Skirting the Ice (The Bannister Brothers #3)

by Jennie Marts

  The whole family had been trickling in for the last twenty minutes, piling even more food on the tables. Bane and Addison had shown up with a crockpot full of meatballs, and Owen and Gabby had brought several dozen cupcakes from her shop.

  He’d introduced Murphy to Gabby and Addison and the three had instantly bonded, laughing and joking around as if they’d always been friends.

  Owen had brought along Fred, his big, goofy yellow Labrador retriever, and he and Maggie and Winston were tearing around the yard in a tail-wagging frenzy.

  Nate had picked up Beau on his way over and they each had brought a bag of ice and a six pack of microbrews.

  The sun was dipping toward the mountains, but the air was still warm. It was the perfect summer night. In fact, most everything in Jack’s life felt pretty perfect right now.

  It had been two weeks since the incident with Carl, and it was Murphy’s idea to have the barbecue—to put the events of the past behind them and celebrate a new start.

  It hadn’t taken much to convince the Bannisters to get together, especially when there was food involved.

  “Hamburgers are ready,” Matt called. “Come and get ‘em.”

  They lined up, the brothers playfully jostling and wrestling each other as they loaded their plates then settled down to eat.

  Jack sat down across from Owen and Nate, and Murphy slid in next to him, her own plate piled high with food.

  “How ya doin’, Hero?” she asked, using one of the nicknames she’d been calling him the past few weeks. She had several she liked to use, and seemed to be always coming up with new ones.

  He usually shrugged this one off, but he secretly enjoyed the praise. He’d never thought of himself as a hero-type, but after everything that had happened, he’d realized that it took all kinds of people to be heroes. And he loved feeling like a hero in Murphy’s eyes.

  “You were a hero, Jack. You took that guy out and probably saved Murphy’s life,” Bane said, settling on the other side of him. “I’m proud of you, bro.”

  “Me, too,” Owen chimed in. Then he shook his head. “But I still can’t believe you punched Richie Jenkins.”

  Bane gave a hearty laugh then clapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You’re going to become a Brawling Bannister yet.”

  Murphy slipped her arm around his waist and grinned up at him. “Forget that. I don’t need my guy to become a brawler. Jack’s a Brainy Bannister. And that’s just the way I like him.”

  Jack chuckled at the new nerdy nickname. He kind of liked this one.

  He was a Brainy Bannister, and the smartest decision he’d ever made was falling in love with Murphy Ryan.

  He couldn’t keep the smile off his face, happy to just be here with her, listening to his family laugh and joke as they devoured the multitude of food and then worked together to clean up.

  “Who’s up for a pickup game of hockey?” Owen asked, as he and Beau carried the picnic table back to his parents’ deck. “You know, like we used to.”

  “I’m in,” Murphy said, then nudged Jack in the ribs. “But I get to be on Jack’s team.”

  They’d formed their own team of two in the past few weeks, spending all of their free time together and making plans for their future.

  He spent most nights at her house, and their dogs had become as inseparable as they had. It didn’t matter that they were complete opposites or that she was wild and he was careful. She’d taught him that it was okay to be a little reckless when it came to his heart.

  Jack raised his hands in surrender. “Then I guess I’m in, too.”

  Nate and Beau dragged their beat-up hockey net into the driveway while the rest of them picked out their equipment from a slew of old sticks and pucks still in the Bannisters’ garage.

  They divided into teams—Bane, Addison, Beau, and Nate against Owen, Gabby, Murphy and Jack. Lining up against each other, Bane passed Jack a faded puck. “Here ya go, Hero. I think you get to drop this. You’ve earned it.”

  Jack dropped the puck, pride filling him at his brother’s comments, and the game began.

  Matt and Barb each picked a side and alternately served as referees and cheered from the sidelines as the puck flew across the makeshift concrete rink.

  Murphy, Bane, and Owen—the three pros—showed off a little, dinking passes and flinging one-timers into the net. But the game was all in fun, and the sound of laughter filled the summer night air.

  Matt called a foul, giving Bane a penalty shot and he whacked the puck soundly toward the goal. But the puck missed the net and went sailing into Murphy’s backyard.

  “I got it,” Jack called, hopping over the fence and jogging through the grass. He picked up the errant puck, surrounded by memories of this same scenario years ago, when he’d stood in this same yard and met the girl of his dreams.

  But this time, Murphy wasn’t standing on the porch, she was in the midst of his family, playing pickup hockey and goofing around with his brothers. She was finally where she was supposed to be—she was finally home.

  He’d been so worried that he and Murphy’s differences would keep them apart, but instead they were what made them the perfect fit.

  And she was the perfect girl for him, the one who’d captured his heart all those years ago, and still held it firmly in her hands. She’d shown him that life wasn’t about the past and had made him excited for the future they planned to build together.

  He jogged back across the grass, grinning as he watched Murphy playing her hockey stick like an air guitar. His heart filled at the sound of her laughter, and he caught his breath at the magnitude of love he felt swelling there.

  Bringing a hand to his chest, he expected to feel the familiar tension, but instead of tightening, his chest loosened, and he could finally breathe.

