otherwise you wouldn’t have made the team. Weren’t you telling me earlier about your mad skills?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess. But hockey is an emotional sport. And it encourages fighting. There’s a code to it and we try not to kill each other, but sometimes in the heat of the moment, it’s easy to get carried away. This big guy just dissed you and the fans are screaming for blood, and you just get caught up in this haze of red.” He glanced over at her. “It’s probably hard for you to understand
wanting
to punch someone in the face.”

“Oh, believe me. There’s been plenty of times when I’ve wanted to punch someone.” Her hands stilled, caught in a memory of her childhood, a memory of violence and terror, a memory of seeing her dad throw a punch at her mother. But he didn’t usually hit her in the face. He knew where to leave his bruises—in places that could be easily hidden by her clothes or long sleeves.

“Well, typically a few fights are good for the game,” Owen continued. “But we haven’t been playing as well this season, and the team managers told us to cool it a little with the fighting. Evidently between my public stunts and the team not doing so great, the Bannister Brawlers were starting to get a bad rep. And the press is always looking for dirt. And if they can’t find it, they manufacture it. My brother had this thing going with a pop star which ended badly, and he was crucified by the press. And they love to portray me as this bad boy that doesn’t care about anything except parties and women.”

She grinned over at him. “Do you care about anything else?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Apparently I care about cupcakes and chocolate frosting.”

She laughed. “Okay, so continue with your story.”

His smile fell. “It isn’t much of a story. And it’s not one I’m proud of. The last game we played, we were getting killed. It was the third period, and we were down a goal. Bane and I were off our rhythm, and we’d wasted a power play where we should have been able to pick up a goal. The opposing team was one our biggest rivals, and we’d been taking jabs at each other the whole game.

“One guy in particular was making my blood boil. And he went after Bane—checked him in the back—which is totally against the rules. So I kind of went after him, and the gloves hit the ice and we got into a pretty heated fight. We both got penalties and spent the entire time ribbing each other from the boxes. And not light-hearted ribbing, like some serious slanderous smack talk. His penalty was longer, but it didn’t matter, I was so keyed up from the fight and I was playing like shit, and we’d just let another power play go by without a shot anywhere near the net.”

She nodded, trying to keep up with hockey terms. She was getting the gist of the story, even without knowing what a power play was.

“So, this guy comes out of the box and heads straight for me. Like he had murder in his eyes. Didn’t even try to act like he was in the game, just came at me swinging. It was my fault. I may have mentioned something rude about Canada and possibly his wife when we were slinging trash talk, and this guy was beyond pissed. He hauled off and got a cheap shot at my head.”

“Oh no. At least you didn’t say anything about his mom.”

He shrugged. “There may have been talk about his mother. I don’t know. The whole thing is kind of a blur. It all happened so fast. I wasn’t prepared for the punch, and I went down. And hard. Then the guy was on top of me, fists flying, cussing and swearing. All I could do was cover my head and kick my skates at him. And then he was gone. Like his weight was just lifted off of me, and I pulled my arm away and Bane was just whaling on the guy. And Bane hadn’t even been on the ice. I watched the replay later and saw him come flying off the bench and light into the guy.”

Gabby had seen the closeness between the brothers even in the short time she’d spent with them the night before, and she could imagine Bane wanting to protect his little brother.

“Most of the time, a fight is just a few punches thrown. The fans eat it up, and it isn’t that big of a deal. Yeah, you’re sore or bruised the next day, but after a game, you’re always sore and bruised anyway. But this was different. Bane popped him in the nose and broke it, and blood started gushing everywhere—which the fans loved, but our coaches didn’t. They pulled all three of us from the game. Long story short, we lost the game, the guy ended up going to the hospital, and the coach was so pissed at the both of us—especially Bane—that he’s kicking him off the team.”

“Kicking him off the team? That seems a little rash.”

“Yeah. It’s crazy. We expected a slap on the wrist, maybe a one-game suspension, but neither of us expected this.”

