Skirting the Ice (The Bannister Brothers #3)

by Jennie Marts

  Scrambling off the ground, they hurried toward the bike, fumbling to pull themselves back together, and they had probably scared the crap out of the nice little old couple who were slowly making their way to the picnic table. A few minutes more, and they might have gotten more than just a great view of the mountain creek.

  She still wasn’t sure what they’d seen, but even in the dim light of early evening, she was pretty sure the little old woman gave her a sly and knowing grin.

  She stuffed the keys to the bike in her pocket and looked up at Jack. “You hungry?”

  He grinned down at her, his eyes holding a naughty gleam. “Starving.”

  “Me, too.” She laughed as he slid her hand into his and held it as they walked toward the bar. “Your brother said you loved this place—that it had great steaks and your favorite buffalo burger.”

  He held the door open for her and indicated it was just the two of them to the hostess. She led them to a cozy booth against the back wall, and they slid in across from each other.

  Murphy looked around the bar. A giant rock fireplace filled one wall, with a huge moose head above the mantel. The booths were covered in rich brown leather with brass edging and bare cedar headers crossed the ceiling. The décor was based on a mountain cabin motif with a lot of pine cone and bear decorations.

  One side of the bar was a restaurant and the other opened up onto a small dance floor and several pool tables. A large brass and cedar mirror filled the wall behind the bar.

  It was funky and cool, and would have given off more of a classy feel if not for the array of lacy bras dangling from the moose’s antlers and the collection of stolen street signs adorning the wall behind the bar.

  The waitress approached the table and rested her hand on Jack’s shoulder as she smiled down at him. “Hiya Jack, how’s it going?” She wore skimpy denim shorts, cowboy boots, and a low cut western shirt tied in a knot over her bare belly button. The snug shirt was trying valiantly to contain the excessive cleavage of her large, and probably fake, boobs.

  Murphy bristled at the familiar way she greeted Jack. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t think she’d ever been the jealous type before, but something about the way this girl, with her perky boobs and her Daisy Duke shorts, had Murphy’s stomach churning and her teeth on edge.

  “Hey, Barbie. It’s going well,” he answered, oblivious to her flirtatious tone. He didn’t even realize what a hottie he was—which was part of the reason she liked him so much. He gestured in her direction. “This is Murphy. She’s an old friend, and this is her first time here.”

  The waitress smiled at her. Of course her name was Barbie. And why did it bother her that Jack just introduced her as an old friend, instead of as a date. She was tempted to reach across the table and take his hand, just to stake her territory.

  But was Jack her territory? Did she want him to be? Did she want this to be more than a few meals and a frisky fool-around in the woods?

  Or the more important question was, what did he want it to be?

  “Oh, yeah?” the waitress asked, giving Murphy the once over with a judgmental eye.

  “Well, she’s actually more than just an old friend,” Jack said, offering Murphy a shy smile as he kept his gaze fixed on hers. “I’ve had a thing for her since high school, and we’re finally going on our first date.”

  A grin broke across Murphy’s face. A thing, huh? She could have kissed him, right then and there. Take that Big-Boob Barbie. They were on a date.

  Now get your hand off my date’s shoulder.

  “Nice to meet you,” Murphy said as she offered her a smug smile. It probably wasn’t the mature thing to do, but screw it. She couldn’t help it. She’d been feeling jealous, and Jack had said exactly the right thing.

  Big-Boobs didn’t seem to be too bothered. She turned back to Jack and pointed to the bartender across the room. “Gino wants to know if your brothers are planning to join you tonight. He said to tell you that he hasn’t forgotten the last time you all were in here, and he’s hoping you’re not planning to cause any trouble tonight.”

  “Tell him not to worry. It’s just us tonight, and we’re not planning to get into any trouble,” Jack answered.

  “All right then. I’ll let him know. Now what can I get you to drink?”

  Jack ordered a micro-brew, but Murphy stuck with a Diet Coke, since she was driving. And she had practice tomorrow.

  “I’ll get these right out for ya,” Barbie said, snapping her gum. Closing her notebook, she turned, but as she sashayed past, she leaned down and whispered snidely into Murphy’s ear, “By the way, you’ve got pine needles stuck to a glob of sap on the back of your jacket.”

  Murphy ignored the comment. Instead, a grin crept across her face at the memory of their earlier escapades, and she smiled at Jack. “You know, I think you were wrong about what you said earlier.”

  “Yeah? About what?”

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she sucked her bottom lip under her teeth as she imagined kissing him again. “We are planning to get into trouble tonight. At least I am. And I’m planning to get into it with you. And lots of it. Like several times of trouble.”

  He chuckled, a deep laugh that sounded partly shy and partly flirtatious. “Several?” he asked, his voice cracking.

  She nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing with what she hoped was a look of invitation. “Several.”

  The waitress returned with their drinks, and they ordered steaks and baked potatoes, both requesting their steaks to be cooked medium-rare.

  Jack smiled at her as Barbie left to fill their order.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s dumb.” He rolled the empty wrapper from her straw between his fingers. “I was just thinking that we both like our steak cooked the same way so we do have one thing in common.”