  Did you love this story?

  Jennie Marts writes books filled with love, laughter, and always a happily ever after!

  Find more of her romantic comedies here!

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  Books by Jennie Marts

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  The Page Turners series (Romantic Comedy/Cozy Mystery)

  Another Saturday Night and I Ain’t Got No Body

  Easy Like Sunday Mourning

  Just Another Maniac Monday

  Tangled Up In Tuesday

  A Cowboy For Christmas

  A Halloween Hookup

  The Bannister Brothers Books (Romantic comedy/Sports Romance)

  Icing On The Date

  Worth The Shot

  Skirting The Ice

  The Hearts of Montana series (Western Romance)

  Tucked Away

  Hidden Away

  Stolen Away

  Cotton Creek Romances (Romantic comedy)

  Romancing The Ranger

  Hooked On Love

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Icing On the Date—the first book

  iIn the Bannister Brothers series

  ICING ON THE DATE

  A Bannister Brothers Book

  Book One

  Struggling caterer, Gabby Davis, has enough on her plate trying to start her new business and take care of her deadbeat brother. The last thing she needs is to get involved with Owen Bannister, the brawling NHL player who is known for his cavalier playboy ways. Even if having him in her kitchen does turn up the heat.

  Owen Bannister has a reputation for being a hot-head that no one woman can pin down. When the press captures him laughing and frosting the cupcakes of a local baker, team management sees a chance to clean up his tarnished image. But he soon finds that love is the ultimate game changer, and he’s about to get checked.

  Having Gabby around is great for publicity and great for her business, but what happens when she becomes mor
e than just a game?

  Chapter One

  Ignoring the blister on her heel and her sore back, Gabby Davis plastered on a smile and picked up the last tray of cupcakes. Straightening the red sugared poinsettia on one, she gave the final display of chocolate frosted confections a nod of approval.

  The ache in her back was nothing compared to the ache in her heart and the sinking feeling of desperation that followed her from the kitchen of the fancy hotel like a dark cloud ready to burst with rain.

  She checked her watch—the Christmas party would last only another thirty minutes or so—there was no time to worry about Justin now. She’d deal with her brother later. Just like she’d been dealing with him for most of her life.

  Smoothing down the front of her pressed white caterer’s shirt, she pushed on the swinging door of the kitchen. The door didn’t budge. Instead it burst inward, smashing the entire tray of cupcakes against her chest as a waiter carrying a tray of dirty dishes hurried through.

  “Sorry,” the waiter said, not even pausing to slow down.

  Shit.

  Gabby looked down at her shirt and peeled the smashed cupcake wrappers from her chest.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Seriously? Could her night get any better? Slamming the plate of ruined cakes on the counter, she pushed through the door—this time without incident—and hurried down the hallway to the ladies restroom.

  Ignoring the elegant sinks and mirrored wall, she banged into the nearest stall and slammed it shut behind her. She leaned her head against the cool metal of the stall door and beat against it with a sticky fist.

  I will not cry. I will not cry.

  Swallowing back the burn in her throat, she took a deep breath. She’d learned long ago that crying didn’t solve anything. And the only thing punching a door did was give you a sore fist. She rubbed at her tender hand.

  Damn it. This was her last clean caterer’s shirt—she hadn’t brought an extra for tonight’s party. And now, thanks to Justin, she wouldn’t be able to afford to get any of them cleaned and pressed soon.

  Mentally subtracting the two thousand dollars it would take to bail Justin out of jail—again—she figured she had about seven dollars and eighty-two cents left in her marketing budget savings account.

  It had taken her six months of scrimping and saving to come up with that money. She’d made the final deposit just last week. Had even called the sales director of a big-name marketing firm to set up an appointment to start the new advertising campaign that would take Simply Sweet, her cupcake shop, to the next level. That would finally allow her the promotional backing she needed to give her small business the advertising boost it required to compete against the larger bakeries in town.

  Six months. Six months of extra catering jobs. Of driving the cupcake truck around to new neighborhoods to drum up business. And for what? To bail her brother out again.

  Why did she always have to be the responsible one? What if she didn’t bail him out this time? What if she left his alcohol-drinking, bar-fighting, dumb ass in jail?

  Yeah, right. Like that would happen.

  As much as she wanted her business to succeed, she loved her brother more. And she would do anything—including delivering cupcakes for another six months—to take care of him. It’s what she did. He was her little brother and when he needed her, she was there.

  She just wished that this one time he hadn’t needed her so much.

  Letting out a sigh, she balled up a wad of tissue and wiped at the sticky mess on the front of her shirt. No use crying over spilled, or in this case, smooshed frosting.

  She froze as the door of the restroom slammed open, and the rumble of a man’s laugh filled the air.

  Peeking through the gap of the stall door, she saw a couple stumble into the bathroom, the woman’s arm wrapped around the man’s waist. If you could call her a woman—more like a girl. Barely in her twenties and barely wearing a skin tight dress, her breasts threatened to pop free of the top of her dress. Her expensive dress.