“So Bane won’t be able to play hockey anymore?”

“He’ll still get to play. Just not with the Colorado Summit. The coach is looking at trading him. He’s sending him to St. Louis to play with the Blueshirts. And it’s all my fault. I should have just kept my cool and did what the coach asked me to and none of this would have happened.”

She stacked up the last box of finished cupcakes. “You can’t blame yourself for that. It was Bane’s choice for jumping into the fight.”

The look he gave her told her she was skating on thin ice with that comment. “I think you know what it’s like to not think when you’re reacting to someone hurting your brother. You go into your protective instinct mode and don’t think. But I’m the idiot that did something stupid and sent him into that protective mode. If I hadn’t been a bonehead and caused the trouble in the first place, then Bane wouldn’t have been the one to be punished for my actions. Kind of like your brother doing something stupid to land himself in jail last night and cause you to spend your entire advertising budget to bail him out.”

“You have a good memory.” She’d hoped he wouldn’t recall all of the details of their conversation from the night before. And she didn’t like all of the correlations he was drawing between himself and her brother. She had already been thinking a few of those things, but didn’t like having them brought out and inspected under the light.

“Good memory. Bad judgement.”

She hated seeing him in pain. Hated the look of hurt in his eyes. Wanting to do something, offer some kind of comfort, she took a step closer and laid her hand on his arm. Her hip brushed against his, and she looked up into his eyes. “I’m sure Bane doesn’t blame you.”

He dipped his head, his words soft, almost a whisper. “But I blame myself.”

His eyes were so blue. And so full of pain. Her heart broke for him.

Despite her head’s earlier practical objections to not getting involved with this man, her body was in full disagreement. Everything in her was responding to him, like she was metal and he was a magnet—pulling her in and drawing her closer. Her heart was beating in triple time, her mouth was dry, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

Her skin warmed, and she felt a dizzying rush in her head as the look in his eyes changed. The expression of pain shifted to one of hunger. And not for cupcakes. For her.

His gaze dipped to her lips, and her body stilled. Immobile in anticipation.

He leaned closer—just a fraction of an inch—just enough. Enough for her to smell his aftershave and the scent of laundry detergent on his shirt.

A smudge of flour dusted his cheek, and she yearned to brush it off. To touch his cheek. To touch him.

To kiss him.

A little closer. His lips grazed hers. Just a touch.

Just a taste.

A soft sigh escaped her lips.

His fingers skimmed her cheek in the lightest touch, and she melted against his body.

Closer still—his lips pressed against hers—and the timer went off. An insistent beep from the stove that she couldn’t ignore.

She pulled back. “I better get that.”

He cleared his throat and shook his head as if waking from a dream. “Yeah, of course. Don’t want the cupcakes to burn.”

Something in this kitchen was already burning. Burning hot. And it wasn’t the cupcakes.

She grabbed a hotpad and pulled the last few trays from the oven. The scent of vanilla filled the room as steam rose from the warm cupcakes. “We only have these two trays left, and we’ll be finished.”

“We’d better hurry if we want to catch the lunch time crowd. I’ll wash up these last few things while you mix up the next batch of frosting. Then we’d better get these cupcakes on the truck and make you some money.” He turned his back to her, crossing to the sink and filling it with soapy water.

With his back to her, she couldn’t read his reaction. Was he glad they were interrupted? Disappointed? What would have happened if the timer hadn’t gone off?

She imagined him sweeping the mixing bowls and cupcakes onto the floor and taking her right there on the counter. Her cheeks warmed at the thought—at the idea of being so spontaneous, so reckless—of being so in the moment that she didn’t think, didn’t worry about getting frosting in her hair or wasted ingredients falling to the floor.

It didn’t matter now. The moment had passed.

She let out a sigh as she regained her practical side. Having frosting-covered sex with Owen Bannister would be fun—oh, yeah, like seriously fun—but wouldn’t mean anything to him and would only serve as a distraction to her plans. She needed to focus on her business, her goals.

