The Attack Zone (Slap Shot #2)

8. Mitch

CHAPTER 8

MITCH

ONE WEEK LATER

T he All-Star weekend is always fun, and it’s made even more fun because we’re in Miami this year. Thomas is the player the NHL chose from the Blizzards, but Caleb and I won via fan votes, so we’re here too. Well, us and our entire entourage. Cassie’s with Caleb and Hazel decided to use it as a getaway while her son, Ralph, is with his grandparents for the weekend.

And then there’s Stacey. She’s taking some sort of self-care weekend, which I thought was usually reserved for bubble baths and those horrifying-looking face masks, but apparently hockey is more Stacey’s speed. Which I find annoyingly attractive.

The other annoying thing is that she’s wearing a Blizzards jersey.

And it’s King’s.

When he saw it this morning in the hotel lobby, I thought he was going to die from laughter. I, on the other hand, could barely see straight from the annoyance I felt. Which is ridiculous. She could not be farther from mine to be upset about. And there’s no world in which Stacey Anderson wears my name anywhere on her body.

So now I’m stuck on the ice between my giddy best friends. One because he’s madly in love and loves showing off for Cassie, and the other because he finds the whole thing hilarious. It has me amped up in the worst way possible, and I know I need to cool it, or I’ll end up getting a penalty for lashing out at someone. Probably Thomas, if I’m being honest, and he’s on my team.

I can tell you exactly where Stacey is in the stands because for some reason my eyes just naturally find her. Her shiny dark hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail and she’s sipping on a beer. Our eyes catch each other’s, and she flips me off, but with a grin.

Brilliant.

At least she’s smiling?

Before I know it, the puck is dropping and we’re off to the races. I somehow manage to get through the first period with a lot of minutes on the ice but without getting any of the penalties I’d feared. Sometimes, when I’m especially irritable, I can’t really control myself as well as I’d like. It’s mostly okay when I’m on the ice because it’s my job to be aggressive, but in real life, like when I’m talking to Stacey, I find myself saying things I don’t mean and generally being a dick. It’s definitely not the kind of person I want to be, and I’m working on it, but managing the irritability is one of the harder parts of bipolar, and I’m still learning.

So, when Stacey sends me a middle finger emoji during the first intermission, I almost lose my cool. I type three different truly terrible things before managing to delete them all. Which is good, because she quickly follows up the emoji with another text.

Stacey: Jk. You’re playing well today. Unfortunately .

Mitch: Why? Did you place a bet on the East?

Stacey: Of course not. I just find it irritating that you’re so good at this.

Mitch: Sorry, love. Can’t help it. It’s in my blood.

Stacey: Don’t call me that, Mitchell.

Mitch: You first.

Stacey: God, we’re like school children.

I send her a kissing emoji to be extra annoying and throw my phone back in my bag before anyone can notice I’ve been on it during the intermission.

The West and East are fairly evenly matched this year, so it’s a fun game. In the end, we eke out a win. It’s the first in a few years for the West, so I’m in the mood to celebrate. I fire off a text to Cassie, Stacey, and Hazel telling them where to meet us. King does a quick interview with ESPN before we go back to the hotel to get ready.

Once I’m dressed for a night out, I head down to the lobby. I’m approaching the bar when I see her. Stacey’s in King’s jersey still, but she has it tied up just below her chest to reveal a short leather skirt, sheer tights, and tall, heeled leather boots. She looks insanely sexy and she still hasn’t noticed me. My hands are already sweaty when I approach her.

“Hey, love,” I whisper in her ear. She jumps a bit, so I place my hand on her shoulder. “It’s just me,” I say.

She turns to face me. She doesn’t move away so her big eyes are staring up at me, our mouths mere inches apart from one another. She licks her lips. “Oh,” she says. “Hey. Where is everyone?”

“I think they’re on their way down now,” I say.

I still haven’t removed my hand from her shoulder and she’s still staring up at me. It’s doing weird things to my stomach, having her so close, not looking totally disgusted with me.

“You played really well today,” she says .

I think it’s probably the nicest thing she’s ever said to me, so I don’t push my luck with a snarky reply. Instead, I just say, “Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.”

“You are?” She looks completely shocked but turns her head before I can reply. “There they are.”

I begrudgingly turn around and remove my arm from her shoulder to see our friends approaching. Hazel gives me a hug while Cassie, allergic to touching anyone not named Caleb, just nods in my general direction and says, “Great game.”

“Thanks. Now who’s ready for some fun?”

“Me!” Hazel basically shouts. We all look at the usually fairly quiet mom in disbelief. “What? I have two days to party. Let me live!”

I let out a chuckle and pull out my phone to show Hazel the bar I’m thinking we should go to. It’ll be quiet enough for Caleb while still having a section with a dance floor for me. I love to dance, especially after my energy gets all hyped up for a game. It’s a perfect way to cool down so I can get enough sleep.

“Perfect,” says Hazel. “Let’s do this!”

We file out the door to walk the few blocks to the bar and naturally fall into two rows to not take up the entire sidewalk. Hazel, our apparent party girl for the evening, is leading the front with Thomas by her side, followed by Caleb and Cassie—hand in hand, which leaves Stacey and me to bring up the rear. While we’d usually find something to bicker about, instead we fall into a comfortable silence, our hands occasionally brushing as we walk.

I want so much to take her hand. To tell her that I think she’s extraordinary and I just can’t seem to not put my foot in my mouth when I’m with her, but it doesn’t mean I hate her.

Instead, I settle for the silence. At least it’s better than arguing.