Worth The Shot (The Bannister Brothers #2)

This book is dedicated to Todd

—my favorite hockey player and the other half of my team—

You are worth every shot!

Chapter One

Addison Cavanaugh raced down the gangway and slipped inside the airplane’s door. Ignoring the dirty look from the flight attendant for being late, she searched for her seat and prayed she’d have the row to herself.

No such luck. A tall, dark-haired man slumped against the window, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up around his head. An empty travel-sized bottle of alcohol was tucked into the pocket of the seat in front of him, so he was either asleep or passed out. Either way, he was taking up her much needed legroom as his long legs sprawled into her area.

She shoved her bag under the seat ahead of her and clicked on her seatbelt. Her phone buzzed at her hip, and she pulled it from her skirt pocket.

Her blood boiled as she read the text from Trent.
Hey babe. Can’t wait to see U. Can U bring me a breakfast burrito from that place on 24th on your way in? U know what kind I like. Thanks. U R the best. And make sure they put mushrooms on it this time.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she ignored the message and switched the phone to airplane mode. Seriously? The nerve of that guy.

She wasn’t planning to see him at all. And she sure as hell wasn’t bringing him a flipping burrito. Let him get his own damn breakfast.

This message was exactly why she’d made The Rule.

When it came to dating, she had one rule—do
not
date hockey players. She’d broken the rule before, the most recent time for Trent Hadley, and dating him had only reinforced the reasons why she’d instigated The Rule in the first place.

As the daughter of an NHL coach, she’d been raised around the sport, and both of her brothers had played. Sure, there were some great guys that played—they weren’t all bad, of course. But the ones she attracted tended to be arrogant, full of themselves, cocky jerks.

Maybe she just picked the wrong ones, but Trent was the last straw in a very long line of bad straws. He’d crossed the line during their last date, letting his temper get the best of him, and she’d told him they were through.

That was a month ago. And the jerk acted like they were still together, even after she’d repeatedly told him they weren’t. And he seriously expected her to bring him a breakfast burrito. He was out of his mind. And clearly fit the description of cocky, arrogant, and full of himself.

“The pilot’s preparing for takeoff,” a flight attendant informed her. “Can I get you anything?”

She jerked a thumb at the man snoring softly next to her and smiled wryly at the attendant. “I’ll have whatever he had.”

“I’ll be back with something after we take off.” The flight attendant smiled and winked at her. “You want a pillow or a blanket for now, hon?”

“Sure.” It was after midnight, but she was still wired from her last meeting and racing to make the flight. She accepted a lightweight blanket and small pillow from the attendant and tucked them into the seat next to her. This wasn’t her first red-eye flight, and she was thankful for the roomier first-class seat.

She slipped off her high heels and stretched her sore feet, then settled in as the plane’s engines rumbled, and they taxied down the runway. The plane shuddered as it rose in altitude, and her seatmate’s hand brushed hers. His knuckles were turning white as he gripped the armrest between them.

Turning her head, she looked into the gorgeous crystal-blue eyes of the guy sitting next to her. The corners of his lips turned up in an embarrassed grin. “I’m not a huge fan of flying and am even less of an admirer of turbulence.”

She smiled encouragingly. “It should even out when we hit cruising altitude.” Although it
had
been snowing as she’d driven across Denver and toward DIA. She hoped they’d fly out of the bad weather, but the forecast had called for snow in St. Louis, too.

Her seatmate sat up, unzipping his sweatshirt and pulling off his hood. He stretched and ran a hand through his dark hair. A light growth of black whiskers covered a strong jaw. He was cute, like
really
cute. He also looked vaguely familiar, like she recognized him, but didn’t think they’d actually met before.

As a journalist, she crossed paths with a lot of people, even with the small newspaper that she worked for. Plus she had a thing for faces, always thinking she recognized people who turned out to usually be someone random from her gym or the checker at the grocery store.

“I think the flight attendant will be around shortly with drinks. Maybe that will help,” she told him.

He nodded at the empty bottle. “That first one didn’t. I’m not much of a drinker anyway—that one just made me tired and gave me a headache.”

“Sounds like you’re having a rough night altogether.”

“It’s not all bad. I get to sit next to a gorgeous brunette in a short skirt, so at least I have a good view.” He offered her a flirtatious grin.

Oh, boy. This one was a charmer. Charming
and
cute.

This flight just got interesting.

She adjusted her skirt, pulling it lower as she crossed one leg over the other. Her leg brushed his in the cramped space and the cotton fabric of his pants brushed against her bare skin.

Despite the hooded sweatshirt, he was dressed well in khakis and a pressed white shirt, with a blue tie that matched the color of his eyes. Even his expensive black dress shoes were polished to a gleam.

“I’ll let you know how rough my night ends up
after
we get off the flight,” she said.

He smirked. “Ahh—gorgeous
and
smart. If you tell me you love a bloody red steak, you’ll fill the trifecta of the perfect woman.”

She laughed. “I’m far from perfect, but I do like my steaks rare. They’re perfect if they’ve still been mooing about thirty minutes before they hit my plate.”

The flight had settled a little, and a different attendant approached. Obviously interested in her handsome seatmate, she leaned across Addison to speak to him. “Get you another drink?”

He offered her a panty-melting grin and a little of his charm. “Thanks, but I think I’d better stick to Diet Coke.”

“And for your girlfriend?”

“Oh, she’s not my girlfriend,” he said, then arched an eyebrow at her. “Yet.”

Oh brother
. Charming with a side of cocky.

So why, instead of annoying her, did her cheeks warm with his flattery? Maybe because his easy flirting seemed to be aimed at fun, at making her smile. As if he knew his comments were over the top, and he was just playing with her.