  “Oh, stop it.” She had a feeling that he was bothered by so many of their differences. “We have several things in common. Besides the fact that we like our meat bloody.”

  “You think so? Because I can’t imagine two people who have less in common. You’re wild and fun, and I’m conservative and fairly boring. You drive a sports car, and I drive a Prius. You’re generous and sweet, and I’m frugal and dull. You bought me a lavish gift, and all I can think is how much that money could have earned you if you’d invested it in mutual funds instead.”

  And you’re smart, and I’m not.

  The thought filled her mind, building on her biggest insecurity.

  He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to.

  They both knew that he was brainy and gifted in numbers and technology, and she was just a dumb jock whose only talent involved whacking a small object across a sheet of ice with a stick.

  He might say she was fun and wild, but did he really mean that he thought she was reckless and foolish? And did he really think the only thing they had in common was the way they liked their steak cooked?

  She pushed the negative thoughts aside. She needed to show him the things they did have in common, the ways that they were good together.

  Because they were good together.

  Images of the time they’d spent together filled her mind—images of them laughing and horsing around as well as images of them lying in bed, naked and tangled in the sheets. They weren’t just good together, they were great.

  “We have more in common than our preference for bloody meat,” she told him. “We laugh at the same things, we both like Star Wars and fried chicken, and we both hate that taco commercial they used to play all the time when we were in high school.”

  She’d hoped the mention of the old commercial that they used to mimic would trigger a good memory of them for Jack, and it must have because she was rewarded with a small grin. “We did hate that stupid commercial.”

  She kept going, not wanting to lose his smile. “We both like the mountains and ice cream sandwiches. Plus, we both love dogs and even have the same kind of dog.”

  “That one doesn’t count. I m
ight like dogs, but I didn’t pick that one. I would have picked a golden retriever if I’d had a choice.”

  “Me, too. But I didn’t have enough room in my apartment. So, you see? We are actually alike in that one.” She leaned forward, offering him a smug smile. “Besides, what difference does it make if we don’t like all the same things? Haven’t you ever heard about how opposites attract?”

  “The attraction isn’t the part I’m worried about,” he mumbled, but their salads arrived before he could say more.

  She let the subject drop as they ate, instead focusing on subjects of her new team, old memories from past summers they spent together, and the deliciousness of the food.

  Setting her fork down, she pushed back from the table and held her stomach. “Oh my gosh, I’m so full.”

  “Me, too.” He signaled for the waitress. “But that was one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time. Or maybe it was just the best company.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Or maybe it was the appetizers.”

  He let out a hearty laugh—God, she loved the sound of his laugh. “Yes, it could have easily been the appetizers. They were, in fact, hands down, the best appetizers of my life.”

  “Did you want appetizers?” the waitress asked, pulling her order pad from her back pocket. “Sorry, I thought you wanted the check.”

  Jack laughed again, but a pink tinge colored his neck. “No, we’re good. Just the check.”

  Big-Boobs peeled the check off and handed it to Jack like she was presenting him with her number.

  Murphy made a grab for it and plucked it from her outstretched hands. “I’ve got this one.”

  “You don’t have to pay for dinner,” Jack argued.

  “Yes, I do. I told you I was going to buy you dinner and that means that I’m paying.” She handed the waitress her debit card, then waited until she walked away. “Besides, if things are so great before I’ve bought you dinner, I can’t wait to see what happens after.”

  A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Me, too.”

  The waitress came back with the check, and Murphy finished taking care of the bill.

  Jack stood and pulled his jacket on. “Thanks for dinner. This was great.”

  “This was great. In fact, this whole night has been so great, I don’t want it to end.” She glanced across the restaurant at the dance floor and the row of pool tables lining the wall. “How about asking me to dance or challenging me to a game of pool?”

  He looked toward the empty dance floor. “I have a strict rule that there has to be at least eight other people dancing before I agree to join them. And that dance floor looks to be about eight people short.”

  She laughed. “Okay, I see your point. Then how about a game of pool?”

  “I could do that.” He offered her a sly grin. “Will there be a bet involved?”

  “Depends on how good of a pool player you still are.” She took his hand and led him across the restaurant, stopping to get some quarters from the bartender.

  Even though no one was dancing, the bar area was filling up and they grabbed the last empty table and set their stack of quarters on the edge.

  “You remember how we used to play pool for hours in your parents’ basement?” she asked as she corralled the balls into the holder.

  Jack picked a couple of sticks from the display on the back wall. “Of course I do. But it wasn’t because I loved pool. It was because that basement was the coolest place to be in the summer. And because I had such an awful crush on the girl who asked me to play.”

  “I still have a crush on the guy who always agreed to play.” She grinned, his words filling her chest with a happy warmth. She loved hearing that he had a crush on her then. She’d always just thought of herself as the dumb girl that he put up with. “You still remember how to play Eight-ball?”

  He nodded and handed her a stick. “You’re up first.”

  She bent forward, sliding the stick slowly along the edge of her thumb as she took aim at the balls, conscious of the way he watched her and putting on a bit of a show.