  Taking in the whole outfit, Gabby noted the girl’s red-soled shoes probably cost more than it was going to take to bail her brother out of jail. Long blond hair in perfect shades of sunshine and gold curled in flawless loose ringlets down her back.

  Gabby fingered a wild curl of her own hair that had escaped the elastic band and envied the girl’s shampoo-commercial perfect locks. Granted, Miss Short-Dress probably used better shampoo than what Gabby bought off the grocery store shelves. And most likely spent more time than Gabby’s usual five minutes of fussing with a hair dryer and fat roller brush then giving up in exasperation and pulling the whole wild curly mess into her standard ponytail topknot.

  The guy on the other side of the stall door was big—tall and powerfully built—his muscled arms stretching the fabric of his expensive suit. His dirty blond hair was tousled and messy and the tail of his dress shirt was untucked on one side. He leaned against the sink, and Gabby got a look at his face in the mirror.

  Holy hotness. A bolt of desire shot through her, and she shivered at the unexpected chill.

  The guy was cute. Really cute. But in a tough cute way. His jaw was strong and carried a scruff of blond whiskers. His nose had a slight bent as if it had been broken, and a purplish bruise circled under his eye as if he’d recently taken a punch.

  He leaned forward, turned on the tap, and splashed water in his face.

  “Hey—stop it. You’re getting me all wet.” The girl pushed against his back, trying to sound giggly and coy, but failing to hide her irritation. “And not in a good way.”

  Oh gag. Come on, honey. You can do better than that.

  The girl tried to wiggle closer to him, pressing her breasts against his arm. “Come on, Owen. I thought we were going to have some fun.”

  Owen, presumably, shook his head like a dog, flinging droplets of water onto the mirror and the girl, who let out another sound of annoyance. “I told you I don’t feel so great.” His words carried a drunken slur that Gabby was all too familiar with.

  Owen’s stomach let out a rumble that Gabby could hear all the way in the stall, and he pressed his hand against his side before letting out a low belch. He turned around and leaned against the sink.

  “Eww.” The girl made a face, but still seemed determined to hang in there. She made a grab for his untucked shirt, sliding her hands along his waist and flicking open his belt buckle. “We can still have a party.”

  Owen shook his head and pulled his hands from her belt. “Sorry, sugar. This party’s over. The fat lady is singing, and it’s time to go home.”

  The girl let out an exaggerated gasp and planted her hands on her hips. “Are you calling me fat? A fat lady?” She shook her head. “Seriously dude, I heard you were fun, but you’re a total downer. I’m outta here.”

  Sliding down the front of the vanity, he hit the floor with a jolt. He waved a hand at her—unfazed by her dramatic exit—as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “See you later, Brittany.”

  “I’ve told you three times already. My name is Bridget,” she said through gritted teeth. “And it’s your loss.” She stomped from the bathroom, slamming the door against the wall as she left.

  Gabby eased the door of the stall open. Her fingers were sticky with frosting. She just wanted to wash her hands and get out of there. Barely turning on the tap of the farthest sink, she rinsed the chocolate from her hands.

  The guy was slumped against the cabinet door, his breathing even and deep. She hoped that he might have actually fallen asleep.

  The paper towels rested in a tray above the center sink, and she leaned forward, grabbing for one and drying her hands. The guy didn’t even seem to notice.

  Glancing in the mirror, she sighed at what a mess she was. Strands of her hair had come free from her loose ponytail, and she pulled out the elastic band. Finger-combing it back, she gathered the thick mane of chestnut-colored curls in one hand and stretched the elastic band in the fingers of her other. />
  Before she could make the new ponytail, another hand reached up and grabbed her thigh. A seriously strong hand.

  She dropped the elastic in surprise then looked down at the man holding her leg. She probably should have been scared, but he looked so miserable, she felt bad for him rather than afraid of him. “You all right?”

  He shook his head in misery. “Nope. Not doing so good at all. Do you think you could make the room stop spinning now?”

  She sighed. This was familiar territory for her. She’d been here many times with her brother. Forgetting about the lost hair band, she wet a paper towel, sat down on the floor next to the man and lay the cool cloth on his forehead.

  He slumped forward, easing his head onto her shoulder, and wrapping his arms around her waist. His eyes stayed closed as he let out a sigh. “You’re soft. And you smell like chocolate.”

  She was used to this, too. The lack of inhibition and spontaneous showers of affection. Why did a little alcohol seem to turn everyone into hugging best friends?

  He snuggled against her, and her insides went a little melty. Reaching out, she brushed his hair from his forehead, the damp ends curling. A funny tingly feeling curled in her belly, and she dropped her hand.

  Everything about this should have seemed weird and creepy, sitting on the floor of the women’s restroom, covered in chocolate, and being snuggled by an immensely hot guy with messy blond hair and huge muscles. Yet, somehow it didn’t. Maybe it was because she was used to taking care of her drunk and often disorderly brother, who was never more affectionate with her than when he’d tied one on.

  “Is there someone I can call for you? Are you staying at the hotel?” she asked. “Should I call security to help you to your room?”

  He struggled awake, his eyes widening in alarm. “No, don’t call security. I’m in enough trouble as it is.”