A soda actually sounded good, but after the night she’d had, she could use something a little stronger. “I’ll take a glass of wine. Chardonnay is fine. And a cup of ice.”

“Ice for your wine?” the attendant asked.

Addison waited for the derisive comment, but the attendant was too professional for that, especially in first class.

“Yes, please.” She dropped the seat back table while the flight attendant prepared their drinks. Taking the Diet Coke, Addison passed it across to him, and their fingers touched as he took the glass. A tiny electrical chill raced through her at the touch of his fingers.

Geez
. She must be tired if she was letting the mere touch of a man’s hand get to her.

The attendant handed her a cup of ice and a small bottle of Chardonnay.

“I know it’s a funny way to drink wine,” she told the guy as she poured the contents of the bottle over the ice. “But I started drinking it like this in college, and now this is the way I like it. Over ice and super cold.”

He shrugged. “I’m not judging you. It’s your drink. You can have it however you want. You can heat it up and dump marshmallows in it for all I care.”

She took a sip, letting the flavor of the wine roll across her tongue. She’d had better, but this would do in a pinch. Settling back in her seat, she held out her hand. Shaking hands was kind of formal, and maybe she really just wanted to touch his hand again. “I’m Addison, by the way. Or you can call me Addie.”

He took her hand, holding it a moment too long. His hand was cool from holding the cup of soda. “Nice to meet you. I’m Bane—er, I mean Ben. My name’s Ben.”

Hmmm. That was interesting. Most people didn’t stumble over their own name, but maybe he preferred his nickname as well. “Nice to meet you, too, Ben.”

“So are you heading home or leaving from home?”

“Heading home. I was only in Denver a day for a meeting. Well, not really a meeting, more like an interview. A job interview.”

“How’d you do?”

How
had
she done? She wasn’t sure. She thought she’d made a good impression, but she didn’t know who she was up against for the job. “I think I did pretty well. At least, I hope I did. I’d really like to get this job.”

“What’s the job?”

“I’m a journalist. Or trying to be, at least. I work for a small newspaper now, but this would be for a major magazine.”

“Wow. That’s awesome.”

She shook her head. “Yeah, well, my dad doesn’t think so. My brothers have ‘real’ jobs, and he’s still waiting for me to grow out of this silly writing hobby of mine and get a ‘real’ job, too.”

Why did I just tell him that?
She never talked about her dad’s thoughts on her writing. It was a sore spot between them, and she worked tirelessly to prove to her dad that she was good enough at writing to make it her career. So far, he hadn’t been convinced. Or even slightly swayed.

“Well, I’m impressed. I think writing takes major skill. I couldn’t write my way out of a paper bag. Just ask my college professors.”

Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. Or maybe it was the wine.

“You’re an adult,” he said. “Why does it matter so much what your dad thinks?”

“You don’t know my dad. He’s a force to be reckoned with. I wish I could stand up to him—just once—about anything.” Why was she airing her insecurities? She needed to get off this topic. “How about you? Are you heading home, too?”

He shook his head, and a grim look crossed his face. “Nope. I live in Colorado, just outside of Denver. But I’m kind of doing the same as you. I’m going to a job interview, of sorts, too.” He raised his glass in a toast. “So, here’s to both of us getting the new start we want.”

She lifted her glass to toast. “So what are you looking for a new start in? What do you do?” 

Before he could answer, the plane hit another patch of rough turbulence. Their cups collided, and both drinks spilled down the front of his shirt.

She set the cups on the tray table and grabbed for her napkin. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” She pressed the napkin against his shirt, the fabric going transparent and revealing his toned abs and chest underneath. Geez, this guy was built like a rock. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as her fingers brushed against the hard muscles of his stomach.

“It’s okay.” He pulled off his sweatshirt and used it to blot at the spill. His arms were huge, the hard muscles of his forearm stretching against the fabric of the shirtsleeves. “Really. This is totally on par for how my day has been going. Actually, how my whole week has been going.”

Flustered, she pressed the already soaked napkin against the fabric, her fingers fluttering against his chest and stomach like a nervous butterfly. “I can’t believe I did that. I feel terrible.”

“It was an accident. And I suggested the toast, so it was my really my own fault.” He set his hand over hers, stilling her fingers as he pressed them against his chest. “Seriously, Addison, it’s no big deal.”

She looked up at him, leaving her hand under his. “Do you have another shirt you can wear to your interview? Or do you have time to wash this one? What time is your interview?”

“No, I’m supposed to be there at eight. I’ll barely have time to grab my luggage and a rental car.” He smiled reassuringly at her, and her insides did a funny flip. “It’s really okay, I promise. Having a stain on my shirt is not going to make any difference in the kind of interview I’m going to.”

What did that mean? What kind of work did he do? Before she could ask, they hit another bump of turbulence, this one worse than the last, and the lights flickered in the plane.

His face paled, and he gripped her hand in his. Like vise gripped. She cringed at the strength of his grasp.

He caught her pained look and released his hold. “Oh, shit. Sorry. Did I tell you I don’t like turbulence?” He released her hand.

Instead of pulling it away, she turned her hand over and entwined her fingers with his. “It’s okay. I don’t like it much either.”

It was an intimate gesture—holding hands with a stranger.

But he wasn’t a complete stranger, was he?

She knew he obviously worked out, he drank Diet Coke, liked the color blue, that his name was most likely Ben, and that he worked in an interesting profession where it didn’t make a difference if you wore a stained shirt to a job interview.

See? They were practically best friends.

She also knew a couple of other things—that he was terrified of turbulence and that she liked holding his hand. She liked
him
.