With her brother, she already had one messed-up man in her life to take care of. She didn’t need another.

She dumped a teaspoon of vanilla into the mixing bowl. This was just being smart. Focus on work. Focus on her business.

And try to ignore the cute butt of the guy washing dishes in her kitchen.

The kiss was just an impulsive moment. And impulsive was not in her vocabulary right now. Driven, purposeful, and focused—yes. Impulsive—no.

And she had a feeling that ‘impulsive’ might just be Owen Bannister’s middle name.

Chapter Four

Owen grabbed for the dashboard as the cupcake truck bumped up against the curb and the engine ground to a halt.

“I’m never completely sure it will start again,” Gabby said as unclicked her seat belt. “But so far it’s always gotten me to where I need to go.”

He glanced around the truck. It was old, but the interior had been stripped, painted and outfitted with a new portable sink and a tiny work area. Hip-high counters were affixed to either side of the truck and cupboards and shelves filled in the rest of the area. “It’s great. It seems like a pretty cool set-up.”

“It is. It used to be an old milk delivery truck. I think the dairy closed down, and my brother, Justin found it at an auction. He helped me to strip it down and fix it up. It was a mess when we first got it, but Justin’s pretty good at stuff like this. He planned out where to put the shelves and put in the sink for maximum work efficiency.”

“He did a good job.”

“Yeah, he’s actually a pretty smart guy. He just does dumb things.”

“I can relate.”

Gabby chuckled as she pushed out the window and propped it open with a cropped off baseball bat. “This is my normal Sunday spot. I know the guy that owns this lot, and he lets me use it on Sundays since he’s closed. There are two big churches on either corner, and I get a lot of business from them. Folks are usually hungry as they leave church, and they’ll pick up something to eat for dessert on their way home.”

“Smart.”

He liked the truck. Liked that she used all the space efficiently. He even liked that she used an old baseball bat to prop open the window. She seemed frugal without being cheap or cutting corners. The ingredients she used in the cupcakes were high quality, but she was careful with her measurements and didn’t waste much.

It was inspiring to watch her work so hard for what she wanted. It would have been easier just to offer to give her the money she needed than spend his whole morning helping her. But he knew she wouldn’t take it. Knew her pride wouldn’t let her.

He’d forgotten how hard it was to scrimp and save for everything you need. Playing hockey had been good for him and paid him a ridiculous sum. He worked hard and immersed himself in the game, trying to be the best player he could and to help his team. But he was ashamed at how much money he wasted. Pissed away on drinks and food and things that didn’t matter.

When had he turned into this guy? This wasn’t how he grew up. His parents were solid middle class and raised their kids to respect them and to value money and hard work. Growing up, life had been simple. And nice.

Like this. Like spending a morning baking and creating something and laughing in the kitchen with a gorgeous woman. It was easy. And nice.

She
was nice.

And that was exactly why he couldn’t see her anymore.

Couldn’t let himself get carried away by the scent of her perfume mixed with the aroma of vanilla. By the brush of her hand against his as they baked together. By the barest glimpse of the crest of her breast as she leaned over the mixing bowl. By the soft touch of her lips.

She was too sweet. Too real. He was used to fake women—false eyelashes, fake boobs, and fake personalities. Women who were only interested in him for his looks and his money. Women who cared about what being seen with him could do for them.

Not women who actually cared about
him
. Who asked him questions about his life, about how he
felt
about things, and then actually
cared
about his answers.

Not like Gabby did. That’s why he needed to stop this thing now. Nip it in the bud. Get out before she really started to care about him. Because once he let her in, let her get close, he’d inevitably do something stupid and drive her away. Or worse, break her heart.

And he didn’t want to ever hurt Gabby. He wouldn’t.

That’s why it would be easier to walk away now. Leave before she actually started to care about him. Before she started to depend on him.

He couldn’t let that happen. Because he knew she
couldn’t
depend on him. Maybe—for a little while. But he’d eventually let her down. He always did.

