The Attack Zone (Slap Shot #2)

7. Stacey

CHAPTER 7

STACEY

THE NEXT DAY

I ’m sitting at my desk the Sunday after Mitch’s gala, trying to focus on wrapping up a report for a client when I hear it. The laugh bellows down the hall and runs straight to my spine. It’s loud and deep and filled with warmth.

It’s Mitch.

Why is Mitch in my office building? I have a meeting with Caleb for his non-profit, Smashing Barriers , today, but I wasn’t expecting to have to see Mitch. But as the sound gets closer, I hear more voices. Cassie, Thomas, Caleb, Hazel, and, of course, Mitch, all make themselves known as they draw nearer.

I guess the gang’s all here.

Great.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends. Well, I love my friends and I put up with Mitch. But I don’t love not being prepared. I hate surprises. Surprises are how mistakes happen, and I like to keep my life as mistake-free as possible. So when they all come bounding into my office like a pack of hysterical hyenas, I paste a false smile on my face and try to act thrilled to see everyone.

“Helloooo,” says Thomas as they enter.

It’s followed by several different variations of hey , hello , and what’s up .

“Hello, love.” Mitch’s voice is deep, almost like molten dark chocolate as he stands tentatively in the doorway. “I hope you don’t mind we all tagged along to help.”

“Of course not,” I lie. “Everyone take a seat.”

They all find various places to perch in my small office and stare at me expectantly.

“Right,” I start. “I guess I’ll just dive in with an update then.”

I go on to share how Caleb’s gala is building, important RSVPs, and a fundraising update. We’re close to our goal but we could use a few more RSVPs to fill the room. Caleb’s grimace tells me he doesn’t want to do more personal outreach than I’ve already forced upon him, which I understand. Reaching out to people isn’t really his strong suit.

Now it’s time to do what I do best: reassure, placate, and support. I reassure Cassie that we’ll meet our fundraising goal. I placate Caleb’s concerns about the overwhelming size of the guest list. I (begrudgingly) support Mitch’s recommendation that we push the silent auction items he and the rest of the team donated a bit more to try to build up some buzz.

When all is said and done, I’ve somehow managed to pull together this somewhat random group of people and get them organized and ready for something none of them other than Mitch has much experience with. I love my job because I genuinely think the world is worth making a better place, and I love getting to work with people like Caleb who share that vision, even if he is a bit green.

“Have you had lunch?” Caleb asks as we’re wrapping up. “ We were thinking of grabbing a bite all together. Unless you’re too busy. I know how busy you are.”

I’m not too busy to get lunch with my friends though. I’m never too busy for that.

Right?

Based on the expressions on my friend’s faces, I think maybe they’d disagree with that statement.

“Of course I have time. I’d love to,” I say.

Once they’ve all turned to make their way out the door, I glance at my calendar on my phone. I was definitely planning to work through lunchtime, but I’ll figure it out. It might complicate my day, but I don’t want to be seen as an absent friend.

We have to wait for a table since we’re such a big group. I try to ignore the nagging feeling I get that I should be working. This is the right thing to do, and I deserve to not eat lunch hunched over my laptop every once in a while. I already work long hours and weekends. I don’t think it’s much to ask.

When we finally get seated, the host takes us to a giant booth. What is with this town’s aversion to tables? Everyone files in one by one until there’s one small spot next to Mitch. He pats the seat next to him with a dopey smile on his face.

“I told you I don’t bite,” he says.

That’s a shame , I think.

Excuse me?! What am I doing thinking things like that about Mitch Greggs when I’m actually in his presence?

Nope.

Absolutely not.

Ugh. I really need to get laid.

“I promise,” he says because I’m still standing here staring at him while my brain apparently short circuits.

“Right, of course,” I say.

I take the seat next to him, but because I have actual curves, I either have to paste myself to his side or risk falling right out of the booth and onto the floor. Again.

Excellent.

At least I know he hates this as much as I do, because he immediately goes stiff the moment I shrug myself against his side. I turn my attention away from him for fear I might combust.

“Alright, lovely bride. Do you want to hear an update on your wedding plans?” I ask knowing full well she will not.

“Will Caleb be there?” she asks.

“Obviously,” says Thomas in a completely serious tone, clearly unaware of where this conversation is headed.

“Then that’s all I need to know,” Cassie says totally deadpan.

“Well, I, for one, would like an update,” Caleb says with a bit of hesitation.

Cassie leans into him and rests her head against his chest. She looks so cozy and at peace. I wonder what that feels like. I’ve never really been the peaceful type, but I guess I can understand the allure of having someone to come home to. If you’re into that sort of thing. Which I am not.

“Stacey and I are going to visit some venues right after your gala,” Mitch chimes in.

I almost mention that we started a joint Pinterest board, but I somehow refrain. I don’t want to out Mitch’s Pinterest habit to his teammates, but I don’t for the life of me know why. Normally I’d us that kind of fodder to make him miserable in a heartbeat. I guess I’m making a slight peace offering after he was so nice about Evil Gregg or something.

“Things are going well. We haven’t even tried to kill each other yet,” I offer instead, in attempt to make sure Caleb knows he can trust us.

Caleb gives Mitch a look I don’t understand before turning to me. “Great, that’s all I need to hear,” he says.

Reassure. Placate. Support .

Easy as pie.

Our lunch arrives and we all trade bites and laughs. I almost forget that I’m sandwiched up against Mitch like a magnet until his arm brushes against mine when he reaches for a potato chip. A zing of sparks rush to where we’re touching and I’m suddenly hyperaware of everywhere we’re pressed together. Our thighs and hips are evenly matched, but I’m a few inches shorter than him so my shoulder comes up to his bicep. I become even more hyperaware of his thighs when he shifts slightly in his seat. I can feel his hard muscles brush against my soft skin and something low inside of me does a little flip.

What. The. Hell.

I need to get out of here. I should be working, not doing ... whatever this ... is.

“Stacey, are you coming to the All-Star Game?” Thomas asks, snapping me out of my hockey-player-leg-induced coma.

“Huh?” I say. “Oh. Uh. Yes, I am.”

Mitch turns to me, and his gaze feels like heat on my skin. “I didn’t know that,” he says.

“I figured I deserved a weekend off,” I say, forgetting that I technically work for this man.

A kind smile spreads across his face. It’s weird and disarming and I don’t know what to do with it. “You definitely do.”