  The balls broke with a loud crack, and a solid rolled into the side pocket. She took another shot but missed that one. “Your turn.”

  She leaned down across the table from Jack, offering him a teasing glimpse of her cleavage as he lined up his shot, and giggling as he missed.

  Yeah, giggling. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d giggled at anything. Or teased a man with her chest. But the past few days with Jack had been full of laughter and flirty banter, and she’d loved it.

  So much of her life was spent in a man’s world trying to diminish her femininity and prove that she was good enough to be there. Being with Jack gave her a chance to be a woman, to flirt, to be coy or brazen, and she loved getting to actually feel sexy and free. To have fun.

  But they weren’t the only ones having fun.

  The mood of the bar got louder and rowdier as their game progressed.

  A raucous group of bikers and their girlfriends played at the next two tables. They’d obviously been drinking, and the level of insults they were slinging and inappropriate comments they were making seemed to increase with each successive round of shots the waitress delivered.

  Murphy scooted around one of the men, trying to stay out of his way as she lined up her next shot. She noticed the way Jack eyed the rough crowd, his brows drawing down and his mouth settling into a thin line of worry.

  “Number four ball in the corner pocket,” she said, pointing her stick at the far corner of the table. She bent forward, but the shot was just out of reach. Angling her stick, she sloped to the side, leaning farther against the side of the table.

  The shift of her weight as she took the shot caused her to counter balance, and she fell back, careening into the guy standing behind her.

  The big, muscled, scary, tough-looking biker guy standing behind her. The one she had just knocked into and caused his beer to slosh and spill down the front of his shirt.

  “Watch it,” he growled, turning around to glare down at her.

  Shit. The guy had to be at least six-four, and his biceps were as big as her thighs. He was built like a Mac truck. This was not the kind of guy you wanted to piss off.

  He wore jeans, heavy black motorcycle boots, and a leather vest heavily adorned with patches. The sleeves of his now beer-drenched T-shirt had been ripped off, displaying his impressively muscled arms. A detailed and colorful tattoo of a snake slithering through a garden covered one of his arms.

  She reached out, resting a hand on his forearm. “Sorry about that. I was trying to make a shot and lost my balance.”

  He sneered down at her, his mouth set in a hard line—what she could see of his mouth anyway. Most of his face was covered with a thick black mustache and beard.

  Before he could say anything, Murphy felt two hands press against her back, and she was shoved into the solid mass of the man. He reached out with the hand not holding the now half-empty beer to steady her.

  “Hey, bitch. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A voice leered from behind her.

  Murphy turned to see an angry, and very drunk, biker chick glaring at her.

  “Are you flirting with my man?” the woman asked, a slur evident in her words. She was several years older than Murphy, and had the severe look of a woman who had lived a hard life. Her hair and body were thin and dry, her skin leathery from being around too much sun and smoke. Her voice held the thick gravelly tone that was earned through a pack of cigarettes a day.

  “Nope. I accidentally bumped into him as I was taking a shot.” In her world, she came across a lot of tough women, and Murphy was used to dealing with them, both on the ice and off. This woman alone didn’t scare her, but the large group of very drunk, very tough-looking people that she was with did.

  “Oh, so he’s not good enough for you?” The woman raised her voice and her hands as she readied to shove Murphy again.

  This situation was getting out of ha
nd and quickly.

  “Why don’t we all take a step back here,” Jack said, suddenly by her side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, slowly pulling her back and guiding her behind him.

  The biker guy gave him a look equal to the impassive glance one might give an annoying fly that just landed on their arm.

  Jack wasn’t a small guy. He was over six feet himself, but he had the lean muscled body of a swimmer, and this guy had the thick muscled body of a silverback gorilla—and most likely the same temperament.

  “No harm intended,” Jack said, raising his hands in a motion of surrender and walking them a few slow steps backwards.

  The gorilla biker took a menacing step forward, closing the space between him and Jack. “There may have been no harm intended, but there was harm inflicted. I’ve got beer spilled down the front of my favorite shirt and now my woman is upset, too.”

  “Sorry about the beer. I’m happy to buy you another. And one for your woman, I mean lady-friend here as well.” Jack pulled a twenty from his wallet, set it on the table in front of them, and then signaled to the bartender. “Couple of beers for our friends.”

  “We’re not your friends,” the man snarled getting further into Jack’s face. He grabbed a fist full of his shirt and pulled Jack even closer. “You think I would be friends with a preppy little twerp like you?” He gave Jack a hard shove, knocking him down, his face scraping against the side of the pool table as he hit the ground.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jack scrambled back up, a red scrape across his cheek. His hands tightened into fists at his sides, and Murphy could see the heat of shame coloring his face.

  She grabbed his arm, pulling him back, alarmed at the way his breath was already tightening. “Let’s just go. These guys are jerks.”

  “Who are you calling jerks?” the biker chick slurred, taking a menacing step toward them.

  Murphy’s own palms itched to draw back and punch the chick in her condescending face. But it wouldn’t do any good—wouldn’t help anything to get into a bar-room brawl. Anything besides her tarnished ego and Jack’s bruised face.