No, it was easier to let her go. He’d help her today. Just to pay her back for helping him last night. But that was it. Then he’d walk away. It was best. For both of them.

So why did it feel so bad? Like by walking away, he might miss out on something really great.

“Hey, are you gonna sit there daydreaming, or are you gonna help me?” Gabby pulled the filled plastic bins of cupcakes onto the counter.

He stood up. Well, tried to stand up. The delivery truck wasn’t quite tall enough for his six feet and three inches so he ducked his head to avoid hitting the roof. “What can I do?”

She pointed at the placement of everything in the truck. “We’ll keep the cupcakes on the counter. The boxes are in this cupboard. We sell them in boxes of either four, six, or by the dozen and customers can pick different flavors. I usually only carry a few flavors on the truck, and I will sell them individually. But they save money if they buy the multi-packs, so we try to suggest those.”

“Got it.”

“It’s pretty simple. The customer says what kind of cupcake they want, they pay, we box them up, and they go on their way.” She held up her phone and inserted a small white square into the headphone jack. “Have you ever used a card reader?”

“I’ve used one as a customer.”

“They’re pretty easy. And I do a lot of card purchases. Nobody carries cash anymore, and they buy more if they can pay with their card. I’ll show you.”

He leaned over her as she showed him how to work the card reader. The smell of her hair was distracting, and he only heard about half of what she said. But he got the general idea.

She passed him the tent easel with the day’s flavors on it. “Here, you can set up the sign.”

Taking the easel, he stepped out of the truck. The cold air felt good and worked to cool him down. He needed to stop thinking about her hair, about the way it felt as it flowed through his hands, and focus on getting her some business.

Setting up the sign, he turned to see a teenage boy standing on the sidewalk, squinting at him.

“You’re Owen Bannister. From the Colorado Summit.” the boy said, not as a question, but as more of a statement.

Owen was used to this—people randomly pointing out to him who he was. He smiled at the teen. “Yep.”

“Can I get your autograph?”

“Sure.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “I’m only signing cupcake boxes today. So you gotta buy a cupcake, then I’ll sign the box for you.”

The boy turned, and Owen was afraid he’d lost his first customer. Instead the teenager yelled at a woman coming out of the church to his left. “Mom, can we get some cupcakes to take home. If we buy some, Owen Bannister from the Colorado Summit will sign the box for me.”

Owen waited for her to approach then offered the woman his most charming smile. “You can’t possibly be this kid’s mom, you look more like his sister.”

She laughed, almost giggled. “Aren’t you sweet?”

They both knew she looked plenty old enough to be the teenager’s mom, but the small compliment was easy enough on his part, and he liked that it made her smile. “Not as sweet as these cupcakes. Can we get you a dozen?”

“Sure.” She didn’t even ask how much they were, just handed over her card.

“Which flavors do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

He winked and offered her his most charming grin before he turned to Gabby. “We need a dozen assorted cupcakes for the lady and her son.”

Gabby raised an eyebrow, but he knew she was happy to have the sale. She packaged the cupcakes, and he signed his autograph on the top of the cupcake box.

A few other parishioners had gathered around the truck, and the boy held up the box of cupcakes. “Get a dozen cupcakes, and Owen Bannister will autograph the box for you.”

He should hire this kid. He grinned at Gabby and jerked a thumb at the boy.

“I know,” she mouthed, then whispered, “Best advertising ever.”

While Gabby was helping the next customer, Owen called the boy over and slyly passed him a twenty dollar bill. He leaned down and lowered his voice. “Hey kid, I’ll give you this twenty if you go back in the church and tell everyone that there’s some amazing cupcakes for sale out here and to come out and buy some.”

The kid palmed the twenty and grinned up at him. “Okay. Can I tell them you’re out here too and will autograph their box?”

“Sure.”

The kid told his mom he’d be back in a few minutes and disappeared back into the church.

