The Attack Zone (Slap Shot #2)

9. Stacey

CHAPTER 9

STACEY

W e walk into the bar Mitch picked out and I’m not too big to admit I’m a bit surprised. It’s not gross or too loud. There’s a lounge in the front with plenty of seating and I can hear a bass thumping somewhere far away, but the front room is relatively calm. Caleb walks over to the bar and orders for him and Cassie before plopping down into a big chair with her next to him. King joins them with a beer.

I get a vodka cranberry from the bar and settle in on a chair across from Thomas and Hazel. Hazels is already one drink in when I start to feel the pull of the pulsing music. I’m not usually a partier, but I have my moments, and tonight I’m in the mood to see where that music is coming from.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” I say. “Watch my bag, Cassie.”

Cassie nods and I grab my phone from my purse so I have it just in case and make my way across the bar. As I walk down the narrow hall, the music grows louder and louder until I can feel the pulsing across my chest. I enter the room to see bright, strobing lights, a packed dance floor, and a DJ. My eyes scan the crowd and quickly fall on Mitch. He’s near the center of the floor, dancing up a storm. He’s both dancing with no one and everyone at the same time. He looks delicious in those jeans that have to stretch over his hockey player thighs as he moves his hips to the beat of the music. Most men don’t know how to dance. Mitch, on the other hand, looks like he belongs in a goddamn Magic Mike movie right now and it’s doing something to me, which I shouldn’t find surprising at this point but still kind of do. I’ve mostly been able to ignore it because of how poorly we get along (aside from those few moments of weakness alone), but right now I’d like to feel his hips thrusting against mine on that dance floor.

So I guess that’s why I find myself standing across from him at the center of the dance floor, staring at his sexy face as he moves to the beat.

“Well, hello there, love,” he says, pausing mid-movement when he sees me.

“Hey,” I say. “Mind if I join you?”

His eyes go wide for a brief moment before a smirk I’ve seen in my head one too many times spreads across his face.

“Of course I don’t mind,” he says. “But don’t try to one-up my moves. You’ll lose.”

“Challenge accepted,” I say, just as the song changes to a remix of my favorite Taylor Swift song. “Oh, hell yes!” I holler before I start to move my body to the beat.

I let myself get completely lost in the music and the rest of the world disappears. Well, except for Mitch. He’s inches away from me as the music surrounds us. I turn my body away from him. I tell myself it’s an attempt to enjoy the music by myself, but then why am I inching myself backwards until our hips are almost touching?

“What are you doing, love?” he whispers in my ear. It sends tingles down my spine, making me shiver and ache to be closer to him.

“What did you mean when you said you’re glad I’m here?” I turn my head just enough to ask.

He lets out a sigh. His hand is mere centimeters from my own, and I can’t believe this, but I think I want him to take mine?

“I meant that I don’t hate you,” he says. “Not the way you hate me.”

What?

Mitch ... doesn’t hate me?

This is some wild news, and I am not in the place to process it. For the few seconds after he says it, the song becomes silent. All I feel is Mitch’s chest brushing against my back as he breathes in and out. His hand brushes up my arm and gives my shoulder a squeeze. Then, as if the music knows exactly what I want, the bass drops and the entire room starts moving again. Including Mitch, whose hips are now moving—no, grinding—against mine. I let myself get completely lost in the music; lost in Mitch as our movements join together.

The song comes to an end, but we don’t separate. Instead, we wait for the next song, and the next, becoming closer and closer, our movements becoming more and more sexual with each new beat that fills the room. We dance for what could be minutes or hours, I honestly don’t even know, because I’m reeling and have no sense of time passing.

A slightly slower remix comes on and Mitch turns me around in his arms. I’m not short, and I’m in heels, but I’m still staring up at him as he places his hands on my shoulders.

“I wasn’t expecting you to say that,” I say.

“Me either,” he says in a serious tone. “But it’s true.”

He’s staring at my lips now, and I’ve clearly lost my mind because I think I actually want him to kiss me. His head starts to tilt down and ...

“You’re buzzing,” he says .

“I’ve only had one drink, I’m perfectly fine to make decisions about ...” I start.

“No,” he nods towards my hip. “Your phone is vibrating.”

Right. That.

I pull it out to see a bunch of messages in our group chat.

Cassie: Stacey, I have your purse.

I scroll back to see what I missed.

Caleb: Hazel needs to go to bed, we’re heading out.

Hazel: I loveeee yob guix sp mivh

I let out a little laugh at Hazel’s lightweighted-ness.

“Everything okay?” Mitch asks, his hands still on my shoulders. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s started massaging me lightly with his thumbs.

“Yeah, they went back to the hotel,” I say. “I’ll just have to call and wake Hazel to get into our room because I don’t have my key or anything.”

“Should we head out?” His hands are at his sides now.

“I guess we should,” I pause. “One more song?”

That smirk is back, and he nods, but his hands stay by his sides.

This time we aren’t touching as we bounce along to the beat. I guess the moment—or whatever the hell that was—is over. I do my best to not feel distracted by the growing ache in my chest and try to talk myself down.

I can’t actually want Mitch Greggs. That would be insane.

That’s all this was.

A moment of insanity.

Or I’m a masochist.

One of the two, definitely.

Before I know it, the song has wrapped up and Mitch is guiding me through the bar and out the door. His hand is resting at the base of my spine as he weaves us through the crowd, and I hate that I like it. Hating it would make so much more sense, even if I’ve thought of his hands on me on a few occasions. But I’m always able to keep it together in person, so I honestly don’t know what’s going on with me.

We arrive back at the hotel after a normal-for-us walk. No bickering this time, but no grinding or staring at each other’s lips either. I’ll take that as a win, I think?

I pull out my phone and dial Hazel. It immediately goes to voicemail.

Again.

And again.

Her phone is on Do Not Disturb.

“Shit,” I mumble to myself.

“What’s wrong?” Mitch asks.

“Hazel isn’t answering,” I say.

“Can’t we just go knock on the door?” he says.

I look down, avoiding his gaze.

“You don’t know the room number, do you?” he continues.

I do not.

“No! I just ...” I start.

“Love ...” He looks down at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Come on, let’s go,” he says.

“What do you mean ‘let’s go’?” I ask. “I have no were to ‘go’ to.”

“Yes, you do,” he says. “Come on.”

Mitch takes my hand, causing those shivers to run down my spine again, and waltzes us both over to the elevator. He hits the button for floor fifteen and we just stand there in silence, hand in hand, as the elevator moves us up through the building. When we reach the fifteenth floor, we walk a few paces down the hall before Mitch pulls a room key out of his wallet. He beeps it against the reader and swings the door open.