He must have told the whole congregation because a crowd of people lined up outside the truck. They were selling cupcakes as fast as they could box them.

And the crowd didn’t leave. They stood around, talking and laughing as if they’d started an impromptu block party. Some people were eating the cupcakes right out of the boxes and raving about them to people walking by on the street.

As was typical for Colorado, the sun was shining and even though it was winter, it was warm enough to stand outside and enjoy the fresh air.

It was a busy neighborhood and several people stopped as they walked by or crossed the street to see what all the people were gathered around for. The teenager took his job seriously, and had recruited a couple of his friends to drum up more business. It was the best twenty bucks Owen had spent in a long time.

Owen loved to watch Gabby as she smiled and teased with the customers. It was obvious that she knew some of them from the neighborhood, but her smile was as warm as the Colorado sunshine, and they all seemed to respond to her caring and sweet personality.

If he had to admit it, there were probably a few people who were there just for him. Fans of the hockey team who bought cupcakes because they wanted his autograph or to talk to him. He must have signed thirty boxes. But he was having fun, playing around with the fans and enjoying watching Gabby rake in the sales.

After an hour, she held up her hands and a single cupcake. “We’ve almost sold out,” she yelled to the crowd. “We’re down to one last cupcake. I’m wondering how much one of you would pay to split this last cupcake with the famous Owen Bannister. It’s chocolate with chocolate frosting—and it’s delicious.”

“Which one? The cupcake or Owen?” the teenager’s mom yelled out. She and a few of her friends had stuck around to join in the fun.

Gabby laughed. “Both.”

“I’ll give you twenty for it,” the mom said as her friends teased her.

“I’ll give you thirty to see Bannister smash that cupcake into the goal,” an exuberant fan yelled. The crowd was eating it up, joining in the impromptu auction.

Another guy joined in. “I’m a Detroit fan. I’d rather see you smash it into his face. I’d pay forty for that.”

A guy in an expensive suit held up a fifty dollar bill. “I can’t let a Detroit fan win. I love the Summit. I’ll pay fifty to have you smash it into his face then let me take a picture.”

“Sold,” Gabby yelled and waved Owen into the truck. She was laughing and having a great time. “Get up here, buddy. Haven’t you always wanted to have your cake and eat it, too?”

Owen laughed and took the fifty from the guy in the suit. “I thought you said you were a fan.”

The crowd roared with laughter and fans patted Owen on the back as he climbed into the truck. He grinned at Gabby. “How did this happen? I was helping. Wasn’t I helping?”

She chuckled, a sadistic gleam in her eye as she grabbed the bill from his hand. “You did help. You just helped me make fifty dollars.”

“I think this will officially make us even for you helping me at the hotel.” He tipped his head down and grinned. “Go easy on me, Angel. I think I still have frosting in my ear from last night.”

She laughed and peeled back the wrapper. Yelling out to the crowd, she called, “Are you ready? Count it down with me! Three. Two. One!” She smashed the cupcake against his cheek, the frosting sticking to his face as the cake crumbled off and fell.

Owen grinned and turned to the crowd amidst cheers and applause. He swiped a finger through the frosting smeared on his cheek and sucked it into his mouth. “Delicious. Chocolate is my favorite flavor. But I think I should share all this fun.”

Gabby was leaned over the counter, holding her stomach as she cracked up. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her up, rubbing his cheek against hers and spreading the frosting across her face. She shrieked with laughter as he nuzzled into her neck, scattering the gooey cake across her chin.

Caught up in the moment, he gave her a quick kiss, smashing the frosting into her lips, then let her go and turned to crowd. Their applause thundered—not as much as the Denver stadium—but enough.

He pointed at Gabby. “Gabby Davis, ladies and gentleman. Cupcake-maker extraordinaire. Visit her shop. It’s the Simply Sweet Bakery down on Adams. That’s our show for the day.” He waved, and the crowd responded with laughter and murmured thank yous as they slowly dispersed, Gabby’s white cupcake boxes in their hands.